Author: Momo Chan

I’d spent half the night fighting the airline’s website just to snag this miserable Economy seat, and all I wanted was oblivion. I was running on fumes after a week from hell closing out a major project. I’d just drifted off when a hand roughly patted my shoulder. “Excuse me, Ma’am, could you please pay attention to the safety video on the screen in front of you?” I’ve flown hundreds of times. This was the first time a flight attendant had ever enforced the video. Given her dedication, I managed to cooperate, stifling a groan of exhaustion. As soon as the video ended, I settled back in, desperate to reclaim my sleep. It didn’t last. A heavy slap landed on my cheek. “Hello? Sleeping on a plane can make you cold. Would you like a blanket?” A wave of irritation washed over me, but I forced a polite tone. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need anything. Please, I need to sleep, so try not to disturb me.” She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m just doing my job. Some people.” I closed my eyes, counting to ten, trying to gather the threads of my lost sleep. Before I could make it back to that hazy state, a sharp rapping hit the top of my head. The flight attendant—Chelsea, according to her badge—beamed a forced, saccharine smile. “Peanuts, pretzels, soda, coffee, or a hot tea? Can I get you anything, Ma’am?” 1 I’d been up for over twenty-four hours, and all I could think about was the six-hour flight ahead of me. I had collapsed into the window seat the second I boarded. The plane hadn’t even started taxing, but I was gone. A soft voice nudged me from the edge of sleep. “Ma’am, we’ll be starting the safety briefing shortly. Could you please wake up?” I kept my eyes shut. I knew the drill. They just had to say the line; they didn’t actually expect compliance. I thought that would be the end of it, but then a hand aggressively patted my shoulder—several times. “Hey! Wake up. We’re about to review the safety procedures. What if something actually happens? Who will be responsible then?” I blinked open my eyes, disoriented, realizing she was talking directly to me. Chelsea leaned in conspiratorially. “See? I knew you weren’t really asleep! Why the act? Did you enjoy being roused by me personally?” “And are you just enjoying this chance to make a scene?” she added under her breath. I couldn’t fathom the hostility. I racked my memory. When I first boarded, I had politely asked, “Is there any chance for an upgrade? I’d love a First Class seat if possible.” She’d given me a look of pure contempt. It was her colleague, a purser, who’d stepped in. “Apologies, Ma’am. This is an all-Economy holiday charter flight. No upgrades available.” I had nodded, resigned. Holiday tickets were always a nightmare. As I turned to leave, Chelsea had mumbled something. I now realized what it must have been. “Fishing for a freebie. Who does she think she is?” Was she seriously targeting me because I asked about an upgrade? Because she decided I was “faking” being wealthy? My head was pounding. Between the high-pressure project and the lack of sleep, I had no energy left for a confrontation. I decided to save my complaint for when we landed. I took a deep breath, turned my back to her, and focused all my remaining strength on getting to sleep. Just as I was about to sink into a comfortable haze, a sharp tug yanked my arm. My eyes snapped open. Chelsea was standing over me, looking down with an almost predatory smirk. All my exhaustion was immediately replaced by a surge of white-hot anger. “Why did you just grab me?” She batted her eyelashes, her tone deceptively light. “Ma’am, were you having a bad dream? I just wanted to ask if you needed a blanket. You know, it gets chilly on the plane.” Her smile widened, her eyes cold. “Oh, by the way, our blankets are premium. They’re fifty-eight dollars.” I fought to keep my voice even. “No, thank you. I do not need a blanket. I need to sleep. Would you please just leave me alone?” The instant she heard the “no,” a flash of vindictive triumph crossed her face. It was as if a petty suspicion had just been confirmed. “Just another cheapskate,” she whispered, ensuring I heard it. At that moment, a kind voice came from the row behind me. “Hey, Miss. Thank you for helping us find our seats earlier. Here, take this blanket. I heard it gets pretty cold toward the back.” A man in his forties—a distinguished-looking, soft-spoken gentleman—held out a brand-new, still-packaged blanket. I was touched by his kindness. “Oh, thank you, that’s really generous, but please, I’m wearing layers. I’m fine.” Chelsea’s eyes darted between the man and me, a strange, knowing smile playing on her lips. 2 My sleep was irrevocably ruined. Frustrated, I glanced around and saw Chelsea huddled with another flight attendant, whispering and laughing, occasionally pointing a finger in my direction. The other woman covered her mouth, her eyes full of mean-spirited glee. A senseless fury spiked. I grabbed my water bottle, took a long swallow, and forced myself to look down at my phone, trying the “out of sight, out of mind” technique. But soon, the heat from the cabin vents seemed to die down completely. A genuine chill began to creep under my collar. The passenger next to me had already wrapped herself in her expensive cashmere wrap. I shivered, ready to get up and rummage for my coat in the overhead bin. The gentleman from the back row leaned forward again. “It really is cold now, dear. Take it. It’s brand new.” I couldn’t refuse again. “Thank you so much,” I said, taking the blanket. Just as I wrapped it around me, I heard Chelsea’s voice, loud enough to carry, dripping with sarcasm. “Honestly, some women have absolutely no shame. Using their looks to flirt with anyone, even a middle-aged married man. Just pathetic.” My body went rigid. I snapped my head up. “What are you talking about? Are you talking about me? Who are you calling a floozy?” “What’s the situation here?” The cabin door opened, and a tall man in a sharp pilot’s uniform—a Captain—stepped out. Chelsea’s face transformed instantly. The spite, the pettiness—it vanished, replaced by an expression of doe-eyed adoration. “Oh, Captain Reed, you’re here! This passenger is misunderstanding me. I was simply trying to provide good service, but she’s taking it the wrong way.” She pouted, playing the victim. “See, the heating system is acting up, and I was worried she was cold. I offered her a blanket, but she’s been so rude to me.” She cast a wounded glance my way. I looked at the Captain’s face and realized why he seemed familiar. When I was wrestling my overweight carry-on into the overhead bin earlier, I’d nearly lost my balance. He was the one who reached out, steadied me, and hoisted the suitcase up without a word. Seeing Chelsea’s performance—the sudden shift from bully to sweetheart, coupled with her blatant attempt to slander me—I understood everything. She wasn’t mad about the upgrade question. She thought I was flirting with her target. She believed I was a rival, trying to snatch her Captain, and that’s why she’d been harassing me. The sheer absurdity of the idea was so offensive it made me laugh, a short, bitter sound. She was obsessed with her little fantasy, and decided everyone else must be as desperate and manipulative as she was. My sheer fatigue won out over the urge to explain myself. I fixed the Captain with a cold, steady gaze and waited for him to speak. He pulled out his communication device. “Cabin crew, turn up the heat immediately. Find this passenger a heavy-duty airline blanket.” He turned to me, his tone apologetic. “Ms. Shaw, I’m sorry you’ve had such an unpleasant start to your flight. We will address the conduct of our crew to ensure you have a professional experience for the rest of the journey.” Seeing him side with me, Chelsea’s victim act evaporated. She pasted on a professional smile. “Ms. Shaw, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I will ensure I provide excellent service from now on. Please call me if you need anything.” I just waved a hand dismissively, too tired to look at her. All I managed was, “I don’t need anything from you. Just let me sleep.” Max nodded once, said nothing more, and headed back toward the cockpit. Chelsea trailed after him like a lost puppy, but not before shooting me one last look—a look filled with pure, simmering resentment. 3 Three hours passed. Chelsea, thankfully, stayed away. The cabin heat finally kicked in, chasing the chill away. The ambient noise softened as most passengers settled down for the long haul, their faces relaxed in sleep. The week’s exhaustion returned with a vengeance. My eyelids felt weighted down. I pulled the blanket tighter and began to drift into a deep, peaceful sleep. Just as I crossed the threshold, a voice boomed in my ear like a megaphone. “Peanuts, pretzels, soda, coffee, or a hot tea! Does anyone need anything?” My eyes snapped open. It was Chelsea again. She offered a practiced, fake smile. “Excuse me, Ma’am, would you like some water? It’s important to stay hydrated when you’re sleeping for a long time.” She offered a cup of hot water. Waking up for the fourth time, my anger surged beyond control. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop disturbing my sleep! Are you deaf?” She recoiled as if genuinely terrified, her forced smile dropping instantly. Her eyes welled up. “I didn’t even touch you this time! You woke up on your own!” she wailed. “I’m just a junior flight attendant trying to do my job, trying to be helpful. How can you be so mean to me?” Passengers nearby looked up, drawn by the noise. Chelsea started crying in earnest. She was pretty and delicate-looking, and the sight of her red eyes instantly sparked sympathy. An older woman in the seat diagonal from me sighed and addressed me. “Sweetheart, the flight attendant is just doing her job. Why are you being so short-tempered? We should all try to be more understanding.” Chelsea sniffled, dabbing at her eyes. “Thank goodness you see the truth, Ma’am. If she complains about me, I could actually lose my job.” Her plea worked. The surrounding passengers’ sympathy caught fire. “She’s just a young girl, probably new,” another passenger chimed in. “Give her a break.” “Some young people have no manners,” a man muttered. “They treat service workers like dirt just because they had a bad day…” Surrounded by a chorus of judgment, my sleepiness vanished. I sat up straight and fixed my gaze on the woman who had first defended Chelsea. “Where were all of you when she repeatedly woke me up? When I explicitly asked her to stop? But I raise my voice once, and suddenly you’re all experts on decency? Is that selective outrage?” I addressed the nearby passengers. “I told her three times that I didn’t need a blanket, didn’t want a drink, and just wanted to sleep. And she came back again and again. You think that’s ‘concern’?” My voice was raw. “I worked non-stop for a week, pulled an all-nighter to get this flight, and I desperately need to rest. She is deliberately provoking me. And now I’m the bad guy? If someone kept waking you up, would you be calm?” “Who is going to take responsibility if I’m so exhausted I pass out when I land?” My direct challenge—and the sharp, irrefutable logic—silenced them. The passengers who had been so quick to judge averted their eyes, no one willing to speak up again. With her support system gone, Chelsea’s sobs abruptly stopped. She wiped away the negligible tears and looked deeply embarrassed. “I was only performing my job duties,” she insisted, defensive now. “How can you slander me like this?” I gave a cold laugh. “Your job duties include ignoring a customer’s reasonable request and constantly disrupting their rest? You’re performing your job a little too well.” Stung, she was speechless. After a moment, she dug a form out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Since you have such an issue with my service, please sign this. It’s a statement that you voluntarily waive any further service from me, and that any issues you encounter for the rest of the flight are not my responsibility.” I didn’t take the clipboard. “Oh, now you’re playing games. Does every passenger have to sign this?” Chelsea’s eyes flickered, a clear sign of guilt. “No, but you’re different. You’ve been uncooperative with my work.” I was so angry I felt a manic urge to laugh. “I was cooperative watching the safety video, and I was reasonable declining services I didn’t need. That’s uncooperative? You’ve been targeting me since I asked about an upgrade, and now you want me to sign a unilateral declaration? Get your manager or an airline representative right now. I want to know if this is how your company trains its staff and treats its customers.” The mention of management drained the color from Chelsea’s face. Her body gave a slight tremor. She quickly snatched the form back. “Please, Ma’am, don’t be angry. Don’t sign it. I’m just a regular flight attendant. If you complain to management, I could lose my job.” She started to grovel. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have disturbed you repeatedly. I’m new; I don’t have much experience. Please, be the bigger person and forgive me this time. I truly wasn’t trying to target you. I just wanted to provide good service, and I didn’t realize I was bothering you…” Her droning voice, full of pathetic excuses, was buzzing in my ear like a fly. I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, and I don’t want to ruin your career. I have one request: stay away from me and let me sleep.” Chelsea clamped her lips shut, her face shifting between pale shame and resentment. The surrounding passengers cautiously eyed me again, their expressions a mix of curiosity and lingering judgment. I ignored them, closed my eyes, and pulled the blanket tight. This time, no one disturbed me. I only woke up when the captain’s voice came over the intercom, announcing the final descent. I stretched and reached up to the overhead bin for my briefcase. As I pulled it down, I noticed the entire bag was soaked. Water was dripping off it. I frantically unzipped the bag. My clothes, documents, and especially the critical project files—the result of a week’s sleepless work—were saturated, plastered together. The signature lines and terms on my contract were blurred, the ink bleeding into an illegible mess. Before I could find a flight attendant, two security officers in uniform appeared. “Ms. Shaw, we have received a report that you are carrying a dangerous, unauthorized liquid that poses a serious safety risk. You need to come with us for questioning immediately.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389068”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“This place was designed by a big name, you know. Fully integrated smart home. I spent fifty grand on the renovation alone.” Brenda, my landlady, stood beside the Italian leather sofa I’d paid four thousand dollars for, spitting as she spoke. Across from her, a well-dressed young couple surveyed my living room, their eyes wide with admiration. “Brenda, this style is just fantastic,” the young woman gushed, running her hand lovingly over the quartz countertop of my kitchen island—a piece I’d had shipped from Italy. “The open-plan kitchen, this island… it’s exactly our aesthetic!” I sat in the corner on my ergonomic chair, watching the scene unfold with cold detachment. Brenda shot me a contemptuous glance. “Well, Leo, you heard them. I’ve sold the apartment.” “You have three days to pack your things and get out.” “As for the penalty for breaking the lease,” she added with a magnanimous sneer, “I’ll be generous and waive half a month’s rent.” I looked around the room, at the walls, the floors, the fixtures—every inch a product of my own sweat and money. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. You want to use my hard work as a bargaining chip to inflate your price? Fine. Just be ready for the consequences. 1 “Brenda, I’m trying to work,” I said, closing my laptop and standing up. “Bringing strangers into my apartment without permission? That’s trespassing, isn’t it?” She rolled her eyes, her fleshy cheeks jiggling. “Your apartment? The deed is in my name, buddy!” She turned back to the couple, her face instantly transforming into a sycophantic grin. “Don’t mind him. He’s just some broke nine-to-fiver who’s been renting for two years. Thinks he owns the place.” The man adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, giving me a look of pure disgust. “Brenda, we’re very serious about this offer. But it’s contingent on the apartment coming with all the renovations and appliances. And we need it vacant as soon as possible.” “Exactly,” his wife chimed in. “The design is what I fell in love with. We can’t afford to wait for a whole new renovation.” Brenda slapped her thigh, her smile wrinkling her face like a dried flower. “Don’t you worry! Not a problem!” “It’s all in the contract! The price includes all permanent fixtures and existing appliances!” “All he has is a few raggedy clothes and shoes. I guarantee you, in three days, he and his junk will be gone!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Includes all renovations and appliances?” I pointed to the minimalist linear chandelier hanging above us. “I bought that light. Three hundred and fifty dollars.” I gestured to the polished microcement floor beneath our feet. “I had this floor poured. Sixty bucks a square foot.” Finally, I pointed to the kitchen island they were so enamored with. “That was custom-made. Twenty-eight hundred dollars.” “Brenda,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You’re selling my property to make a profit. Did you ever think to ask me?” The couple froze, their eyes darting to Brenda. Her face went stiff, then flushed with rage. “Leo! Have you no shame?” she shrieked. “It’s installed in my house, so it’s mine! I should be thanking my lucky stars I’m not charging you for drilling holes in my walls, and you have the nerve to ask me for money?” “You were the one crying and begging me to let you change things! Did I force you?” “Trying to blackmail me now? Not a chance!” The male buyer frowned, clearly not wanting to get involved. “Brenda, about the ownership of these items…” “Oh, Mr. Sterling, don’t listen to his nonsense!” Brenda stamped her foot, shooting me a venomous look. “He’s just a lowlife trying to scam some money before he leaves!” “Rest assured, every last nail in this apartment belongs to me!” She planted her hands on her hips, her voice rising an octave. “So I’ll ask you one more time: are you moving out or not?” “If you don’t, I swear I’ll have my son and his friends come throw you out on the street tomorrow!” Seeing that smug, triumphant look on her face, I nodded slowly and pulled out my phone. “Fine.” “Since you’ve already sold it, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your business.” Brenda snorted, victorious. “Glad you see it my way.” “However,” I said, my tone shifting, “my lease isn’t up for another two years. Considering the rent increases in this area, plus my investment in the renovations…” “Don’t give me that crap!” Brenda cut me off. “The contract? It says right there the landlord has the right to reclaim the property!” “As for compensation, I already told you. Half a month’s rent. That’s seven hundred and fifty dollars. Take the money and get lost!” “This place is worth three hundred grand on the market right now, and I’m not taking a penny less. If you screw up this sale, you couldn’t afford to pay me back if I sold you into slavery!” The couple, seeing that I had “relented,” relaxed into smiles. The woman even started gesturing around the living room. “Honey, that painting is a bit tacky. We can replace it with a giclée print.” “And this rug, the color is too dark. An off-white one would be much better.” They were already planning their new life in my home. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to smash my phone across their smug faces. “Okay,” I said, looking directly at Brenda, my voice eerily calm. “Three days, you said? I’ll be out.” 2 After escorting the three plagues out, I surveyed the room. Two years ago, this place was infamous in the building as the “haunted house.” The previous tenant was a hoarder. The apartment was filled with trash, the walls were peeling with mold, and the wiring was a fire hazard. Brenda had been desperate, practically begging people to rent it. No one would touch it. I saw potential in the layout and high ceilings and signed a five-year lease. To secure the low rent and permission to renovate, I had a specific clause added to the contract: “Tenant has the right to conduct renovations and alterations to the premises at his own expense. Landlord shall not interfere.” But I never imagined human greed could sink to this level. I spent three solid months gutting the place—stripping the walls, rewiring the electrical, redoing the plumbing, waterproofing, and installing custom furniture. I transformed it from a literal dump into a minimalist studio that won a design award. All in, with materials and labor, I had invested over thirty thousand dollars. And now, that thirty grand had become, in Brenda’s words, the “exquisite renovation included with the apartment.” It was the capital she was using to sell the place for a fifty-thousand-dollar premium. And my reward? A “charitable” handout of seven hundred and fifty dollars. My phone buzzed. It was a voice message from Brenda. I pressed play, and her shrill voice blasted from the speaker. “Leo, I’m warning you! When you leave, you better make sure this place is spotless! If you dare to damage anything, even a single light switch, I’ll call the cops and have you arrested!” “Oh, and send me the code for the smart lock. The buyers are bringing their designer tomorrow to take measurements.” I let out a cold laugh and texted back two words: “No chance.” She replied instantly. “What’s that attitude? You think I won’t shut off your water and power right now? You’re not from around here, kid. You have no idea who you’re messing with! Just ask anyone in this building about Brenda!” You mean the infamous neighborhood shrew that everyone despises? I thought. I ignored her. I pulled out the renovation contracts from my desk drawer, along with every single receipt for building materials. They were all there. I had even saved the receipts for the drywall anchors. Then, I pulled out the lease agreement. My eyes fell on the addendum: “In the event of early termination by the Landlord, the Landlord must either compensate the Tenant for all renovation losses or permit the Tenant to remove and take all self-installed fixtures and improvements.” When we signed it, Brenda hadn’t even bothered to read it. She was too busy counting her money, laughing at me. “Remove them? What are you going to do, peel the paint off the walls and take it with you? Idiot.” Yeah. I was an idiot. I was an idiot for treating this place like a home. But even idiots have a breaking point. I picked up my phone and made a call. “Hey, Rocco? It’s Leo.” “Yeah, about that demolition job we talked about a while back.” “No, not a partial reno.” I looked around at the exquisite space I had created, a glint of steel in my eyes. “A full demolition.” “I want this place to look exactly like it did two years ago.” “No, actually. I want it to be cleaner than that.” 3 The next morning, I started packing my personal belongings. My computer, books, clothes—the easy stuff. The “big items” were the real challenge. Brenda showed up before 8 a.m., acting like a prison warden. She brought a folding stool and sat by the door, watching my every move, terrified I might take a single thread that “belonged” to her. “Hey, hey, hey! You can’t take that projector!” she shrieked, jumping up as I started to uninstall the ceiling-mounted projector. “That’s an appliance! I saw the listing! It was sold to Mr. Sterling!” I stood on the ladder, looking down at her. “The receipt is in my name. The warranty card is in my hand. You sold it to Mr. Sterling? Did you get permission from Epson?” Brenda’s face quivered with rage. “That’s bullshit! If it’s attached to the wall, it belongs to the apartment!” “If you dare take it, I’m keeping your security deposit!” “My deposit?” I laughed. “That fifteen hundred dollars? Keep it. Maybe it’ll be enough to buy you a nice coffin.” Then, right in front of her, I snipped the connecting wires and packed the projector into its padded case. Brenda screamed and lunged at me, trying to snatch it. “Thief! The tenant is robbing the landlord!” Her grating voice instantly attracted the attention of our neighbors, who poked their heads out into the hallway. Seeing she had an audience, Brenda immediately switched into drama-queen mode. She plopped down on the floor and started wailing, slapping her thighs. “Everyone, come and judge for yourselves! This outsider is bullying a poor old woman like me! He lived in my house, and now he’s trying to gut it bare! There’s no justice in this world!” The neighbors whispered amongst themselves, but most of their glances were filled with scorn. Everyone knew what Brenda was like. Mr. Henderson from across the hall shook his head and muttered, “Leo’s a good kid. He turned this dump into a palace. Looks like the old bat is up to her tricks again.” I ignored her performance. I walked straight to the entryway and uninstalled the three-hundred-dollar smart lock, revealing the dark, empty hole in the door. Then, I replaced it with the rusty, old-fashioned padlock I had saved from two years ago. “You! What are you doing?!” Brenda stopped her wailing and shot up from the floor. “You took the lock off! How are they supposed to view the apartment now?” “Here’s your key.” I tossed a single, rust-covered key at her feet. “This was the original lock. I’m returning it to you.” “As for the smart lock, sorry. I’m not a charity.” Brenda snatched the key, her whole body trembling with fury. “Fine! Just you wait, Leo!” “You take one lock today, and I’ll make you pay me back tenfold tomorrow!” She pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures of me furiously. “I’ve got it all on camera! This is evidence! Let’s see what you do when Mr. Sterling gets here!” Speak of the devil. Mr. Sterling, his wife, and a designer came up the stairs, all beaming with excitement. They stepped inside and stopped short, staring at the bare entryway. “The… where’s the lock?” Brenda immediately adopted a victimized expression, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Mr. Sterling! You’re just in time! This scoundrel took the lock off! And he’s trying to steal the projector!” “You have to stop him!” Mr. Sterling’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Young man, have some decency. We bought this apartment with the renovations included. By removing things, you’re damaging our property.” The designer chimed in, “Yes, the smart lock was integral to the overall aesthetic. Without it, the whole entryway is ruined.” I stared at this pack of self-righteous thieves, a sense of absurdity washing over me. “Your property?” I pulled the projector’s remote from a box and tossed it in my hand. “When you signed the contract, did you ever bother to ask who actually owned these things?” “You gave your money to the landlord, but you expect to take things from me for free?” “You want to keep them? Fine.” I pulled up a payment app on my phone. “Projector and screen, I’ll let them go for five hundred, considering depreciation. The smart lock, two hundred.” “Pay up, and they’re yours. Don’t pay, and shut up.” The woman shrieked, “Why should we?! We paid over three hundred thousand dollars for this apartment! Why should we have to give you more money?!” Mr. Sterling’s face darkened. “Brenda, is this what you meant by ‘turnkey’? If you can’t handle this tenant, we’re backing out of the deal!” The threat of losing the sale sent Brenda into a full-blown panic. She lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my shirt. “Leo! You’re really trying to ruin this for me, aren’t you?!” she screamed. “I’m telling you, you are leaving these things here today! Or you’re not walking out of this door!” I looked down at her pudgy hand clenched on my collar. The warmth in my eyes turned to ice. “Let go.” “I won’t! What are you gonna do about it? You gonna hit an old woman?” She tightened her grip, her other hand coming up to scratch at my face. I shoved her away. It wasn’t a hard push, but it was enough to send her stumbling back a few steps. “I’ll say this one last time,” I said, my voice low and steady. “These are my things.” “I will hand over the keys at 5 p.m. tomorrow.” “Until then, this is still my home.” “Now, I suggest all of you get out.” “Otherwise, I’m calling the police and reporting you for trespassing and harassment.” Maybe it was the cold fury in my eyes. Or maybe the word “police” finally got through to them. Brenda, muttering a stream of curses, retreated to the doorway with the buyers. Before leaving, she spat on the floor. “Fine! 5 p.m. tomorrow!” she snarled. “We’ll see what kind of magic tricks you can pull by then! If a single hair is out of place, I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth!” The door slammed shut. I took out my phone and called Rocco. “Rocco, change of plans.” “We’re not waiting until tomorrow.” “We’re doing it tonight.” “All night.” “I’ll pay extra.” 4 8 p.m. The senior citizens of the complex were in the square for their evening dance routines. A plain, unmarked panel van pulled up to the building. Rocco and five burly men, armed with heavy-duty tools, filed into my apartment. “Dude, you really want us to tear everything out?” Rocco asked, looking around at the beautifully finished space. He seemed hesitant to start. “These cabinets are solid wood. The finish on them is perfect.” I handed him a cigarette. “Tear it out.” “Just be careful not to damage the load-bearing walls.” “Everything else… what you can take, take. What you can’t…” I exhaled a puff of smoke. “Smash it.” “You got it,” Rocco said with a grin. He waved his hand. The symphony of destruction began—the whine of power drills, the crash of hammers, the splintering of wood filled the night. The first victim was the open-plan kitchen the buyers had adored. The expensive quartz countertop was pried up in one piece and packed away. The custom cabinets were dismantled one by one, revealing the original mold-stained walls behind them. The built-in dishwasher and oven were unplugged and removed. In less than an hour, the warm, inviting kitchen was transformed into a warzone of exposed pipes and empty holes. Next was the living room. The feature wall behind the TV, clad in elegant wood paneling that had cost me over a thousand dollars, was attacked with crowbars. With a sickening crack, the panels were ripped from the wall, exposing the wooden frame underneath. “The frame, too?” a worker asked. “Everything,” I said coldly. “Pull out every last nail.” I had argued with Brenda for three days just to get her permission to build that wall. Now, I was erasing it from existence. The microcement floor was the toughest part. Rocco brought in a professional industrial floor grinder. Amidst clouds of dust, the smooth, sophisticated layer of microcement was ground away, millimeter by millimeter. Beneath it lay the original concrete floor, pitted and scarred like the surface of the moon, with several alarming cracks running through it. The bathroom. The thermostatic shower system, worth over two hundred dollars. Gone. The smart toilet, four hundred. Gone. The custom-made fluted glass shower enclosure. Gone. Even the huge, anti-fog vanity mirror was carefully removed, leaving nothing but a few dark pipe openings weeping water onto the floor. Every light fixture was taken down. I replaced them with one-dollar incandescent bulbs I’d bought from the hardware store. We worked until 4 a.m. The entire apartment was unrecognizable. No, it was “renewed.” It had finally returned to its true self: an old, broken-down shithole. It was even worse than when I first moved in. At least then, there had been a layer of yellowed plaster on the walls. Now, even that was gone, scraped away to install soundproofing, revealing the raw red brick and concrete beneath. As I watched the construction debris being hauled away in bag after bag, as I stood in the empty, cavernous, and slightly sinister room, I felt no regret. Only a twisted, satisfying pleasure. They are my things. I can give them away, but you cannot take them from me. If you try to take them, I will destroy them first. Rocco wiped the sweat from his brow and gave me a thumbs-up. “Man, when your landlady sees this, she’s gonna have a stroke.” I smiled and transferred his payment. “Thanks for the hard work, guys.” “Did you get all the trash out?” “Don’t worry. Spotless. Not a scrap left.” I nodded. “Good.” I took out my phone and snapped a panoramic photo. The picture showed nothing but exposed brick, rough concrete floors, a single dangling lightbulb, and a lonely, rust-stained drainpipe in the corner. I posted it to my social media with a caption: “The landlord wanted to sell the place fully furnished for a premium. I obliged.” “Factory settings. As is.” I made the post invisible to Brenda. A surprise is best saved for the last moment. 5 4:55 p.m. I sat on my single suitcase, the rusty key clutched in my hand. The apartment was empty. So empty that my own breathing echoed.

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While waiting for my husband in the parking garage, I stumbled upon a viral post on a local online forum. The title was: “What do you do when your wife is too clingy?” Amidst a sea of syrupy sweet humblebrags, one comment from a female user caught my eye. “Easy, you play the incompetent card! My childhood sweetheart was forced to marry someone he didn’t love. I gave him an idea: for five years, he pretended to be pathologically directionally challenged.” “Then, when his wife got pregnant, he secretly mixed lubricant into her shower gel. She slipped and fell. On the way to the hospital, he pretended to get lost again, deliberately driving in circles on the outskirts of town. She miscarried and is now permanently infertile.” “Today is his wife’s tenure review day. He’s insisting on driving her, but it’s just another act. He’s going to ‘get lost’ to make her miss it, so I can get the position instead.” “Once she fails her review, he’ll persuade her to quit her job, turn her into a helpless housewife, and then kick her to the curb.” The chilling familiarity of the story sent a tremor through me. Before I could process it, my husband’s voice, thick with guilt, sounded beside me. “Ava, honey, I think… I’m lost. We’re not going to be late for your tenure review, are we?” I turned my head and met Kevin’s gaze, his eyes a murky, unreadable pool. “The review starts in ten minutes. I’m not going to make it.” Kevin squeezed my hand, his face a mask of apology. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I swear I went over the route a dozen times this morning. The GPS didn’t even say I took a wrong turn.” He sighed dramatically. “Maybe it’s a sign from the universe. A sign that the world is just as heartbroken as we are about the baby we lost. Maybe this is its way of telling us to focus on our family.” His words echoed the forum post, each syllable a hammer blow against my heart. He’d faked it for five years. He’d made me lose our child on purpose. And now, he was trying to manipulate me into quitting my job, to make me dependent and useless, just so he could discard me. A faint, cold smile touched my lips. “You’re right. In that case, you should quit your job today. We can stay home and work on our relationship.” Kevin choked, speechless. After a long silence, he let out a soft sigh. “Ava, you’re still angry with me about the baby, aren’t you?” “He was my child, too. It broke my heart.” “You’ve always known I get lost easily. When it happened, you should have called 911 yourself instead of waiting for me to drive you!” His complaint was so absurd I almost laughed. He claimed to be directionally challenged. That’s why a twenty-minute drive from his office to our home would take him four or five hours. Sometimes, he’d just text and say he was sleeping at the office. Yet Chloe’s apartment, nearly an hour from his work, was a drive he could make in thirty minutes flat. Dates with me were always prefaced by hours of waiting because he’d “gotten lost.” But a single call from Chloe, and he could cross mountains and rivers to be by her side in an instant. I can’t count the number of times I screamed at him for it. But every single fight ended with me apologizing. Torn between rage and the fear of losing our ten-year history, I was trapped in a cycle of madness and remorse. When I finally got pregnant, the thought of leaving him vanished completely. I thought if I just loved him a little more, one day he would see my worth. He would change. We could still be a happy family. Until one month ago, when his “getting lost” made me miss the critical window for medical intervention. I had wanted that baby for five years. And in the end, I couldn’t protect him. In a twisted way, maybe it was for the best. At least now, he could be reborn to parents who would truly love him. Hearing my hollow agreement, Kevin’s expression shifted. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang—the custom ringtone I knew belonged to Chloe. He answered, and her ecstatic voice flooded the car. “Kevin! I got the professorship! Come pick me up from the university later. We have to celebrate tonight!” Kevin’s eyes flickered toward me. I smiled. “Go ahead. I’ll get a cab.” I got out of the car without a second thought. I could feel his gaze on my back, but I didn’t turn around. The moment I got home, a text from him arrived. I’ll be home early tonight. Please wait for me. We need to talk. I didn’t know what he wanted to say. But I knew one thing: he wouldn’t be coming home. As expected, he didn’t. I was used to it. Before Chloe moved back, Kevin and I had been happy. Back then, he hadn’t yet developed his “pathological directional disorder.” He would take me to trendy spots every weekend for photoshoots, and we’d explore food stalls, trying everything I wanted. He knew I loved fairytales, so he proposed at Disneyland. In front of a cheering crowd, he got down on one knee. “Ava,” he’d shouted, his voice thick with emotion, “this city is full of lights and noise, but without you, it’s empty. A place without you isn’t a home. Will you give me a home?” I’d said yes without hesitation. He’d spun me around, swearing to the world, “I, Kevin, will love only Ava for the rest of my life. I will take care of her and only her. I hope Ava will be mine forever.” How could I have known that his “forever” would only last a few short years? I knew he had a childhood sweetheart before we got married. He told me Chloe had settled abroad and would probably never come back. He said she was just like a little sister to him. But shortly after our wedding, she suddenly returned. With Kevin’s help, she became my colleague at the university. And just as suddenly, Kevin forgot the way home. When I confronted him, he turned it on me. “You think I want to be like this? It’s because you’re always picking fights, keeping me on edge! It’s caused this rare neurological condition!” “Chloe needed help finding a job. Of course I was going to help her.” “Ava, for God’s sake, you’re a university lecturer. Can’t you be less insecure? Is it so impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic friendship?” “Just because you didn’t have a childhood best friend doesn’t mean I can’t have one!” “If I had known you were this jealous, I never would have married you.” If I had just walked away the first time he said those things, maybe none of this would have happened. But there are no do-overs in life. It’s for the best. After being hurt time and time again, letting go doesn’t feel like tearing my own heart out anymore. Now, I was just weaning myself off him, waiting for the right moment to cut the cord. I just didn’t expect that moment to arrive so soon. I was in the middle of a lecture when a swarm of reporters burst into my classroom, cameras flashing in my face. “Are you Professor Ava Ross?” one of them shouted. I frowned. “Who are you? I’m in the middle of a class. Please leave immediately!” They didn’t move. Instead, they shoved their microphones in my face. “Professor Ross, do you have any comment on the allegations of academic fraud and plagiarism?” “Did you deliberately skip the tenure review because you had something to hide?” “Do your students know their esteemed professor is a fraud?” For a second, I thought I was mishearing them. But the suspicious looks from my students told me it was real. I stared at the hostile faces of the press. “I have never committed academic fraud!” I declared, my voice ringing with conviction. “And I have never plagiarized anyone’s work! If you continue to spread these lies, I will sue you for defamation!” As my words faded, a snide laugh came from the crowd. “Professor, give it up. Your own husband has already issued a public apology on your behalf!” That paper… I had spent six months of my life on it, poring over countless sources. Kevin knew. He knew how much it meant to me. I called him frantically, desperate for an explanation, but he didn’t pick up. Just like that, I was suspended from my duties. Kevin finally came home that evening. The second he walked through the door, I slapped him. The sound cracked through the silent apartment. “Kevin, I already gave up the professorship for Chloe. Why would you help her frame me like this? Why are you doing this to me?!” His head snapped to the side. To my surprise, he wasn’t angry. He slowly ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek and chuckled. “Ava, I knew it. All that understanding and grace you’ve been showing lately… it was all an act.” “See? All it took was a little push, and the real you came out.” I stared at him, my eyes red, my heart pounding with disbelief. “So you ruined my career… just to prove a point? Kevin, you’re insane!” He shook his head. “Not just for that.” “Chloe just made professor. She needs a high-quality publication to solidify her position. Your paper was perfect.” “Don’t look at me like that. You should be flattered I found your work worthy. I know this is a little hard on you, but don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you in time.” “Besides,” he added with a chillingly casual air, “you just had a miscarriage. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take some time off and rest.” I was shaking with a rage so profound it left me speechless. He, on the other hand, started humming a cheerful tune as he walked into the bedroom. A moment later, I heard his voice, soft and gentle. “Chloe, don’t worry. I’ve handled Ava. She won’t cause you any trouble.” “You just focus on preparing for the international symposium next week.” “I promise, as long as I’m here, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Hearing the tenderness in his voice, a cold, hard hatred began to bloom in my chest. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Chloe. [Ava, that paper of yours is really well-written. Thanks!] [The paper, the professorship, Kevin himself… if I want something, you’ll never be able to compete.] [So, if you have any self-respect left, you’ll just disappear. Don’t wait until you’ve lost absolutely everything.] That was it. The last thread of my sanity snapped.

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1 I was born with a weak heart. The doctors said I wouldn’t live to see eighteen. When I was ten, my parents brought home a blind girl they said was my twin sister. Our family doted on me, lavishing me with affection, but they were always cold to my sister. Everyone whispered that Hope existed for one reason: to give me her heart. So I poured all my love into this girl who looked just like me, trying to soothe the guilt that clawed at my soul. Then came my eighteenth birthday. I lay on the operating table, ready. But it wasn’t my heart they took. It was my corneas. And then I died. And my sister, Hope, received the gift of sight. … The moment the heart monitor let out its long, final scream, I thought my life had ended right there. A torrent of memories flooded my mind, finally settling on the instant I first opened the door and saw Hope. The day she arrived, I was curled up on the huge cashmere sofa in the living room, sipping my expensive imported medication. The door swung open, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and a world I’d never known. She stood in the doorway, a slip of a girl, dark and thin like a wild weed. Her clothes were worn, her small hands clutching a tattered canvas bag. Her eyes were a cloudy gray. Just like mine, and yet, completely different. “This is your sister, Hope,” Mom said. Her voice was flat. She didn’t reach out to touch her. Hope said nothing, her head bowed. It didn’t take me long to realize that Mom didn’t seem to like this new sister. Looking at this child, a mirror image of myself, a strange ache settled deep in my chest. From that day on, I gave her everything I had. New dresses, imported chocolates, my favorite porcelain doll. She was given the small, north-facing room, while I kept the large, sunny one. At dinner, the family would circle me, laughing and piling my plate with the best cuts of meat. When it came to Hope, Mom would just say, “She can get it herself.” Her tone was clipped, dismissive. I knew they cherished me. All because of my heart. The fact that I wouldn’t live past eighteen was my deepest secret. When I was ten, my parents brought Hope home, my blind twin sister. They said she was a gift from God. Everyone told me, in hushed tones, that Hope’s very existence was meant to keep me alive. I believed them. So I tried desperately to be good to her. I wanted to make up for it, to give her everything I had to give. Jane, our housekeeper, used to mutter behind her hand, “Miss Ava is the treasure, Miss Hope is the weed.” I heard her. It only made me give Hope more. One afternoon, I took her by the hand and led her on a tour of the house. “The curtains,” I murmured, guiding her fingers. “Velvet.” “A vase. Glass. It’s cool to the touch.” I helped her find the piano keys. A single, jarring note sprang out. She flinched, then, her curiosity piqued, she reached out again. Later, we sat on the plush rug in my room, bathed in the warm afternoon sun. I don’t know why, but I took her hand and gently pressed it against the left side of my chest. “Hope, feel this,” I said with a smile. “That’s a heartbeat.” Her small, cool hand rested there, perfectly still. After a moment, she took my hand and placed it over her own chest. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. A steady, powerful rhythm. Nothing like the fragile fluttering in my own chest. I froze. We shared the same blood, the same face. Our hearts even seemed to beat in the same rhythm. But mine was dying. And hers, so strong and full of life, was trapped in a world of darkness. I squeezed her hand, a sharp, sudden pain twisting in my gut. Those words that had echoed in my mind for years—Hope’s existence is meant to keep you alive—suddenly felt like a shard of glass, digging into me. In that moment, my resolve wavered. Was all my kindness, all my “goodness,” an act of salvation, or was it a slow, deliberate act of… murder? 2 The memories blurred into a swirling darkness, and through the chaos, I thought I heard voices. “It’s done,” a man’s calm voice said, laced with post-surgical fatigue. “A complete success,” another replied. The doctors. So… the surgery worked! I was alive! Hope’s heart was beating in my chest. The realization almost brought me to tears. But a split second later, a tidal wave of guilt crashed over me. Hope… it was Hope, the quiet girl who always followed me, the girl with the healthy heart, who had given it to me. What about her? Was she okay? I fought with every ounce of my consciousness to open my eyes, to get one last look at her on the operating table next to mine. But my eyelids felt like they were sealed shut, heavy and immovable. There was only darkness, and the voices, growing clearer. “Finally, we can breathe again.” That was Mom’s voice, from just outside the operating room door. “Yes,” Dad replied after a pause. “Eight years. It wasn’t for nothing.” A faint tremor went through me. Eight years… were they waiting for me to be saved? They must have been in agony all this time. Now, they could finally relax. I struggled to rise, focusing my will against the oppressive darkness. Light flooded in. I instinctively turned my head to the other operating table. Hope was lying there peacefully, her eyes wrapped in gauze, but her chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She… she was alive! Thank God, we both made it. A wave of bewildered relief washed over me. The doctors must have found another donor heart at the last minute. Heaven had smiled on us after all. “Hope…” I whispered, stumbling out of bed and moving towards her, needing to tell her I was sorry. I reached out, but my fingertips passed straight through the back of her hand, which was resting on the edge of the bed. No warmth. No substance. I looked down at my own hands, which had become faint and translucent, and finally understood. Turning back, I saw the operating table I had just left. A white sheet had been pulled over it, outlining the still form of a human body. I drifted closer and gently lifted the corner of the sheet. The “me” underneath had her eyes covered with clean white gauze, as if she were merely asleep. So… I didn’t make it through the surgery after all. I looked at my transparent hands, then at the bandages over Hope’s eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Mom and Dad loved me so much, they would never… But that phrase, “Eight years, it wasn’t for nothing,” now echoed in my mind with a chilling new meaning. The doors to the operating room swung open and a team of nurses came in, expertly maneuvering Hope’s gurney out into the hallway. I followed them, a silent, invisible shadow. My parents were waiting right outside. They rushed forward. Mom gently brushed the hair from Hope’s forehead. Dad leaned in, his voice low as he asked the doctor, “Will she… will she be able to see soon?” “The surgery was a complete success. Once she recovers, her vision will be perfectly restored.” Their faces broke into smiles of pure, unadulterated relief, the likes of which I had never seen in all my years. It was as if losing one daughter was a cause for celebration. My parents walked alongside the gurney, disappearing down the long, bright hospital corridor. Not once did either of them look back. I stood alone in the empty hallway, watching their silhouettes fade into the light. A pang of sadness hit me, but I was happy for them, too. Hope could finally see. It wouldn’t do to have my body around on such a joyous day. It would only bring bad luck. They could finally start a new life. No more worrying about their sickly daughter, no more anxiously counting down the days. A moment later, an orderly came in and turned the gurney holding my body in the other direction. “So young. Such a shame.” “I heard she donated her corneas to her sister.” The wheels of the gurney hummed softly as they rolled down the cold, sterile hallway, heading for the morgue. I see now. I wasn’t the one who received a heart. I was the one who gave my eyes. My death, in exchange for Hope’s light. 3 When I floated into the hospital room, Mom was gently dabbing Hope’s lips with a moistened cotton swab. Dad stood by the bed, his gaze locked on the gauze over Hope’s eyes. He had a look of intense focus I thought I recognized, but now realized I had never truly received. He was rarely home when I was growing up, and when he was, he usually kept to his study. He gave me anything I asked for; whatever I wanted would appear at my bedside the next day. I used to think he was just a serious man, that men didn’t know how to express their love. Because whenever he looked at me, there was always a subtle, impenetrable distance in his eyes. Now, watching him look at Hope, that distance was gone. A few days later, the bandages came off. Hope blinked, her new eyes adjusting to the light, and whispered, “Dad.” Just that one word, and my father’s eyes welled up with tears. He pulled her into a fierce hug, his shoulders trembling slightly. I had called him ‘Dad’ countless times. All I ever got in return was a restrained, polite smile. It wasn’t that he was incapable of emotion; he just wasn’t capable of feeling it for me. Back home, there was no memorial, not even a photograph. The family portrait above the fireplace was gone. The clay mugs I’d made for them, the slippers I’d bought—vanished. Every trace of my existence had been scrubbed away with a chilling, heartbreaking efficiency. Maybe it was for the best. This way, they wouldn’t have to look at my things and feel sad. People have to move on. “Welcome home.” Dad took Hope’s hand, his voice softer and warmer than I had ever heard it. He led her through every room, as if she were the true mistress of the house, finally returning. They stopped at the door to my old bedroom. It was completely empty. The walls were a stark, clinical white, freshly painted. “We’ll make this your art studio,” Mom said, her voice bright with anticipation. “You mentioned you wanted to learn how to paint.” Hope nodded softly. I remembered when Hope had first expressed an interest in painting. Mom had shut her down instantly, claiming there were “no spare rooms.” It wasn’t a lie, I realized. They were just waiting. Waiting for me to be gone. Waiting for Hope to see. But why would a blind girl be so obsessed with painting? The question surfaced, and I quickly pushed it down. She could see now. It was only natural she’d want to learn. As Mom gently stroked Hope’s hair, a hazy, fragmented memory flickered in my mind. It felt like a lifetime ago. Mom, stroking my hair just like that, humming a lullaby. But the name she was murmuring wasn’t Ava. What was it? A softer sound… something like… Grace? I shook my head, my spirit wavering. It had to be a hallucination. My name had always been Ava. Dad said they chose it hoping I would forget my illness and grow up healthy. Dad brought over a large art book and sat down beside Hope. “Look,” he said, his finger tracing over a page. “These are Monet’s Water Lilies. See how beautiful the colors are?” His eyes were full of a gentle adoration. I suddenly remembered the art book he’d given me for my last birthday. It was still sitting on the highest shelf of my bookcase, the wrapping untouched. “You have a weak constitution, Ava,” he’d said at the time. “You shouldn’t strain your eyes with things like this.” Looking back, he was right. A broken body like mine shouldn’t have dared to dream of such things. Hope looked up at him and asked quietly, “Would… would my sister have liked these paintings?” The air in the room instantly froze. The smiles on my parents’ faces hardened. “Don’t talk about her.” Mom’s voice was a whisper, but it landed like a hammer blow on my heart. “Your sister…” Dad began, then trailed off. He simply patted Hope’s head. “The most important thing right now is for your eyes to heal properly.” My heart ached, but I quickly pushed the feeling away. They were just worried that talking about me would upset Hope. Her recovery was fragile; she didn’t need any emotional distress. I watched the three of them sitting together in the sunlight, a perfect picture of family harmony. This was good. Hope could see, and my parents were finally free from the burden of caring for me. My sacrifice had been worth it. I just didn’t understand why my chest still hurt. My heart wasn’t even beating anymore. 4 I lingered in the house I had known for eighteen years, a ghost watching my former family build a new life without me. A noise from the living room drew my attention. I floated over to see Dad taping an eye chart to the wall. “Alright, Hope, let’s see how far down you can read,” he said, his voice brimming with hopeful encouragement. Mom stood nearby, her hands clasped together in nervous anticipation. Hope stepped forward and, without hesitation, read off the smallest line of symbols. “Oh, thank God!” Mom cried, pulling her into a tight embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “You can see clearly, you can see…” Dad’s face relaxed into a wide, relieved smile as he gently patted Hope’s back. I hovered in place, stunned. I remembered last year after my school physical, I’d proudly shown Dad my vision test results—perfect 20/20 vision. He’d barely glanced at it. “Protect your eyes,” he’d said dismissively. “Stop staring at your phone so much.” At the time, I thought he just wasn’t the type to give praise. But now, looking at him with Hope, I saw a completely different man. After dinner, Mom brought out a brand-new photo album. “Let’s sort through the old photos, Hope,” she said, her voice light and cheerful, full of the promise of a fresh start. “We need to make room for all the new memories we’re going to make.” I drifted closer to look. In the thick family album, every single photograph that had included me had been removed. The empty, plastic-covered slots were like gaping wounds, a silent mockery of my eighteen years of life. Nearby, Dad was clearing out the bookshelf. He stacked all my textbooks, my novels, even my award-winning essays into a pile, ready to be sold as scrap paper. He didn’t hesitate for a second. My academic awards were still tacked to the study wall. He reached up, ripped them down in one swift motion, crumpled them into a ball, and tossed them into a cardboard box at his feet. He moved with the casual efficiency of someone cleaning out old junk. Among them was my first-ever drawing from kindergarten. A crayon portrait of the three of us. I remember Dad had praised it, even had it framed. Now, it was just another piece of trash. Every single piece of evidence that I had ever existed was being systematically and ruthlessly erased. Except for one thing. A locked drawer in the study desk, a drawer that had remained shut for as long as I could remember, was left untouched. I stood right beside my father, watching him. He felt nothing. As he reached for the top shelf, a dusty, unfamiliar photo album I’d never seen before slipped and fell to the floor. It flipped open to a page with pictures of two babies in identical christening gowns. Underneath each photo, a name was written in elegant cursive. One read: “Grace, 100 Days.” The other: “Lily, 100 Days.” I stared at the names, frozen. Grace? Lily? The unfamiliar names sent a strange, sharp pang through me. Dad walked over, picked up the album without a second glance, and tossed it into the box of discards. “Just some useless old photos,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. Later, Mom went to the kitchen to prepare Hope’s bedtime milk. She opened the highest cabinet and took down the familiar white bottle—the “imported heart medication” I had taken for eight years straight. “Does she still need to take this?” Dad asked, walking into the kitchen. “The doctor said to continue for a while longer to be safe.” Mom expertly crushed two pills into a fine powder and stirred them into the warm milk. “It’s good for her eyes’ recovery.” I was paralyzed. Good for her eyes? As Mom carried the glass of milk out of the kitchen, a curled corner of the label on the pill bottle snagged and peeled away, fluttering to the floor. I instinctively floated closer, my non-existent heart freezing as I read the original name hidden beneath the fake one. Corneal Preservation Solution. And in smaller print: For maintaining corneal viability and preventing tissue necrosis. The weight of the truth was so immense it felt like it could crush my very soul. For eight years, the pills I’d taken every single day weren’t to keep me alive. They were to keep my eyes perfectly preserved for someone else.

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The night before my wedding, I was scrolling through my phone in the hospital when a post with thousands of likes caught my eye. [The boyfriend I stole is getting married, but I’m not the bride.] Every word dripped with smug satisfaction. [So what if I’m the other woman? His body, his heart, his money… aren’t they all mine?] [It only took a little trick to destroy their relationship. He never loved the bride. He’s only marrying her for revenge!] The comment section was a firestorm of outrage and condemnation. Some morbid curiosity I couldn’t explain made me click on her profile. My fingers froze. The “stolen boyfriend” she was gloating about was Andrew Harrison. The man I was supposed to marry tomorrow. My mother’s hand, as fragile as dried leaves, gripped mine. Her voice trembled. “Don’t throw your life away for me, Amelia…” I looked at her pale, worn-out face and shook my head. “Marrying him or marrying a stranger—what’s the difference?” At least he had money. Enough to pay for my mother’s astronomical medical bills. Twelve years of us had become nothing more than a slow accumulation of disappointment. There was no love left. From now on, when I looked at him, I would feel nothing at all. 1 At the wedding, I was a puppet on a string, moving through the ceremony as the officiant dictated. Then came the exchange of rings. A shrill female voice cut through the reverent hush. “Wait!” Sienna strutted forward, linking her arm with Andrew’s. She pouted, her voice a saccharine whine. “Andrew, darling, I want to be your bride. Right now. Please?” Her gaze, dripping with challenge, flicked over to me. Andrew’s face was a blank mask as he looked at me. His voice was cold, leaving no room for argument. “It’s just a ceremony. Give it to her.” The eyes of every guest in the room pricked my skin like a thousand tiny needles. My hands clenched the fabric of my wedding dress, knuckles turning white. I pressed my lips together, a silent, stubborn refusal. It was the only shred of dignity I had left to defend. With his permission, Sienna reached out to rip the dress from my body. I shoved her back on instinct. She stumbled and collapsed to the floor, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Andrew, look at her…” Andrew rushed to her side, helping her up with a tenderness that twisted my gut. He turned to me, his voice a furious snarl. “I’ll only say this once. Take it off yourself, or my security will do it for you.” I looked up, about to beg him to leave me with some semblance of pride. But the raw disgust in his eyes silenced me. The words died in my throat. Before I could process it, the guards were on me, tearing the delicate lace of my gown from my body. I was left in my slip, a flimsy piece of silk that did nothing to ward off the bone-deep chill that had settled over me. A collective gasp went through the crowd, but no one dared to speak. I curled into a ball in the corner, hugging my trembling body. I watched, numb, as Andrew slid the wedding ring onto Sienna’s finger. When the ceremony was finally over, Andrew scowled and tossed his suit jacket at me. “Cover yourself up. You’re an embarrassment.” Sienna clung to his arm, her voice sickly sweet. “Andrew, we haven’t had our wedding night yet…” Her eyes glinted with malice. “Once you’re married, it’ll be so much harder for us to see each other.” “Why don’t we have her record it for us? As a little memento. What do you say?” A tremor went through me. I reached out and tugged lightly on the corner of his sleeve, my voice barely a whisper. “Can… can I not?” He ripped his arm away, his laugh a cold, cruel sound. “Know your place, Amelia. You think you have the right to refuse?” “Your father killed my mother. You’ll be paying for his sins for the rest of your life. And this is just the beginning.” “Unless,” he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, “you’ve decided you don’t care if your mother lives or dies.” My body went rigid. I followed them, my feet moving on their own. In front of the camera, bodies tangled in a display of raw, performative lust. My hand, holding the phone, wouldn’t stop shaking. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I gripped the edge of a table, trying to stifle the dry heaves. Sienna heard me. She glared over Andrew’s shoulder, her voice sharp with annoyance. “Ugh, what’s wrong with your wife? She’s ruining the mood.” Andrew grabbed a pillow and hurled it at my head. “You can’t do one simple thing right? Get the hell out!” I dropped the phone and fled, practically tripping over my own feet. It wasn’t until I slammed the front door of our empty house behind me that the tension finally left my body. Then, a sudden thought struck me. My hands trembling, I pulled up my latest medical report on my phone. Unsurprisingly, I was pregnant. I placed a hand gently over my stomach. The grief I had been bottling up for so long suddenly burst forth. Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the back of my hand. I grabbed a bottle of red wine and started chugging it straight from the bottle. It didn’t matter. No one cared about this child anyway. I sank into a hot bath, drinking and crying until my throat was raw and the world began to blur, a hazy mix of alcohol and steam. In the fog, I thought I saw Andrew’s face, etched with panic. He was lifting my soaked body from the water, his voice shaking. “Amelia! Are you insane?! You’re burning up and you’re drinking in a hot bath!” 2 A strange warmth spread from the chest pressed against mine, and I found myself leaning into it. When I opened my eyes again, Andrew was asleep in a chair by the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress. My fingers twitched, almost reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. But a familiar ringtone, Sienna’s ringtone, shattered the silence. I snatched my hand back. He woke instantly, rubbing his temples as he answered the phone. “Take care of her. I’m on my way.” When he hung up, his face was a mask of pure anxiety. It was only then that he seemed to notice I was awake. He shot me a look of pure contempt. “Don’t think playing the victim is going to make me give a damn about you. Stop with the pathetic games.” He didn’t spare me another glance. He grabbed his coat and was gone. A few minutes later, my phone rang. An unknown number. The voice on the other end was frantic, choked with tears. “Mrs. Harrison! Something’s happened to Andrew! You have to come to the Obsidian Lounge, now!” My heart plummeted. Andrew, always so cool and in control—what could have possibly happened to him? A thousand terrible scenarios flashed through my mind in the span of a few seconds. The moment I hung up, I had ripped the IV from my arm and was running out of the hospital. I was frantic, urging the cab driver to go faster, to break every speed limit. I stumbled on the curb, scraping my knee, blood seeping through my pants. I burst through the door of the private room at the lounge, panting for breath, only to be met with the sight of Andrew and Sienna locked in a passionate kiss. The room erupted with laughter. “Sienna, you were right! She got here before you even finished! What a pathetic lapdog!” My head was spinning. The world went blank. I couldn’t tell which hurt more—the throbbing in my knee or the gaping emptiness in my chest. My expression turned to ice, but no one noticed. No one cared. Andrew’s eyes flickered to the blood on my knee. He made a sound of annoyance, a sharp “Tsk.” Sienna snuggled against his chest, smirking at me. “Look who it is. The rapist’s daughter, finally showing up.” That one sentence shattered my last ounce of control. I lunged forward and slapped her across the face, my voice a raw scream. “My father is not a rapist!” Andrew shoved me, hard. I fell to the floor, the impact jarring my bones. The fury in his eyes was staggering. I remembered a time when those same eyes had been filled with nothing but my reflection. He was the new kid in our senior year of high school. I fell for him instantly. When the other kids called him a “bastard,” I was always the first to jump to his defense. “He is not! He’s the best person in the world!” I’d turn around and see his eyes, red-rimmed and vulnerable, before he’d quickly look away. We fell into a rhythm. I protected him at school; he walked me home after. Until the day a group of thugs cornered us, their hands grabbing at me. He didn’t hesitate. He launched himself at them, but they overpowered him, pinning him to the ground and beating him mercilessly. I held up my phone and screamed, “I’ve already called the police!” They scattered. That night, we got together. He swore to me, his eyes still red, “I’ll get stronger. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” And he did. He clawed his way up from being the illegitimate son to the CEO of Harrison Holdings. He took the hardest road imaginable. But on the very day he took control of the company, his mother fell from the balcony of their home and died. And my father was found sitting, catatonic, amidst the wreckage. My father pleaded his innocence. “It wasn’t me… I swear I didn’t do anything…” But Andrew was convinced he was the murderer. He branded my father a rapist and used every tool at his disposal to send him to prison. “Apologize!” Andrew’s roar brought me back to the present. “Why should I?” I sobbed, my heart breaking all over again. His face was devoid of emotion as he pulled up a live feed from the hospital on his phone. “Have you forgotten about your mother?” 3 The sight of my mother’s frail form on the monitor made my heart leap into my throat. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, then scrambled forward, grabbing Andrew’s wrist. “Don’t touch her… please.” His voice was colder than ice. “You know what you have to do.” A shiver wracked my body. I slowly let go of his arm, stood up, and bowed to Sienna. A full ninety-degree bow. “I’m sorry.” Sienna crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her lips. “That didn’t seem very sincere, Amelia.” I looked at Andrew’s stony expression and understood immediately. I raised my hand and slapped myself across the face. Hard. Ten times. Each slap was louder, sharper than the last. When I was done, I lifted my swollen, red face and looked at Andrew, my voice devoid of emotion. “Is that enough?” His eyes flickered to the blood trickling from the corner of my lip. For a split second, I saw a flash of pain in his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Stop with the pathetic act, Amelia. It’s disgusting.” Sienna, ever perceptive, noticed his momentary weakness. She grabbed a row of liquor bottles from the floor and slammed them on the table, her smile malicious. “Drink every last one of these, and we’ll call it even.” Eight bottles of hard liquor gleamed under the dim lights. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. I clenched my jaw, picked up a bottle, and began to drink. The alcohol burned its way down my throat, a searing pain that felt like it was scorching my insides. Liquid sloshed down my chin, soaking the front of my shirt, making the fabric cling to my skin. The men in the room started whistling and cheering. “Whoa, look at that body!” “If you’re not interested, Andrew, why not share her with the rest of us?” They were practically rubbing their hands together, their leering eyes crawling all over me. A man with bleached blond hair grabbed my wrist just as I finished the first bottle. I was gasping for breath, the burn in my stomach rising to my chest, making it hard to breathe. “That’s enough!” Andrew roared, flipping the table over with a sudden, violent motion. Glass shattered, and amber liquid spread across the floor like a pool of tears. The room went silent. You could hear a pin drop. I looked into his eyes, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, then down at the mess on the floor. A numb smile touched my lips. “Well, since the alcohol is gone, I suppose I can leave now?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and walked out. The second I stepped outside the lounge, a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. “Have you no self-respect, Amelia?!” Andrew’s chest was heaving, a vein throbbing in his temple. “They treated you like that, and you didn’t even fight back?!” I tilted my head back, a cold, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Fight back? And then what? Earn myself an even worse beating?” His lips parted, as if to say something, but he was cut off by a frantic shout from behind him. “Andrew, it’s Sienna! She slit her wrists!” He let go of me without a second thought and sprinted back inside. He didn’t look back. He didn’t see the cold sweat beading on my forehead. A tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. I leaned against the wall, trying to stay upright, but the world was fading to black. I slid to the ground. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. A nurse told me a passerby had brought me in. I wanted to thank them, but they were long gone. Just then, the hospital phone rang. “We’re very sorry to inform you that your mother… passed away five minutes ago.” “How…” My voice shattered. There was a pause on the other end. “The patient removed her own breathing tube. We… we did everything we could.” I didn’t understand. My mother had been fighting so hard. Why would she suddenly give up? Until I pulled up the security footage from her room. Ten minutes before she pulled the tube, a figure had pushed open her door.

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It wasn’t until Chloe, the scholarship student, showed up that I realized I was just a placeholder princess. But my father didn’t know that. So, at a business gala, he announced loudly, “Anya, tell Daddy who you like. Bring him over, and I’ll welcome my new son-in-law today!” The entire ballroom turned to look at the three wealthy heirs who had once been my closest friends, my protectors. But the three of them acted as if they hadn’t heard a thing. One was feeding Chloe a piece of cake. Another was making her laugh. The third was watching her with an expression of pure, tender adoration. The silence was thick with awkwardness. My father’s face stiffened. “Dad,” I said quickly, “my boyfriend is studying abroad. I’ll bring him to meet you when he’s back.” The three of them shot me a look of pure scorn. I knew they didn’t believe me. They thought I was just trying to save face. But the truth was, I really did have a boyfriend. 1 The next time I visited their homes, it was to deliver my wedding invitations. I was having tea with Mrs. Hayes when Liam, her son, came downstairs. “Liam, darling,” she called out. “We were just talking about Anya’s wedding—” Liam, every inch the domineering CEO, shot me a glare. “Anya, who said anything about marrying you? Don’t use my mother to pressure me. I’ve told you I’m not interested. Get it through your head.” He stormed out of the house without another word. Mrs. Hayes sighed. “That boy only ever hears half of a conversation. Who said you were marrying him?” She looked at me apologetically. “Anya, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into Liam. He used to adore you. He and the other two were always fighting over who could be nicer to you. I used to think he’d have to fight them off if he wanted to be my son-in-law, but now…” I just smiled and shook my head. “It’s fine. You can’t force a connection that isn’t there. Well, I should get going.” “Of course, dear. We’ll be at your wedding.” 2 From the Hayes’ estate, I went to the Thorne residence. As the maid was showing me in, Ethan was just ending a call. The moment he saw me, a smirk touched his lips. “Liam just called,” he said, walking towards me. “Said you tried to force a marriage proposal at his house and now you’re trying your luck with me?” He put on his usual mask of gentle civility. “Anya, I thought we made it clear at the gala. We’re not interested in you. We’re not going to marry you. You should stop this.” I just smiled and nodded. “Which is why I’m here to deliver my wedding invitation.” He froze for a second, then that mocking smile returned. “Let me guess. You’re pulling the same stunt your father did, hoping to corner one of us at the altar so we’ll have to play along to avoid a scene? Anya, haven’t you learned your lesson? We don’t like you. And we won’t do anything that might make Chloe misunderstand. You won’t be able to invent another fake boyfriend to save yourself this time.” I shook my head, about to speak, but his phone rang again. His entire demeanor softened when he saw the caller ID. “Hey, Chloe… Okay, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and shot me a look that said, You’re on your own, before brushing past me and leaving. It seemed that because of my father’s stunt at the gala, they were utterly convinced I was trying to trap one of them into marriage. Fine. They’d find out the truth soon enough. Mrs. Thorne came out then, greeting me warmly and accepting the invitation. “My Ethan just doesn’t know how lucky he could have been,” she sighed. I was delivering the invitations myself because, despite the fractured friendship with the three of them, their parents had always been incredibly kind to me. After my mother died and my father threw himself into his work, I had spent my childhood rotating between their three homes. I would never forget the warmth and love they had shown me. Just then, I saw a new post on Chloe’s social media—a picture of the four of them at an amusement park. Perfect. That meant I could go to the third house without any interruptions. 3 I was sitting with Mrs. Monroe when I said, “The wedding is next month—” “Mom, how could you arrange a marriage between me and Anya without asking me? This is my girlfriend, Chloe!” Noah Monroe stormed in, pulling Chloe by the hand. “Mom, I know we used to play house and you all joked about me marrying Anya, but we were just kids. We’re adults now. You have to respect my choice!” Mrs. Monroe was stunned. “Noah, that’s not—” But Noah, never one for patience, was already glaring at me. “Anya, can you just stop chasing us? Do you really think getting our parents to pressure us is going to work? Can’t you see how much we can’t stand you right now? How we’re trying to get away from you?” “Noah!” Mrs. Monroe snapped, her voice sharp. But he wasn’t listening. “I love Chloe, and I will never, ever marry Anya. So you can all just wait for a wedding that’s never going to happen!” He grabbed Chloe’s hand and dragged her out. Mrs. Monroe sighed heavily. “He’s not even interested in Anya. Where does he get the confidence to think she’d want to marry him?” I just shrugged with a small smile. “He probably dislikes me so much right now he can’t be bothered to listen to anything I say. It’s fine. They’ll all understand eventually.” 4 When I left the Monroe mansion, all four of them—Liam, Ethan, Noah, and Chloe—were waiting outside. Remembering how much they supposedly despised me, I decided to ignore them and walk away. “Anya!” Chloe ran up and grabbed my arm. “Don’t misunderstand. Noah was just pretending I was his girlfriend to get you to back off.” “Chloe, why are you even talking to her? I’m doing this to get rid of her,” Noah called out impatiently. “Noah, don’t be like that. We’re all friends. I only met you guys because of Anya. I miss the days when the five of us used to hang out together,” Chloe said sweetly. “Anya, please don’t be mad at everyone. I really want us all to be friends again.” As she spoke, her nails dug sharply into my arm. I hissed in pain and pulled my arm away. “Ah!” She stumbled backward as if I had shoved her with all my might. “Chloe!” The three of them rushed to her side, their faces etched with concern. “Anya! Chloe is being so nice to you, and you push her? Have you no conscience?” Noah yelled. Ethan’s face was cold. “Chloe has been trying to get you to rejoin our group, but it seems you’re just not worthy.” “Apologize to Chloe right now, Anya!” Liam commanded, his voice low and dangerous. Chloe leaned against Liam, looking fragile and hurt, but her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a familiar, triumphant malice. I brushed off my arm and gave them a cold look. “I’m so terrible. Why would I ever apologize to her? If you just keep her away from me, she won’t get hurt. Problem solved.” I turned and walked away. “Anya, if you don’t learn to be kind to Chloe, then there’s nothing left between us!” Liam’s cold voice followed me. A bitter smile touched my lips. Since Chloe had appeared, had there ever been anything left between us to begin with? 5 That evening, Mrs. Hayes asked me to deliver some medication to her at their vacation villa in the suburbs. But when I got there, only Liam, Ethan, and Noah were there. It turned out our parents had tricked all of us. And our cars were gone. There was no way to get back to the city tonight. On the phone, Mrs. Hayes said she hoped that by being in this place, a place filled with so many childhood memories, we would reconcile and become friends again. Noah scoffed. “What a waste of time. I wonder if Chloe needs us for anything.” His words made Liam and Ethan frown with worry. I agreed it was a waste of time, but looking around the familiar villa, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. I walked over to the grand piano that had been sitting in the corner for over a decade. I remembered the four of us, eight clumsy hands trying to play a duet. Noah was always the troublemaker, and we would end up bickering and laughing while our parents watched, taking countless pictures of us at this very piano. “Chloe started taking piano lessons. Look, I took a video of her.” Noah pulled out his phone. Liam and Ethan immediately crowded around to watch. The sound of hesitant, clumsy notes filled the air, followed by Chloe’s sweet voice. They watched, completely engrossed, their faces lit up with smiles. I stepped outside onto the patio. The lights illuminated the swimming pool. I remembered the summer they’d had a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. I was so young, I thought they were drowning. I jumped in, screaming, to “save” them. “Liam! Ethan! Noah! Don’t worry, I’m coming!” Of course, I was the one who ended up swallowing half the pool. They all had to work together to pull me out, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Our little Anya. So cute and so clumsy. We’ll have to protect you forever.” The words echoed in my ears. And they had. They had protected me my entire life. They shielded me from every danger, took me for ice cream, took me on adventures… The air around me seemed to shimmer with the ghosts of our laughter. But then, a real voice shattered the illusion. “Chloe, don’t be scared! We’re coming to get you right now!” Liam was on the phone with her, his voice frantic. “There’s a thunderstorm in the city, and Chloe’s terrified. We have to go to her!” He turned to the other two, who looked just as panicked. They rushed out of the villa, looking around wildly. “There are no cars!” “I don’t care. I’m not waiting. I’m running back!” Noah gritted his teeth and started sprinting into the darkness. The other two were right behind him. “Wait,” I called out. 6 Noah spun around and glared at me. “Anya, Chloe is crying her eyes out and you’re trying to stop us because you’re jealous?” Liam and Ethan shot me equally annoyed looks. My face was impassive. “By the time you run all the way back, the storm will be over and she’ll have already been scared.” “Then what are we supposed to do? We can’t just wait here!” Noah seethed, ready to run again. Ethan, the more rational of the three, stopped him. “Let’s call someone to pick us up, and in the meantime, we’ll look for another way to get back.” They started searching the villa grounds with their phone flashlights. We knew every inch of this place from all the games of hide-and-seek we had played as kids. “There’s an old utility vehicle over here,” I said, shining my light on a dusty three-wheeled vehicle in the corner of the garage. They rushed over. After a bit of effort, they managed to get it started. Liam got in the driver’s seat. Ethan and Noah squeezed into the back. It was a tight fit. There was no room for a third person. They all hesitated, looking at me. I shrugged. “I never planned on going back with you anyway. Go ahead.” “Anya—” Ethan started. My voice was cool. “Chloe’s probably terrified.” That was all it took. Their concern for me evaporated. “Anya, we’ll send someone back for you,” Liam said, and then he was gone, the little vehicle sputtering off into the night, carrying them towards the girl they cared about. And with them disappeared twenty years of memories. “Goodbye, my old friends,” I whispered to the darkness. Just then, a sleek black car pulled up. The man who got out had come straight from the airport. I ran to him with a smile and threw myself into his arms.

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The moment my brother-in-law died in my bed, everyone saw it. As atonement, my husband divorced me and married my adopted sister. My brother transferred all my shares and assets to her, turning Cora into a dazzling celebrity. They sent me to a psychiatric hospital to “protect” me from prison. When the statute of limitations passed, they came for me. My husband and brother draped a coat over my shoulders, their eyes tender. “Elara, it’s over now. I’m here.” But reporters swarmed. “Why did you seduce your brother-in-law and cause his death?” “Was forging psychiatric records to avoid jail fair to the victim?” I couldn’t hear them clearly — the electroshock treatments left a permanent ring in my ears. Only when a fan threw red paint on me did I snap back. “You ruined Cora’s life! Why don’t you just die!” I stood frozen. But they were the ones who dislocated my jaw to silence me, who fabricated evidence and tortured me for years — all to hide the truth: Cora was the real murderer. … Slowly, I raised a hand and wiped the filthy paint from my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even look at them. I simply turned and started walking away from the crowd. “Elara?” My brother’s voice, laced with a faint, surprised edge, came from behind me. “Where are you going?” Adrian, my ex-husband, quickly moved to block my path, his brow furrowed. “Elara, we’re taking you home. Stop making a scene.” I stopped and finally met their eyes. “Home?” “What home? Marcus,” I said, looking at my brother, “didn’t you sign over all my assets and company shares to Cora? What home do I have left?” My brother’s face went rigid. I looked at Adrian, who was still gripping my arm, and a small, cold smile touched my lips. “Oh, I almost forgot. Congratulations to you and Cora. I hope you’ll be very happy together.” “And next time you get married, there’s no need to be so secretive. You two were sneaking around right under my nose for years. A little wedding shouldn’t be a cause for shame.” “Elara!” Adrian’s face darkened. “Do you have to talk like that?” My brother, Marcus, was furious. He reached for me. “What is that supposed to mean? After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?” In the chaos, the fan who’d thrown the paint lunged at me again, her face twisted with hate. “You bitch! How dare you talk to Cora’s brother and husband like that! I’ll kill you!” This time, Adrian and Marcus actually intervened, holding her back. Adrian looked at me, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Elara, look what you’ve done. Must you escalate everything? Can’t you just speak to us properly?” Speak properly? The absurdity of it was almost laughable. “I’m escalating things?” “What did I do wrong? She’s the murderer! You took her side, threw me into that asylum, and ruined my life without a second thought! And now you expect me to be grateful to my own executioners?” “Shut up!” Marcus snarled. “What murderer? Cora is the kindest person I know. Stop slandering her! You were jealous of her, jealous that Leo loved her, and you couldn’t stand it.” “We sent you for treatment, not to prison. That was our mercy. Don’t be so ungrateful!” Adrian sighed again. “Elara, calm down. I know you’re hurt. But marrying Cora… it was a temporary measure.” “She fell into a severe depression after Leo’s death. I’m staying by her side to take care of her, to atone for your sin on your behalf!” “Once she’s fully recovered, I’ll divorce her and we’ll get back together. We’ll never be apart again!” Smack. I summoned every last bit of my strength and slapped him across the face. His head snapped to the side, the red imprint of my hand already blooming on his cheek. He was stunned, clearly having never imagined I would strike him. Marcus was just as shocked. “Elara, are you insane?!” My voice trembled. “Start over?” “Adrian, you make me sick.” “Go live your life with your precious Cora. You two deserve each other. A scumbag and a snake, a match made in heaven. Count me out.” My brother’s face was purple with rage. He pointed a finger at me. “Elara, I’m giving you one last chance. Get on your knees right now and apologize to Adrian and Cora! If you don’t, you are no longer my sister! We’ll see how you survive in this city then!” Just then, a sleek, black town car pulled up. The door opened, and Cora, assisted by her publicist, stepped out gracefully. “Marcus, Adrian, don’t talk to my sister like that.” The moment they saw her, their anger melted away. They rushed to her side. “Cora, what are you doing out of the car? It’s chaos here, go back inside!” Marcus urged. “He’s right, Cora, you’re not well. You shouldn’t be here,” Adrian added, wrapping a protective arm around her. The way they coddled her, so gentle and careful, was a knife in my eye. There was a time they had treated me like that, like something precious. When a senior had cornered me in high school, Marcus had swung his backpack and taken on all three of them, getting his face bruised and bloodied but still managing a goofy grin. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll protect you.” Adrian had quietly handled the fallout, using his family’s influence to ruin the boy’s father and force them to move away. He’d been whipped for it, the scars still on his back, but he never said a word to me. The clearer the memories, the more grotesque the present seemed. Seeing that no one was paying attention to me, the fans rushed forward again, grabbing my hair and slamming me to the ground. “Tear up that pretty face of hers!” “Murderer! I’m doing society a favor!” Five years had taught me how to take a beating. I curled into a ball, protecting my head and my heart. Through the blurry, shaking world, I saw Adrian whispering something to Cora, the line of his jaw softer than I had ever seen it. Marcus just glanced in my direction with a look of pure disgust. Cora, as if just noticing the assault, cried out, “Stop!” She pushed through the fans and reached down for me. “Sister, are you alright?” But as she tried to pull me up, her nails dug cruelly into a wound on my arm. I let out a muffled groan of pain. She snatched her hand back as if burned, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sister! I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to help you.” My brother strode over and kicked me hard in the ribs. I rolled across the pavement, my vision going black at the edges. “When are you going to stop hurting Cora?!” he roared. He knelt, yanking my head back by my hair. “Stop pretending! Cora barely touched you and you act like you’re dying. Are you trying to pull the same stunt you did when you took credit for her saving me? Using your pathetic tricks to frame her and ruin her career?” “I’m telling you, Elara, Cora has a good heart and she might worry about your lies, but I don’t! If you ever try to pull your disgusting tricks on her again, I’ll make sure you rot in that asylum for the rest of your life! Do you understand me?!” “That’s enough!” Adrian’s voice cut through the air. He grabbed Marcus’s wrist. “She’s still your sister.” “Sister? She doesn’t deserve the title!” Marcus ripped his arm away. “The moment she stole my supplies and left me for dead in that ravine to save herself, I only had one sister. And her name is Cora.” Adrian looked from my enraged brother to my crumpled form on the ground and let out a long sigh. He took off his own suit jacket and stiffly draped it over me. Then he turned and walked back to Cora. “I’m taking Cora to the hospital for a check-up. She got a scare, she’s been pale ever since.” Cora immediately leaned into him, her voice weak. “Adrian, my stomach hurts.” “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there right now.” He scooped her up into his arms. He didn’t look back at me once. Marcus shot me one last look of disgust and snapped at the remaining security guards, “Clean this up. And don’t let any of this trash near Cora’s car again.” Then he hurried after Adrian. “See? Nobody wants you,” the lead fan sneered, squatting down to pat my swollen cheek. “Weren’t you so tough a minute ago? Go on, kill me, murderer!” Another girl knelt and ripped the jacket off me. “You think you deserve to wear something this nice?” “Strip her! The bitch doesn’t deserve clothes!” someone shrieked, and the others cheered. My body screamed in protest as I tried to move, but I was helpless. I could only watch as their hands tore at my already tattered hospital gown. I tried to fight back, my voice a weak, hoarse whisper. A sharp slap across the face silenced me. “Cora is kind,” the fan hissed, grabbing my chin. “But we’re not.” They dragged me into a more secluded alleyway. One of them pulled a tube of super glue from her purse. “Since she likes to seduce men so much, let’s make sure that mouth of hers never opens again. And those pretty eyes, too.” I struggled, but it only earned me more blows. One of the bodyguards, watching from a distance, finally pulled out his phone. “Mr. Evans? Miss Elara is… being targeted by Miss Cora’s fans. What are your instructions?” “Do I have to be bothered with every little thing?” Marcus’s impatient voice came through the phone. “I told you to keep the trash away from the car. The rest is not my concern.” Then, Adrian’s tense voice cut in. “Stop wasting time with irrelevant people. Cora’s heart rate is elevated, go find a doctor.” There was a rustle, then Adrian’s voice, cold and clear. “Keep an eye on the scene. Don’t let it get out of hand, and make sure no one gets any footage that could hurt Cora. As for the rest… just make sure she doesn’t die.” The line went dead. The fans burst out laughing. “Did you hear that? ‘Just make sure she doesn’t die!’” “What are we waiting for, girls? We’ve got a green light from the big boss!” The crowd eventually dispersed. No one called an ambulance. No one helped me up. I was left there like a piece of trash. I pushed myself up from the pavement, gritting my teeth against the pain. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to a number I knew by heart. [I’m in. Name your price. I just want them dead.] I waited, my heart pounding. The owner of this number had first contacted me during my fourth year in the asylum. I had been too afraid to accept then, too afraid to gamble on a stranger. I had promised my parents I would survive. Then, a photo came through. It was a picture of me, unconscious, while Cora and the others arranged Leo’s body next to mine. [The evidence is ready. See you on the red carpet. 8 p.m. tonight.] A sense of calm settled over me. I wanted to tell my parents the good news. After all, I was the last thing they worried about before they died. I had just managed to stand when two iron grips clamped down on my arms. It was Marcus’s bodyguards. They dragged me back to his villa and forced me to my knees on the cold, rough stone patio. “Miss,” one of them said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Mr. Evans says Miss Cora’s pregnancy is unstable. He requires you to kneel here and pray for her. This is your punishment.” “Unstable pregnancy? What does that have to do with me?” The ropes they used to bind me only tightened as I struggled. The night grew colder. My knees went from screaming in pain to a dull, throbbing numbness. Just before dawn, Adrian and Marcus returned. “Adrian, what are you waiting for?” Marcus’s voice was a low growl. “We can use Elara as a stand-in for Cora tonight, make her kneel for Leo’s mother. But what about after that? The woman is a lunatic! We can just hand Elara over. They look so much alike, and the old hag is crazy enough not to notice the difference.” Adrian yanked at his tie, his voice tight with frustration. “Enough. I’ll handle it. If necessary…” He didn’t finish, but I had already taken a step back, a twig snapping under my foot. “Who’s there?” Marcus spun around. Our eyes met. The air was dead silent. I tried to run, but my bound hands and numb legs sent me stumbling. Adrian was on me in a second, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. “Since you heard, we have no choice. Cora’s red carpet event tonight is too important. There can be no mistakes. So, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take one for the team.” He dislocated my jaw with a practiced, casual movement. “You should be used to a little humiliation by now. I promise, after this is over, I’ll divorce Cora and be with you.” He waved a hand, and two bodyguards dragged me to a car. At the Croft mansion, Leo’s mother sat on the sofa, cradling a portrait of her son, humming a soft, broken lullaby. The television was playing a live feed of Cora, arm-in-arm with Adrian, dazzling on the red carpet. Mrs. Croft’s humming stopped. Her eyes fixed on the screen. A guttural scream ripped from her throat. “Why? Why does the person who killed you get to smile like that, while my son lies in the cold, hard ground?” One of the bodyguards shoved me forward. Mrs. Croft’s head snapped towards me. She lunged, her hands like talons at my throat. “You! You killed my son!” She snatched a fruit knife from the table and aimed it straight at my heart. “Die! All of you, just die!”

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1 The night before our wedding, Jayce took me to an immersive mystery game. It was there, hidden in the shadows of a hallway, that I overheard him talking to his friends. “Jayce, man, are you really going to drug Sienna tonight? I hear those guys you hired are animals. What if they break her?” Jayce’s voice was heavy with a sigh. “I don’t have a choice. Cathy’s been raising hell. I have to give her something.” The others erupted in a chorus of lewd jeers. “Dude, why hire strangers? A job like this, we’d be happy to handle for you.” “Yeah, for real. You’re not gonna share a goddess like Sienna? Let your boys have a taste.” “Exactly! We’re your friends, we’d know how to handle her. Enough to give Cathy her satisfaction, but… heh heh heh.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just smiled, accepted the scandalous costume Jayce had picked for me, and deliberately drank the tainted wine he offered. The next day, the wedding didn’t just make headlines. It blew them up. … I had only stepped away to use the restroom. On my way back, I heard my own name. “Jayce, man, are you seriously going to drug Sienna? I heard the players you found are rough. No restraint. The wedding is in two days, aren’t you worried they’ll actually hurt her?” A short silence, then Jayce’s weary voice drifted through the door. “So what if they do? I’m still marrying her.” “Cathy’s been a mess, crying nonstop, her eyes are all swollen. You guys know how she gets. She thinks Sienna coming back stole everything from her. She won’t calm down until she gets some payback.” “I promised I wouldn’t touch Sienna. This is how I make it up to Cathy, how I give her peace of mind.” The cold wall was the only thing keeping me from collapsing. Peace of mind? He was going to use my body, my dignity, to give Cathy peace of mind? “True,” someone mused, his voice dropping lower. “If that country girl Sienna hadn’t shown up out of nowhere, you and Cathy would be the ones getting married. You two grew up together… I bet you’ve already done everything, right?” “But seriously, Jayce, why bring in outsiders? This is the kind of fun we could have. Keep it in the family, you know?” The suggestion was met with a wave of rowdy laughter. “He’s right! Sienna’s body, that face… she’s a masterpiece. If you’re willing to let her be played with, you should let your friends be the first to sample the goods.” “Yeah, man! We’re your crew. We’d know the limits. We’ll make sure the video is satisfying enough for Cathy, but we won’t cause any real trouble. Heh heh heh.” The filthy words slithered through the crack in the door, coiling in my ears. Two years ago, he was the one who claimed it was love at first sight, that everything was finally falling into place. I bit my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Just then, a phone rang. Cathy’s sickly-sweet voice dripped through the speaker. “Jayce, darling, I’m almost there! You promised you’d play Sienna’s little video at the wedding, okay? You can’t go back on your word.” Jayce’s tone was dripping with indulgence. “Don’t worry, princess. Have I ever broken a promise to you? Just wait for the show.” Someone whistled. “Whoa, so this whole crazy idea was yours, Cathy? Playing this hard… damn, girl. That’s next level.” Cathy’s voice on the phone was smug. “Hmph. Of course. You try to steal my man, you pay the price. I want her to know that even if she marries into the Harrison family, she’ll never be able to hold her head high again.” The call ended, followed by a burst of unrestrained, mocking laughter. “Seriously though, Jayce? You’re really not going to touch her after the wedding? What a waste of a perfect body.” Jayce paused. “Of course not. She’s dirty.” So that was it. The loving gazes, the gentle promises—all of it was just poison wrapped in a sugar-sweet shell. But why? It was Cathy who had stolen my life, who had basked in the love of my parents for twenty years. And now she acted as if I were the thief, willing to destroy me in the most vile, despicable way imaginable. Fine. If that’s how they wanted to play, then let them choke on their own poison. I shoved down the storm raging inside me, smoothed my expression into one of serene innocence, and pushed the door open. The room fell silent. Jayce walked over to me. “Sienna, darling. This is for your character. You’ll look stunning in it.” He handed me the so-called costume. It was as sheer as a whisper. The neckline plunged nearly to my navel, and the skirt was so short it barely covered the tops of my thighs. My lips curved into a brilliant smile. “Of course. If you picked it, I’m sure it’s perfect.” When I pulled back the dressing room curtain and stepped out, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Several pairs of sticky, greedy eyes latched onto my body. “Holy hell, Jayce… you’re a generous man!” “Cathy, your sister… she’s unreal. Like she was born to play this part.” “Damn, Jayce. You’re one lucky bastard. Got all of us feeling… heh heh.” The smile on Jayce’s face faltered for a second, his eyes flashing with a complex mix of shock, annoyance, and even… a possessive glint. He closed the distance between us in a few quick strides, pulling me against him as if to shield me from their leering gazes. “Alright, that’s enough. Settle down. She’s shy, don’t scare her.” Before, I would have mistaken that for protectiveness. Now I knew it was nothing more than a charade, the primal instinct of a male protecting his territory. “Ooooh, listen to him! Getting all defensive!” someone crowed, sparking another round of laughter. Jayce shot them a warning glare that finally shut them up. Just then, Cathy approached, a glass of red wine in her hand, her face a perfect mask of concern. “Sienna, you grew up in the country, right? You probably haven’t played an immersive game like this before. You might be nervous. Why don’t you have some wine to help you get into character? I picked this vintage myself.” She raised the glass. “Think of it as an early wedding gift from your little sister. Here’s to you and Jayce, and a hundred years of happiness.” A celebration? Celebrating what? My ruin? She tilted her chin up slightly, a flicker of contempt and superiority in her eyes that she didn’t quite manage to hide. Twenty years of living my life had made her believe she was entitled to it. The marriage pact had been between the Scotts and the Harrisons for a generation; my return had thrown a wrench in her plans to marry Jayce. I remembered how, after our families announced that I would be the one to marry him, she had taken me aside, her voice full of false sincerity. “Jayce is a wonderful man, Sienna. You’ll be so happy with him.” “I’ll be your maid of honor! We’ll make sure you have the most beautiful wedding ever.” “And if he ever mistreats you, you just tell me. I’ll always have your back.” It was all an act. A carefully constructed lie designed to set me up for the most devastating blow. When I didn’t take the glass, the hand Jayce had on my waist tightened. “Cathy went to a lot of trouble for this. Don’t be rude. Be a good girl and drink it.” His voice was soft, but it held the hard edge of a command. I slowly lifted my eyes to meet Cathy’s—so innocent on the surface, so venomous underneath—and smiled, a smile brighter and sharper than hers. “Thank you, Cathy. You’re too kind.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I drained the glass. “The taste… is unforgettable.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then turned the empty glass upside down, showing it to her with a little flourish. Cathy seemed stunned by my compliance, the triumphant joy in her eyes practically overflowing. “I’m so glad you like it, sister. Well, I should go get ready myself.” She turned and walked away, her steps light and eager. I swayed, staggering backward as if my body was no longer my own. The men in the room watched me, their stares growing more brazen, like wolves circling a lamb ready for slaughter. Jayce’s voice cut through the haze, laced with the perfect amount of concern. “Sienna? Are you okay? Maybe I should take you to a room to lie down.” I clutched my chest, opened my mouth to speak, but instead, I choked, and a splatter of dark blood hit the floor. Jayce’s arm around me went rigid. “What the hell?” The leers on the other men’s faces froze. “What’s happening? Why is she spitting up blood?” “She’s so pale… this doesn’t look like she’s faking.” “Jayce, man… maybe this isn’t a game anymore. We should get her to a hospital.” By then, I was foaming at the mouth, my body convulsing on the floor. A staff member walked in with props and screamed. “Something’s wrong! Somebody call 911! Manager, we need help!” The last thing I saw before darkness consumed me was Jayce, his face a mask of panic, scooping me into his arms and running. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose, and I knew I was in the hospital. “Her vital signs have stabilized. It was an acute reaction to a neurotoxin. You got her here just in time for a stomach pump, so she should be fine. We’ll keep her for 24-hour observation, and then she can be discharged.” Jayce’s voice, tight with confusion, cut through the quiet. “A neurotoxin? Are you sure? What kind?” My heart clenched instinctively. “We’re not sure yet, but it acts fast, causing rapid nerve damage. It’s a good thing you brought her in when you did.” After the doctor left, the men started talking in hushed, anxious tones. “Jayce, I thought it was just a sedative. How did it turn into poison?” “Yeah, this was supposed to be a prank. We can’t have a death on our hands.” “Cathy gave her the wine, right? Maybe she swapped the drug without telling you? That’s… that’s insane.” “Enough! Shut up!” Jayce snapped, his voice raw. “Cathy would never do something like that. She can be a brat, but she’s kind. She wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I prepared that drink for Sienna myself. It was just a simple sleeping pill. How could it turn into poison?!” I never imagined he would take the fall to protect Cathy. As if trying to convince himself, he continued, his words tumbling out faster and faster. “Maybe… maybe Sienna has some underlying health condition. Or she ate something earlier that reacted with it. It has to be a coincidence.” The faster he spoke, the more it seemed like he could bury the truth under a mountain of denial. “Cathy is innocent. She just wanted to teach Sienna a lesson, to make her understand who the real daughter of the Scott family is. To stop her from dreaming about things that belong to Cathy. She would never use poison.” Wouldn’t hurt a fly? The same girl who concocted a plan to have me drugged and assaulted on video was, in his eyes, a pure, innocent angel. The truth was, the wine had only contained a sedative. The real poison was a powder I’d coated on my hand, which I transferred to my lips when I wiped my mouth. I had gambled, certain that Jayce and his pack of hyenas wouldn’t dare let things escalate to murder, especially with staff around. It was a risky move, and it hadn’t yielded the result I wanted. Jayce’s selfish, twisted logic left his friends speechless. After a few awkward glances, they quietly filed out of the room. He walked to my bedside, looming over me for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. The exhaustion and the lingering effects of the drugs pulled me back under. When I opened my eyes again, the room was empty. I was just about to get up to use the restroom when I heard voices coming from inside it. It was Cathy. “Jayce, what are you waiting for? She’s lying right there. The wedding is in less than 24 hours. This is our last chance.” “Can’t you see it? This whole poisoning thing was an act. She staged it to make you feel sorry for her, to keep you here by her side.” “I’ve already called the guys. They’re on their way. They can come in, make the video, and ruin her face while they’re at it. I want her left so broken she’ll be rotting in the gutter!” A cold dread washed over me, chilling me to the bone. Cathy was so unhinged she was going to attack me in the hospital. This time, she wanted me disfigured. After a tense silence, Jayce’s low voice finally answered. “Cathy, calm down.” “This is a hospital, not some private room at a game lounge. There are nurses in the hallway, security cameras everywhere. What if someone walks in? What if she wakes up and calls the police?” “I don’t care!” Cathy’s voice rose, cracking with hysteria. “I want her gone! I want her ruined!” “Why did she have to come back? Why did she have to steal my parents, and you?!” “Jayce, you’re feeling sorry for her, aren’t you? You see her lying there all pathetic, and you’re getting soft. You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you?!” “That’s ridiculous!” Jayce cut her off, his tone sharp and absolute. “How could I ever fall for a woman who grew up in the sticks?” He took a deep breath, his voice shifting to one of gentle persuasion. “Cathy, listen to me. I’m worried about you. You can’t risk getting caught over someone so worthless.” “I have a better idea. It’s completely safe, just as devastating, and it will leave her with no way to defend herself.” Every nerve in my body went taut. I had a terrible feeling about what was coming next. Jayce lowered his voice even further. “We can hire someone, dress them in her clothes. We’ll shoot from the right angles, get all the footage we need.” “As for the face… we can blur it just enough. But the body type, the clothes, even the birthmark on her back—we can fake all of it perfectly.” “We’ll play that video at the wedding. Her reputation will be destroyed. She’ll never set foot in our world again. And you, Cathy, will remain the one and only pristine daughter of the Scott family.” Cathy hesitated. “But… that’s letting her off too easy. I want her to really suffer, to really be…” “Cathy!” Jayce interrupted her again, a rare note of command in his voice. “Trust me. This is the smartest way. I don’t want you taking any risks. Think about your family. Think about our future.” That last phrase, “our future,” was like a tranquilizer dart, hitting the one thing Cathy cared about most. She finally relented. “Okay, Jayce. I’ll do whatever you say.” Then came the sounds of rustling clothes and soft, eager gasps. I closed my eyes just as they were stepping out of the bathroom. A short while later, my parents, alerted by Cathy, rushed into the room. “Sienna, my darling, what happened? You scared your mother to death,” my mother said, her voice trembling. “Yes, Cathy told us you were in the hospital. The wedding is tomorrow! What’s going on?” my father added. I answered weakly, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know… I just felt so sick after Cathy gave me that glass of wine…” Cathy stood frozen, her eyes red, fumbling for an explanation. “Sienna… I didn’t…” “Sienna!” Jayce cut in, grabbing my hand. “The doctor said you must have eaten something that had a bad reaction with the alcohol. It had nothing to do with the wine.” My mother patted my other hand. “It must have just been a coincidence, dear. Your sister is always telling us how wonderful you are. She would never do anything to hurt you.” My father’s eyes held a glint of disdain. “We raised Cathy. We know her. She is a sweet, considerate girl. Don’t you bring your backwoods drama and jealousy in here.” His words struck me like a physical blow, reminding me of the day I first returned home. They had wept then, telling me how much they owed me, how they would spend the rest of their lives making it up to me. They gave me the largest bedroom, presented me with twenty years’ worth of birthday presents. I had believed them. I had wanted, so desperately, to build a real relationship with Cathy. But every single time something came between us, they chose her. I knew now that they always would. And I no longer needed them to choose me. Catching the triumphant look in Cathy’s eyes, I pulled my hand away. “I’m a little tired.” After they left, deep in the night, the door to my room creaked open. Two figures in orderly uniforms slipped inside. Before I could react, a cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose, the acrid smell flooding my senses. “Hurry up, Miss Scott is waiting!” At the mention of her name, I stopped fighting. Soon, I was in the back of a van, being driven to a derelict warehouse. Cathy was there, flanked by three men whose leering eyes crawled over my unconscious form. She looked down at me, her voice dripping with contempt. “Sienna. How can I ever feel at peace if you don’t experience true suffering?” She turned to the men. “She’s all yours. Just dump her back at the hotel entrance by noon tomorrow.” “And make sure you get some good, clear shots. I want the whole world to see what kind of trash the real Scott family daughter is!” As Cathy’s laughter echoed out of the warehouse, the three men descended on me like starving wolves. Just as one of them, a man with greasy yellow hair, reached for the collar of my shirt, my eyes snapped open. He saw that I was awake, saw my lips moving without a sound. Thinking I was too terrified to speak, his grin widened. “Well, look who’s up. I was worried you’d be a dead fish. This is much more fun.” “Heh heh, little beauty. Your big brothers are going to take good care of you today. The louder you scream, the better.” “What are you two idiots waiting for? If you’re not gonna go first, then watch me. I can’t wait any longer.” The moment his hand touched my chest, his eyes went wide with terror. “Agh! What is that?!” His bloodcurdling scream made the other two drop their cigarettes. They stared, frozen in place, as a dozen glistening centipedes swarmed up the first man’s arm, their bites sending him writhing and screaming on the filthy floor. As the silent syllables continued to fall from my lips, the warehouse filled with a rustling, skittering sound. From every dark corner, a tide of venomous creatures poured forth—spiders, scorpions, and insects of every nightmarish shape and size. “Bugs! So many bugs!” “Run! These things are poisonous!” The other two turned to flee, but their path was blocked by two enormous vipers, their heads raised, ready to strike. The three men shrieked in terror, frantically swatting at the creatures crawling all over them, their skin instantly erupting in swollen, red welts as they cried for their mothers. I rose slowly from the floor. “Enjoy your new toys,” I said, my voice finally audible. “Just don’t kill them.” I whispered the ancient words of my people, and the swarm surged with renewed purpose. Without a backward glance at the three men rolling in agony on the ground, I walked out of the crumbling warehouse. A discreet black car was waiting outside. I slipped into the back seat. “Atasha,” the driver said in greeting. “Take me home. Back to the Mistwood.”

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I was an innocent man on death row. My wife Nina, the city’s top defense attorney, ignored nine pleas for help. The first time, she held a press conference to comfort her bullied junior while I was beaten by inmates. The second time, she withdrew my defense to answer his sobbing call, leaving me on the stand. Every time hope appeared, her junior had an “emergency.” This was my final chance before execution. But on the phone, his voice whispered, “Nina, you can’t be distracted during a birthday wish.” She hung up. The proof of my innocence was undeniable, but without her to present it, the judge signed my death warrant. When the guard gave me the verdict, I thought the red stamp meant life in prison. Instead, he said: “Execution confirmed. Your lawyer said there’s no need to notify her about the body.” So I died. What I don’t understand is why, after my execution, Nina was the one who went insane. 1 Today is Ryan’s birthday. The lights in the execution chamber were a brilliant, piercing white. Nina is probably cutting his cake right now, isn’t she? In the final second before my consciousness faded, I thought I could hear the sound of my own heart stopping. The Julian Croft who had once loved Nina Hayes with every fiber of his being was finally, truly dead. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air. Below me was the city’s most luxurious riverside restaurant. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glittered like a fallen constellation. Inside, a single candle flickered with intimate warmth. Nina was wearing the designer suit I had always ironed for her, not a single crease on it. She was gazing tenderly at the man across from her. Ryan had his hands clasped, his eyes closed as he made a wish. It was a picture so perfect, I could have painted it from memory even in the darkest corners of my prison cell. How ironic. My body was growing cold in a crematorium miles away, while my wife was here, helping another man make a birthday wish. Ryan opened his eyes, a boyish, innocent smile curving his lips. “I made my wish, Nina! Now you have to help me make it come true.” Nina poured him a glass of red wine, her voice dripping with affection. “Of course. Anything you want, Ryan. Anything.” Her phone, resting on the table, vibrated. The screen lit up with a text message notification from the prison. I drifted closer, wanting to see if she would even look. Just one glance. Just a flicker of emotion as she read the words: Execution completed. Nina frowned, her long, elegant fingers swiping across the screen. She deleted it. Without even opening it. “What’s wrong, Nina? Who was that?” Ryan asked, leaning over with a look of pure innocence. Nina placed her phone face down on the table, her tone dismissive. “Junk text. Nothing important.” Junk text. So that’s what the final message of my life was to her. Junk. “Was it… was it Julian?” Ryan asked, biting his lower lip as his eyes instantly reddened, looking like a startled fawn. “It’s my birthday… Is he still mad at me for taking you away? Maybe… maybe we should go check on him?” He looked exactly as he had in the courtroom that day, crying as he testified that I had “pushed him down the stairs.” He had wept then, too, saying he didn’t blame me, that my obsessive love for Nina had just made me lose control. And Nina, just like now, had instantly hardened her expression, her heart aching for him as she took his hand in hers. “Why bring up that murderer?” Nina said, cutting a piece of cake with a strawberry on top and holding it to Ryan’s lips. “He killed an innocent janitor and put you in the hospital to have a kidney removed. A man that vicious deserves to rot in a cell.” “This is your special day. Let’s not let someone so foul ruin the mood.” I looked at that piece of cake and felt a wave of nausea. Ghosts don’t have stomachs. But I still wanted to vomit. So, in her heart, I wasn’t just a murderer. I was foul. Nina, did you know? Just ten minutes ago, that foul man you refused to help for the ninth and final time ceased to exist. 2 Nina took Ryan back to our home. The home I had decorated with so much care, only for it to be usurped by him after I was imprisoned. In the entryway, where our wedding portrait used to hang, there was now an abstract painting. One of Ryan’s, I presumed. The slippers by the door were gray and fuzzy. Ryan’s size. Nina slipped them on with practiced ease, hanging Ryan’s coat on the rack. The movements were so natural, so fluid, you would think they were the ones who had been married for years. “Nina… can you… can you stay with me tonight?” Ryan asked, tugging on her sleeve with wide, timid eyes. “That threatening letter Julian sent me… I still get scared when I think about it.” I floated near the ceiling, watching coldly. A threatening letter? In prison, I could barely get my hands on a pen and paper. The only letters I ever wrote were desperate pleas to Nina for help. How had they become threatening letters to him? Nina’s face darkened. She ruffled his hair gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. He can’t hurt you.” “But… what if he gets out? He was sentenced to life with parole, right? He could be out in twenty years if he behaves…” Ryan flinched. Nina scoffed, unwrapping a silk scarf from her neck and tossing it onto the sofa. “Get out? He’s never getting out.” She walked to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of whiskey, and downed it in one go. “He had a sliver of a chance, but then he had to go after you and get an innocent person killed.” “As the only witness at the scene, I submitted a supplementary statement to the judge. I insisted that I saw him push that janitor with my own eyes before shoving you down the stairs.” “Even though it was dark and I didn’t see everything clearly, I had to say it. For you, and for the person who died. For justice.” Ryan asked cautiously, “What about… what about that air-conditioner repairman? The one who said he saw something different. Is that a problem?” “It’s not a problem. I buried his testimony so deep no one will ever believe him,” Nina said, swirling the ice in her glass. “That was the ninth time he tried to ‘find evidence’ to force my hand. All lies. He’ll never change.” “I needed him to know that my patience has limits. If he wants to live, he needs to behave himself in there and stop dreaming about getting out and causing trouble.” I looked at her, so arrogant, so certain in her absolute control, and I wanted to laugh. Nina, you’re the best criminal defense attorney in the city. You’ve never lost a case. But you lost this one. You lost your husband’s life. And there’s no coming back from that. Ryan seemed to relax, wrapping his arms around Nina from behind and resting his cheek against her back. “You’re so good to me, Nina. If only Julian were half as reasonable as you.” “Him?” Nina sneered. “If he were reasonable, he wouldn’t have killed someone just to force me to stay married to him.” I floated in front of her, swinging a phantom fist at her face. It passed right through. But I still screamed the words. “I DIDN’T PUSH ANYONE! HE PUSHED THE JANITOR HIMSELF TO FRAME ME! HE THREW HIMSELF DOWN THE STAIRS!” No one could hear my roars. Nina just shivered, frowning as she turned up the thermostat. “Why is it suddenly so cold in here?” Ryan tightened his arms around her. “Maybe Julian’s thinking about you.” “He doesn’t have the right,” Nina said, putting down her glass, her eyes full of disgust. “He’s been quiet the last few days, though. No more calls from the prison guards. I guess my last warning finally scared him.” “In a few days, I’ll pay a visit to the prison.” Ryan’s body tensed. “Why would you go see him?” “To have him sign the divorce papers,” Nina’s voice was like ice. “Having a murderer for a husband is a stain on my reputation that I’ve tolerated for far too long.” Divorce papers? No need, Nina. A death certificate is far more effective. It automatically dissolves all legal ties between us. Cleanly. Completely. 3 For the next three days, Nina’s life was perfect. She took Ryan to an art gallery, to a fancy Japanese restaurant, and even went shopping for a men’s watch with him. I followed her like a shadow, a numb specter watching her hand over the future she had once promised me to another man, piece by piece. It wasn’t until the afternoon of the third day, while Nina was in a meeting at her law firm, that her assistant, Alex, knocked frantically on the door. “Nina, there’s… a package was returned from the prison.” Nina didn’t even look up from the documents in her hand. “So? If it was returned, it was returned. Do you really need to interrupt my meeting for something so trivial?” “No, Nina, it’s… the package is for you. And…” Alex hesitated, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. Nina snapped the folder shut, annoyed. “And what? What is Julian up to now? A hunger strike? A letter written in his own blood? More of his clipped fingernails?” A few quiet chuckles rippled through the conference room. The other partners all knew about Nina’s “crazy” husband and the extreme lengths he went to in order to win her back. Alex swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Nina, you should really come see for yourself. The courier says it requires your signature in person.” Nina stood up, her face a cold mask, and strode out of the room on her sharp heels. “Let’s see what kind of pathetic drama he’s cooked up this time.” I floated behind her, a strange, dark pleasure blooming in my chest. No drama, Nina. Just dust. In the firm’s lobby stood a uniformed courier, holding a square, heavy-looking black box. Any adult would recognize its shape immediately. But Nina didn’t go there. Or rather, her subconscious refused to. “Ms. Nina Hayes?” the courier asked, checking his clipboard. “This is an expedited delivery from the Southside Crematorium. The sender is listed as ‘Julian Croft (by proxy).’ I need your signature, please.” Crematorium. The word dropped into the bustling lobby like a stone, and all sound ceased. Nina’s confident stride came to an abrupt halt. She stared at the black box, her expression shifting from disdain to disbelief, finally settling into a mask of absurd fury. “Crematorium?” “Hah!” She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. She marched over and grabbed the courier by his collar. “How much did Julian pay you? Huh? To help him with this ridiculous stunt?” “He’s so desperate to see me he’s pulling this kind of sick joke now?” “Mailing his own goddamn urn?” “Why didn’t he just burn himself alive and mail the whole package?!” The courier, terrified, struggled against her grip. “Ma’am, let go! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know any Julian Croft!” “This is an official shipment from the crematorium!” “Unclaimed remains are sent to the next of kin if they can be contacted!” “Next of kin? I’m not his next of kin!” Nina roared, her eyes blazing. “I was his lawyer! Not his undertaker!” “But you’re listed as his emergency contact in the system…” the courier stammered, on the verge of tears. “Get out!” Nina shoved him hard. The courier stumbled back, losing his grip on the black box. It hit the marble floor with a dull thud. Enraged at the sight of it, Nina lifted her sharp-heeled shoe and kicked it. “Bastard. Just looking at this thing is bad luck.” The lid popped off. Ashes spilled across the floor. Inside, there was also a sealed velvet bag. Next to it, a neatly folded piece of paper slid out. It was a certificate of cremation. Nina stared at the mess on the floor, her chest heaving. She pointed a trembling finger at the box, her voice still laced with venom. “Julian. You’ve really outdone yourself.” “Forging official documents! Again! The forged critical condition notice wasn’t enough, now you’re faking cremation certificates?!” She whirled on her assistant. “Alex, call the police! Right now! I want Julian Croft dragged out of that prison! I’m suing him for public disturbance! I’ll make sure they add years to his sentence!” I floated beside the velvet bag, looking at what was left of me. All I felt was a profound, hollow sorrow. Nina. It’s real. That’s me. Why… why won’t you believe it?

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The moment I started dating my professor’s son, I enacted a new policy: the son pays for the father’s sins. When his dad humiliated me in a group meeting, I cussed him out. When his dad rejected my paper, I took it out on him. When his dad tried to make me look like a fool in class, I made sure he couldn’t get out of bed. This continued until my advisor introduced me to his star pupil. With his help, my experiments and my paper finally began to sing in harmony. I was in such a good mood, I didn’t have time to discipline Leo anymore. I never expected him to corner me in the lab, his eyes red-rimmed. “So that’s why you haven’t been calling me, Sienna,” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s because you found yourself a new… lab siren.” 1 I’m a grad student, which is just a fancy way of saying I’m perpetually miserable. To make matters worse, my advisor is the notoriously demanding Professor Karl Harrison. The rumor among the senior students was simple: “Choose Professor Harrison, choose death.” I figured it would be a quick and clean execution. Instead, it was death by a thousand cuts from a dull knife—slow, bloodless, and soul-crushing. My first draft had just been rejected for the third time. His comments were enough to make you want to jump off a bridge: “The abstract is excellent. A true masterpiece of brain removal.” “I asked for a first draft, not a rough draft scribbled on a napkin.” “In the future, please submit something a living person can read. This is just demonic.” In the cafeteria, I found myself stabbing at a piece of potato on my plate. My life felt just like it—stewed into an unrecognizable mush. Then, a guy sat down at the table across from me. A devastatingly handsome guy with a textured crop cut and pale, cool skin. My eyes lit up. This was not the kind of face you find among us lab rats. We were a species defined by greasy hair, glasses, and the permanent gray pallor of sleep deprivation. He sat down and started scrolling through his phone. His messy bangs partially hid his brow bone, highlighting the straight, sharp line of his nose. I shuffled over and slid into the seat directly opposite him. “Well hello there,” I said. “You new? Haven’t seen you around.” He looked up, and his amber eyes shot straight into my heart. 2 The handsome stranger said he was a jock from the university next door, here to meet someone he knew. A slow smile spread across my face. An athlete. Perfect. All brawn, no brains. What a refreshingly uncomplicated creature! Nothing like my fossil of an advisor, who couldn’t string ten words together without eight of them being insults and the other two being a dry chuckle. Right now, a boy radiating this much raw, youthful energy was exactly what I needed. “What’s your name?” I asked, propping my chin on my hand. “Leo,” he said with a slight smile, revealing two perfect canine teeth. “Great name,” I purred, my eyes tracing the lines of his face. “Sounds like the name of my next boyfriend.” Leo froze for a second. Then, a deep blush crept up from the base of his neck, flooding his entire face. A sweet, shy freshman was no match for a shameless predator of a senior like me. The result was inevitable. Three days to hold hands, five to start making out, and a week to devour him completely. A boy new to the game is an energetic one. But he was also an incredibly attentive and eager-to-please partner. His damp eyes would gaze up at me, pleading. The soft brush of his hair against my inner thigh, his breath hot and ragged, sent shivers through me again and again. “Sienna… like this?” “Sienna, look at me.” “Sienna, you’re so beautiful.” I lost myself completely in his worship. And I may have gotten a little carried away. 3 The next morning, my alarm had gone off three times before I shot up in bed, my head throbbing. The Archdemon’s lecture. Being late meant an automatic deduction from my final grade. “Shit, shit, shit!” I scrambled out of bed, my legs giving way as I nearly collapsed. My hands fumbled frantically on the floor, searching for my clothes. Leo was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. The blanket had slipped down to his waist, revealing a landscape of flawless muscle. “Sienna? Are you going to be late?” “What do you think?” I was on the verge of tears. He thought for a moment, his eyes brightening. “Hey, isn’t it one of those huge lectures? I can go for you! I’m a fast runner.” My hands, halfway through pulling on a sweater, paused. Sunlight streamed through the window, wrapping Leo in a soft, golden halo. The sharp definition of his muscles gave him the sculpted perfection of a Greek statue. In that moment, he looked divine. Three hours of that soul-crushingly boring lecture… My savior had arrived. I threw my arms around him and showered his face with kisses before reluctantly sending him on his way. He promised me he’d sprint to the lecture hall and wouldn’t be late. He’d find a seat in the back, keep a low profile, and even take pictures of the important slides for me. God bless college boys. So thoughtful, both in and out of bed. Beaming, I crawled back under the covers for another glorious hour of sleep. When I finally woke up on my own time, my phone had exploded. 99+ notifications. DMs and group chat mentions were popping up like crazy: [OMG SIENNA YOU WENT FOR THE JUGULAR!!] [That’s the first time I’ve ever seen the Archdemon speechless. That was a CHECKMATE move! Best campus drama I’ve seen in my life!] [Sienna, you’re my hero! You think Professor Harrison will have to treat you with respect now? I mean, you’re basically his future daughter-in-law!] What the hell was all this? I scrolled down through the chaos. Finally, I saw a DM from my roommate. It was just one line: [Sienna! Professor Harrison’s only son… is named Leo! From the Athletics department!] My brain short-circuited. It felt like a pressure cooker had just exploded inside my skull. For the next five minutes, I just sat there on the bed, my mind a complete blank. Son. As in, the male offspring. Leo was Karl Harrison’s son… Which meant I had, by complete accident, slept with the Archdemon’s son. And then, by another complete accident, I had sent the Archdemon’s son to sign in for me in his own father’s class, outing our relationship in the most public way imaginable. Ha. A lecture hall with nearly two hundred witnesses. This wasn’t just a walk of shame; it was a public execution. Ping. A new message popped up on my screen. It was from the Archdemon himself. [Your taste in men is as abysmal as your academic writing.] My heart, what was left of it, finally shattered into dust. 4 An hour later, Leo was kneeling on the rug in front of my sofa, head bowed, hands gripping his own ears in a gesture of penance. He peeked up at me, his amber eyes wet and pleading, looking for all the world like a giant, guilty puppy awaiting its punishment. “Sienna, I’m so sorry…” I closed my eyes, consumed by despair. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me your dad was Karl Harrison!” “I didn’t know he was your advisor until today…” his voice trailed off, thick with misery. By the time Leo realized something was wrong, it was too late. He’d already found a seat in the corner, trying to make himself invisible. But then his father had strolled over, tapping the desk with a curled finger. “Excuse me, young man. Who are you?” Leo looked up, his face a mask of doom. “…Dad.” The students around them: (A collective gasp) Professor Harrison’s expression didn’t change as his eyes dropped to Leo’s phone screen. “I meant, who are you signing in as?” My name was displayed in crystal clear letters. Making things infinitely worse, Leo stammered, “Sienna… She was really tired last night. Dad, you can’t blame her.” The gossiping students: “Ooooooh!” After hearing the full story… my face was ashen, my soul had departed my body. Leo shuffled closer on his knees and gently tugged on the hem of my shirt. “Sienna, I know my dad’s a monster, but I’m innocent!” he pleaded. “From now on, if he’s awful to you… just take it out on me, okay?” Was that even a thing? The son pays for the father’s sins? While I was still processing, Leo grabbed my hand and brought it toward his own face. “Just hit me. Don’t be mad anymore, please?” The moment my palm made contact with his cheek, he turned his head in perfect sync. Smack. It was a light sound, the hit carrying almost no force. But a faint red bloomed instantly on his pale skin. My heart stuttered. The pent-up frustration I’d been holding for weeks suddenly released, and a flicker of hidden pleasure sparked to life inside me. 5 The Archdemon, completely unconcerned that his son was now my personal punching bag, continued his brutal assault on my thesis. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable. By my count, this is the sixth new word you’ve invented. They should let you edit the next dictionary.” “Overall, this reads less like a research paper and more like a piece of absurdist fiction.” “Just keep writing. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can start over.” I paced my room, fuming. “We’re done! It’s over! I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to scream!” Leo followed me around like a puppy, holding a small cake and a bubble tea. “Babe, what did I do? I’m trying to escape my toxic family too! Just one bite of cake? Please?” “No!” “Then have a bite of me,” he murmured. “The son pays for the father’s sins. And I’m ready to pay with my body.” I spun around, and he was already pulling his long-sleeved T-shirt off over his head. He wiggled the cake and tea at me. “Cake, tea, or me?” His glistening chest was right there, in my face. I swallowed hard, trying to stay strong. “The very thought of you sharing blood with that monster makes me want to murder you!” Leo’s eyes narrowed playfully, the tips of his canines showing. “What kind of murder?” I raised my hand and slapped it against his chest. The muscle was firm and warm beneath my palm. Leo let out a low grunt. Instead of backing away, he leaned into it, pressing closer. His warm lips brushed against my ear. “Oh… that kind of murder…” Leo’s pale skin was incredibly sensitive. After we were done, his body was a canvas of mottled red marks and the faint impressions of my teeth. I licked my lips, utterly satisfied. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman glowing with life. The dark cloud of thesis-induced rage that had been hanging over me for days had vanished completely. The ‘son pays for the father’s sins’ policy was officially in effect. And I was becoming a monster. His dad humiliates me in a group meeting, I cuss him out. His dad rejects my paper, I take it out on him. His dad tries to make me look like a fool in class, I make sure he can’t get out of bed. … This went on until the Archdemon finally reached his breaking point with my fabricated data. He introduced me to his star pupil. 6 Karl Harrison rubbed his temples, his computer screen displaying the nonsense data I had concocted. “I must have been a serial killer in a past life to deserve teaching in this one.” I, the pig in question, stood beside him, not daring to breathe. My usual thick skin had worn thin. He glanced at me, his disgust unconcealed. “Sienna, it’s a miracle you wrote this much, and it’s an act of mercy that I’ve read this far.” “It has immense entertainment value, but zero academic merit.” “Can you swear to me,” he challenged, “that you could replicate these experimental results?” I flinched. Six experiments had yielded six completely unrelated sets of data. If the results hadn’t been so ridiculously off, I wouldn’t have had to resort to making them up. “Professor… I… I took the most representative trends and performed some… reasonable averaging,” I mumbled, my voice getting smaller. “Reasonable averaging?” Professor Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Your data is the equivalent of claiming a grandmother’s walking speed is five hundred miles per hour.” Well, he had me there. I thought I was off by an inch, not a few hundred miles. The Archdemon slid a business card across the desk to me. “Have your senior teach you what an experiment is. You’re writing fairy tales, not science.” 7 I couldn’t believe the Archdemon was actually pairing me with his most prized student. Aidan was a legend in our department. He’d published in a top-tier journal as an undergrad, making him Professor Harrison’s golden boy and a certified academic star. I’d only heard that he was humble and low-key. Working with him, I realized he was more than just handsome; he was so gentle and kind, it was hard to believe he was a product of Harrison’s mentorship. He spent a whole night with me in the lab, patiently helping me redesign my experiment from the ground up. Aidan’s teaching style was all about encouragement. He even complimented me on how well I washed a test tube. He also told me that the Archdemon actually thought highly of me. “You don’t know this, Sienna, but the more Professor Harrison values someone, the harsher he is with them. For a long time, he tore me down so much I seriously considered finding a time to hang myself from his office door.” I muttered under my breath, “My coping mechanism is much healthier. The most I’ve considered is hanging his son from his office door.” “Hmm?” Aidan didn’t catch that. I waved my hand dismissively. “Nothing, nothing.” Aidan smiled. “He’s always praising you to me, you know.” My ears perked up. “Praising me? How?” “Well… he said he can tell your papers aren’t written by AI. You don’t take shortcuts, you’re not opportunistic. He said that’s a very good quality.” I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, he left out the second half of that sentence: ‘because AI wouldn’t write something this bad.’” Aidan’s smile was warm. “Don’t sell yourself short. If you run into any trouble, your big brother is here to help.” With Aidan’s guidance and support, I was fired up, working with a newfound passion. I spent every waking moment in the lab. I barely had time to reply to Leo’s texts, maybe two or three a day. Seeing him in person was out of the question. I was observing a reaction, jotting down data. “Aidan, do you think I might be pregnant? Just looking at these numbers makes me want to puke.” Aidan got my joke and slid a milk tea across the bench to me. “Weren’t you two careful? I thought you always took precautions afterward.” Just as he finished speaking, there was a loud thud from the lab doorway, like someone had slammed into the frame. A dark figure quickly vanished. “What was that? Are the campus cats getting that big?” Aidan stood up and walked to the door, looking around. He bent down and picked up an elegantly wrapped bouquet of champagne-colored roses. When he turned back, his expression was amused. “Looks like it was a person,” he said, handing the flowers to me. “And I think they’re for you.” I grabbed the bouquet and ran outside, finding Leo by the flowerbeds below the science building. His head was hanging low, and he was clutching a thermos. He looked completely dejected. “What are you doing here?” I asked, walking up to him. “…I ran pretty far. Didn’t want you to have trouble finding me.” He looked up, his eyes downcast, the picture of misery. My heart softened, and I reached out to ruffle his soft hair. “Why didn’t you just come into the lab?” “I was afraid…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was muffled. “Afraid I’d interrupt you two.” He whispered the last two words so quietly I almost didn’t hear them. Then he quickly shoved the thermos into my hands. “This is chicken soup. I made it for you.” I was pleasantly surprised. “You can make soup?” “I read online that the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.” He turned his face away, the tips of his ears turning red. “So I’ve been… working on my cooking skills.” “Aww,” I cooed, giving his shoulder a light punch. “Your cooking has always been great. You’re a master of the ‘one-handed stir-fry,’ after all.” Leo’s face flushed crimson, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t fade. He was quiet for a few seconds before asking in a low voice, “So… who’s better? Me or him?” “Huh?” I didn’t hear him clearly. “Who?” He shook his head, his voice raspy. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over me, and took a deep breath. “Sienna, I’m leaving for the national tournament soon. Whatever decision you make… can you just wait until I get back to tell me? Please?” His words left me completely baffled. Before I could process anything, Leo leaned down and pressed a light, almost reverent kiss to my lips. Then he turned and strode away. I stood there, stunned. Was it a trick of the light? Or were his eyes glistening with tears just now?

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