Author: Momo Chan

The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?” Chapter 1 The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?” 1 The room went instantly silent. The handful of people inside, the hangers-on and sycophants, all stared. Serena, her hand instinctively resting on her perfectly tailored bump, kept her saccharine smile fixed. “Did Preston send you to pick me up…?” I didn’t spare her a glance. I walked straight past her, my eyes locked on the leather sectional. My daughter. Seven months pregnant, Clara was pinned against the cushions, struggling as a group of people tried to force a glass down her throat. The stench of spilled whiskey already permeated her thin dress. “Let her go.” The man with the loud floral shirt paused, looking uncertainly at Serena. Serena grabbed my arm, her touch instantly repulsive. “Mother Ashworth, it’s just a game. Clara lost a round, so she’s being punished.” CRACK! The sound—a wet, shocking crack—cut through the tension. I’d used all my resurrected strength on the slap. “Who do you think you’re calling ‘Mother’?” I hissed, my voice dangerously low. “Clara Ashworth is the only legal, recognized daughter-in-law of this family. You are nothing.” Serena’s head was still turned to the side, her expression frozen in disbelief. I didn’t look at her, my gaze hard and unforgiving. “I’ll say it one more time. Get away from her.” Serena’s eyes started to well up, a practiced show of wounded innocence. “Clara was being dramatic. Besides, a tiny sip of wine never hurt a pregnant woman…” “A tiny sip? That was a full glass of single-malt whiskey!” The thought of the burning liquid being forced on my pregnant daughter sent a renewed wave of fury through me. My eyes swept pointedly over Serena’s own noticeably prominent belly. “You’re a pregnant woman, too. Why don’t you offer to drink that for her?” “Absolutely not!” Serena recoiled instantly, a flash of pure fear crossing her face. “Mom, what are you doing here?!” Preston Ashworth’s voice boomed from the doorway. Serena instantly broke free of my grip and rushed to him, her eyes now truly red. “It was nothing, Preston! We were just playing a silly game with Clara, and Mother Ashworth got so angry…” Preston wrapped his arms around her, instantly comforting his mistress. “Mom, it’s just a drink. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” He didn’t spare Clara a single glance. Not one. Watching him, my heart went cold, inch by devastating inch. This was the man my precious Clara had trusted with her life. This was the son-in-law I had prayed over from my deathbed, hoping he would give her the happiness I could no longer guarantee. I spoke, my voice devoid of warmth. “This is the only warning you will get.” “If Clara and that child suffer any kind of permanent harm, I promise you, I will not hesitate to ruin you both.” 2 I drove Clara straight back to the Ashworth mansion, a cold silence hanging between us, and ordered the household staff to see to her comfort. A young maid, hesitant, guided Clara towards a dimly lit corner on the second floor. Then she pushed open a door I hadn’t noticed—a door that led to a small utility closet. The maid helped Clara inside and started to close the door. A rush of foul air—stale garbage and mildew—hit me. My brow furrowed. “What in God’s name are you doing?” I demanded of the maid. The maid looked back, genuinely confused. “Madam, this is Mrs. Ashworth’s room.” My breath hitched. My pupils instantly constricted. This was my daughter’s home? Her sanctuary? A single, narrow bed was shoved into the corner. It was the dead of winter, and the only covering was a flimsy cotton quilt, the exact one I’d knitted for her senior year of high school. She was the officially recognized Mrs. Ashworth! I fought down the urge to scream. I forced myself to maintain a smooth, even tone. “Go. Now. Clear out the South-facing Master Suite on the third floor.” “But that’s where Miss Hayes keeps her things…” “Clear it out. All of it.” The staff instantly scurried to obey. Within minutes, a flurry of activity began, moving Serena’s expensive-looking clutter out of the most luxurious suite in the house. Serena arrived moments later, surveying the sudden upheaval. “Stop! Who gave you the right to touch my things?!” This time, the staff ignored her, recognizing the sudden shift in the balance of power. Serena stomped her foot, enraged, then spotted me on the second-floor landing. She took a deep breath, smoothing her dress, forcing herself to adopt a contrite, obedient expression. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. “Mother Ashworth, why are you doing this? I’m carrying Preston’s child…” “Don’t you worry about Preston getting angry when he sees you throwing my belongings out?” I looked down at her, my expression utterly flat. “Clara is also pregnant.” “And the child she carries is the legitimate heir of the Ashworth name. Yours is not.” Serena didn’t react as expected. She laughed, a brittle, ugly sound. “Clara? She barely qualifies as a decent babysitter!” “She only latched onto Preston to get money for her mother’s medical bills. Preston only indulged her out of pity.” Her voice dropped, thick with scorn. “Now that her cancer-ridden mother is dead, Clara is a used plaything. She’s overstayed her welcome.” Serena’s words landed like sharp little knives, one after the other, plunging into the part of my heart that was still Clara’s mother. You told me you loved him, Clara. That he loved you. You told me you were happy. Was this what you endured all along? Were you sacrificing yourself even then? I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Serena, misinterpreting my silence as defeat, pressed her advantage, her tone thick with sneering confidence. “Preston runs this house, ultimately. Your son loves me, not her. Clara may be the legal wife, but she’ll be making way for me soon enough. Why cause a rift in the family for a toy Preston has already discarded?” I smiled then, a small, cold curve of my lips. I looked straight into the triumphant gleam in her eyes. “You want to join the Ashworth family?” I asked softly. “Preston’s approval is irrelevant. You have to ask me.” Serena’s face faltered, but before she could retort, the front door swung open. 3 Preston Ashworth walked in to find a mountain of Serena’s luxury goods piled on the Italian marble floor. His brows immediately drew together. “What the hell is going on here?” Serena’s composure instantly broke. She flew into his arms, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s nothing, darling. Just a misunderstanding.” She pulled back, looking martyr-like. “That suite has the best light. It really should go to Clara. I’m just being a little sentimental about the move… I might have been a bit short with the staff, and I upset Mother Ashworth.” Preston tenderly wiped the tears from her cheek, his concern centered solely on her. He finally looked up at me. “Mom, I told you. If you have an issue, you address it with me. Why are you punishing Serena? If you want to change her room, we can discuss it like adults.” “Discuss it like adults?” I raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the dark utility closet. “Was that the result of your ‘adult’ discussion? Making your seven-months-pregnant wife live in a glorified trash room?” Preston’s face flushed. He avoided my gaze. “She could have asked for a different room. Why did she have to steal Serena’s?” “Steal? I put your legal wife into the best suite in the house. What exactly is the problem?” Preston was speechless. After a long, awkward silence, he muttered, “But Serena is further along…” I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of his entitlement. “Preston, your legally wedded wife is seven months pregnant! Your mistress is carrying a child that is due before your wife’s. You’ve been married less than a year. How does that reflect on the Ashworth name, exactly?” His face went crimson. Serena, seeing his distress, gently stroked his arm, adopting the voice of a gentle angel. “Don’t fight with your mother over me, Preston. I really don’t mind where I stay, as long as you and the baby are happy. We should listen to Mother Ashworth.” She even gave me a beatific, pitying smile. Predictably, Preston only grew more protective. He looked down at Serena, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Pack a bag. You’re moving into the Master Bedroom with me tonight.” Serena looked stunned for a second, then shook her head softly. “No, darling, really. Don’t cause trouble with your mother. I can sleep anywhere, truly. As long as you and the baby are well…” “You’ll do as I say,” Preston insisted, patting her hand, his tone now a low growl. “I still run this house.” He put his arm around her and walked away. He didn’t dare look back at me. Serena leaned into him, utterly victorious. But before they rounded the staircase, she shot me a look over Preston’s shoulder—a fleeting glance of smug triumph and cold mockery. I remained still, watching them leave. When the massive house finally fell silent, I turned and walked up to Clara’s room. She was already settled, the silence in the luxurious room oppressive. I could barely hear her shallow breathing. She wasn’t sleeping peacefully; even in her sleep, her brow was deeply furrowed. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently took her cold hand. “Mom…” she murmured. “I’m here, Clara. I’m here.” She must have heard me because her fingers tightened, clinging to mine with a desperate strength. My mind replayed the scene from the hallway: Preston and Serena, intertwined, openly flaunting their affair. And here, my daughter suffered alone. My grip around her hand tightened. You have only me now, my sweet girl. Then, my gaze fell on her arm. Her sleeve had ridden up in the struggle, revealing an angry, purple bruise across her wrist. My heart plunged into my stomach. I carefully pulled the sleeve higher. A collection of injuries. Old ones, fading yellow. New ones, a sickening, fresh purple-red. I lowered my eyes to her pale, sleeping face and gently smoothed the crease from her brow. Then, I stood and quietly left the room. The muffled sound of Serena’s high-pitched laughter and Preston’s gentle, indulgent replies drifted down the hall from the Master Suite. I stood in the deep shadow of the landing, listening, my face empty of expression. Preston Ashworth. Serena Hayes. Very well. The scars your cruelty inflicted… I will repay every single one. Every moment of pain. With interest. You will pay for this. 4 To compensate Serena for the ‘trauma’ of being moved, Preston decided to throw a lavish dinner party. He also promised her that he would publicly announce her child as the Ashworth family’s sole and rightful heir. The ballroom was packed with the city’s elite. Preston stood in the center of the floor, Serena on his arm, beaming with self-satisfaction. “Congratulations, Preston!” “What a lucky lady, Mrs. Ashworth!” The fawning praises echoed through the room. No one mentioned the true Mrs. Ashworth, Clara, as if she were a ghost, an inconvenient memory. It was then that the grand double doors of the ballroom were thrown open. Silence. I stood in the doorway, my gaze sweeping the room. Preston spotted me and, with Serena on his arm, walked over. “Mom, you came. Perfect. Serena and I were just about to…” “Where is Clara?” I cut him off, my voice steady. Preston hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It’s a celebration, Mom. Don’t bring her up. She made a mistake, and she needs to reflect on it.” “What mistake?” Preston’s brow furrowed. “She is a spiteful woman. She tried to push Serena down the stairs this afternoon. If I hadn’t seen it, the outcome would have been unthinkable.” Serena, ever the consummate performer, instantly welled up, her voice a soft, injured whisper. “Mother Ashworth, Clara was truly terrible this time. We almost… almost lost the baby. Preston was simply upset, so he had to punish her.” I ignored Serena’s pathetic act and fixed my gaze on Preston. “She is not well. Tell me where Clara is, immediately.” Preston sighed, exasperated. “Not well? Can’t you see she’s acting? She’s manipulating you for sympathy. And besides, I am her husband. She misbehaved, and I have every right to discipline her!” My patience snapped. The thought of my daughter locked away somewhere, hurting, was unbearable. “Preston Ashworth! I’m asking you one last time. Where is my daughter?!” “Your daughter?” Serena repeated the phrase softly, a sneer forming at the corners of her mouth. She chuckled. “Ellie, are you feeling alright? You’ve been under a lot of stress. How could Clara be your daughter? Preston, maybe we should call a psychiatrist for your mother.” Preston’s face tightened. “Mom, be rational! You don’t have a daughter. Clara is nothing to you, she’s certainly not a part of this family…” He sighed deeply. “Enough. You’re overtired. Guards!” He waved toward the door. “My mother is exhausted. Escort her back to her room.” Two large security guards stepped forward, ready to intervene. “I’d like to see you try to move me,” I snapped. The guards froze, uncertain. Preston bit back a curse. “What are you waiting for? I am the head of this family. Take the old lady to rest!” I smiled, a cold, predatory smile. “The head of the family? Excellent.” I slowly pulled a thick, official-looking manila envelope from my clutch. When Preston saw the word ADOPTION stamped clearly on the cover, his eyes went wide. His previous confidence evaporated. “Mom, let’s go home and discuss this, just us…” “I gave you a chance, Preston. As of this moment, our relationship is severed. You are no longer the heir to the Ashworth fortune.” Preston stood frozen, his eyes finally showing a flicker of genuine terror. Just then, a maid ran into the ballroom, leaning in to whisper a frantic message into Preston’s ear. The words, though low, carried clearly to me: “Sir, Mrs. Ashworth has been locked in the ice room for three hours…” “We heard her crying earlier, but now the room is silent.” “Should we let her out?”

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Savannah’s “golden boy”—the one she’d always measured every other man against — He got leukemia. My wife, eight months pregnant, wanted to induce labor. Not to deliver our child, but to kill the baby and use the new baby to save him. The doctor had been clear: an eight-month induction was dangerous for her and would almost certainly be fatal for the baby. I grabbed her arm, trying to reason with her frantic panic, and she lashed out, her open palm cracking against my cheekbone. The sting was immediate and searing. “Dean Miller, are you really this self-absorbed?” Sav’s voice was a furious hiss. “Owen Shaw is dying, and you’re worried about some medical technicality! He’s the most important person in my life! I’m not going to stand by and watch him go!” She didn’t wait for my response. She slammed out the door and hailed a cab to the hospital. Dazed and numb, I followed her, driven by a horrifying sense of disbelief. Later, outside the operating room, I could hear her screams, raw and tearing, yet even in her pain, she was telling the nurses, “Save Owen! Please, just get the blood to save Owen!” In that moment, standing there with the throbbing pain in my jaw and the screams echoing in the hall, I realized the absolute, pathetic joke I was. And in that moment, I decided. I would give her what she wanted—her perfect Owen. Chapter 1 Savannah’s “golden boy”—the one she’d always measured every other man against — He got leukemia. My wife, eight months pregnant, wanted to induce labor. Not to deliver our child, but to kill the baby and use the new baby to save him. The doctor had been clear: an eight-month induction was dangerous for her and would almost certainly be fatal for the baby. I grabbed her arm, trying to reason with her frantic panic, and she lashed out, her open palm cracking against my cheekbone. The sting was immediate and searing. “Dean Miller, are you really this self-absorbed?” Sav’s voice was a furious hiss. “Owen Shaw is dying, and you’re worried about some medical technicality! He’s the most important person in my life! I’m not going to stand by and watch him go!” She didn’t wait for my response. She slammed out the door and hailed a cab to the hospital. Dazed and numb, I followed her, driven by a horrifying sense of disbelief. Later, outside the operating room, I could hear her screams, raw and tearing, yet even in her pain, she was telling the nurses, “Save Owen! Please, just get the blood to save Owen!” In that moment, standing there with the throbbing pain in my jaw and the screams echoing in the hall, I realized the absolute, pathetic joke I was. And in that moment, I decided. I would give her what she wanted—her perfect Owen. …… The cut on the corner of my mouth was still hot and stinging. Behind the closed door, the gut-wrenching screams of my wife, Savannah, continued, punctuated by the cold, sterile sounds of the hospital. I stood leaning against a far wall, scrolling through my phone, my fingers moving without thought. I was a ghost in the periphery, and I felt nothing. Owen and Sav’s mutual friends, a tight-knit circle I’d never quite fit into, shot me glances filled with disdain and utter contempt. Three hours later, the double doors swung open, and they wheeled Sav out. Beneath the pristine white blanket, her stomach was tragically flat. Her friends crowded around her, hands gripping hers, their voices a sympathetic chorus. “Oh, darling, you were so brave. You shouldn’t have gone through that.” “It’s a miracle! Owen has a chance now!” “Honestly, Sav, you deserve better. How could a husband be so cold? Not even here to hold your hand through something this huge.” Savannah’s lips were pressed into a thin, pale line. She hadn’t spoken. One of the women eventually shoved me forward, right up to the bedside. Savannah’s gaze met mine. Slowly, she lifted her hand and hooked her pinky around my own, giving my hand a small, familiar little swing. I knew the move. It was her signal, her soft, practiced manipulation to smooth things over. Before this morning, that tiny gesture would have had me dropping to my knees for her, begging for her forgiveness, even though I hadn’t wronged her. This time, I slowly and deliberately pulled my hand away. Her eyes widened in a fleeting flash of shock, and her brow furrowed slightly. “It was just a pregnancy, Dean,” she whispered, her voice weak but still dismissive. “Don’t be so petty. Once Owen is better, we can always have another one.” Another one? That was how casually she dismissed the life we had planned for. The image of the happy, perfect family we’d dreamed up in this very hospital—it was grotesque now. I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. I hope you and your heart’s desire have all the children you want.” “Dean Miller! Enough with the drama! We are just friends. Do not infect our relationship with your sick, filthy mind.” Just then, Owen wheeled himself in, pale but perfectly positioned for sympathy. Ignoring the small, appreciative murmur of the crowd, I pushed the door open and walked out. “Doctor,” I asked, stopping awkwardly outside the office, my voice tight. “Could I… could I take the baby’s body? I just want to… lay my son to rest properly.” The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course, Mr. Miller. It’s protocol. It’s just… a shame. The mother was so insistent. Otherwise, the baby had a very strong chance of surviving.” The doctor’s words were a cold, sharp blade, twisted deep in the wound. A strong chance of surviving. After arranging for the baby’s remains, I went home. The box of designer diapers I’d bought, the last little bit of shopping we’d done together, was still sitting in the corner of the living room. I hadn’t had the heart to move it. Before I could even process that, the phone rang. It was Sav’s parents. “Dean! Where are you? Get home, clean up the place, and start cooking! Your birthday is tomorrow, and the family is coming over for dinner.” “And book us a suite at the Hilton downtown. You know your cleaning is too noisy, and we can’t sleep through it.” I glanced at the clock on my phone. Two in the morning. “It’s my birthday. Why am I celebrating it at your house, cooking and cleaning for your relatives?” Sav’s father let out a cold, dismissive snort. “Don’t be ungrateful, boy. You’re a pathetic orphan, a walking jinx. We did you a favor letting Sav marry you. Hosting your birthday is a kindness. You think cooking a meal is too much to ask?” His stream of insults flowed freely, as they always did. I looked around the house. I had meticulously cleaned this place every day. The couch was draped with Sav’s favorite blanket. Her personalized coffee mug sat on the counter. This house was built with the last of my parents’ inheritance, every penny I had, all so Savannah would have the secure, beautiful home she deserved. Now, she had shattered it. “I’m divorcing Savannah,” I said, the words surprisingly steady. “You don’t need to worry about my birthday.” Silence. Then, a roar. “What? You don’t get to decide that! What kind of man are you? My daughter was carrying your child! Have you no conscience?” I laughed again, this time a sound completely hollowed out. “Just now, she got rid of that child. She did it so she could try to have a baby for another man.” “That’s impossible! My Ruoshu is a good girl! She would never!” “Go check the hospital, then.” I hung up, pulling the phone from my ear. For the first time, I blocked their number. For years, I had bent over backwards, desperate for their approval, all for Sav. I didn’t need it anymore. My gaze drifted to the pristine white crib in the nursery. I had pictured our child here a thousand times. All I could see now was the flat emptiness beneath the hospital blanket, and all I could hear was the doctor’s regret. My wife and my child, the two people I held most dear, were both gone in a single night of brutal self-destruction. I numbly packed up the baby’s things, intending to burn them. As I finished, a notification popped up. It was Owen’s social media feed. “Love truly conquers all.” The accompanying picture was a grainy shot from what looked like a hotel room. Owen was holding a woman’s hand, their fingers laced together. On her wrist, a slender diamond bracelet caught the light. I recognized it instantly. It was the bracelet I’d given Savannah for our first wedding anniversary. The comment section was filled with congratulatory messages for the couple. I tapped the like button, a final, cold acknowledgment of the end, and was about to block him when a video call came through. It was Owen. He was propped up naked against the white pillows, his neck marked with obvious hickeys. He shifted the camera slightly, and there she was: Savannah, asleep beside him, also naked, her skin bruised with fresh marks of intimacy. “Hey, Miller,” Owen drawled, his voice thick with satisfied laziness. “Man, I owe you one. I never thought you’d be cool enough to let your wife give me a shot at life. When I’m better, I’ll come thank you in person.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, and happy birthday, brother. Hope it’s a good one!” He kept the camera trained on the naked woman beside him. “Sav’s exhausted. Can’t talk for long. Don’t want to wake her.” I cut him off, my voice shaking with a rage so cold it felt clean. “You’re disgusting, Owen. You really think being the home-wrecker gives you the moral high ground?” Owen laughed, a short, sharp sound of pure scorn. “The only one who matters is the one who’s loved, Dean. Look at her. The moment I needed her, she dropped everything—including a perfectly good husband and a child—to be here. You’ll never have that kind of hold on her.” He was right. I couldn’t compete with the phantom limb of her first love. Savannah loved him so completely she had risked her own life for a chance to save his. A sudden exhaustion crashed over me. I felt too tired to speak. Before I could hang up, Owen’s eyes suddenly went wide and red. “Owen… what’s wrong? Who hurt you?” Savannah’s frantic voice cut through the phone. Owen instantly handed the phone to her. “Sav, it’s my fault. All my fault. If I hadn’t gotten sick, you wouldn’t have had to risk so much. You should be home, setting up the nursery. You and Dean should be a happy family.” Savannah’s face, which had been full of tenderness for him, twisted into pure loathing when she looked at the phone—at me. “Dean Miller! How dare you bully him! I chose to do this for Owen! I can have a baby with anyone I want to! I married you, I didn’t sell you my rights! Stay out of my business!” I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them, utterly calm. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “You’re absolutely right.” Taken aback by my lack of argument, Savannah sighed, her tone shifting to condescension. “Look, Dean, when Owen is better, we can try again. We can have a baby, and be a family of three, okay?” I didn’t answer. I just hung up the phone. Savannah’s life, and everything in it, was no longer my concern. She came home that evening, and Owen was with her. “Owen’s a patient, Dean. I couldn’t leave him alone.” She tossed the explanation over her shoulder like a piece of refuse. “He needs the master bedroom, and I need to be close to him. You can move into the nursery for now. You can sleep on the floor. When I get pregnant, you can have your room back.” Before I could process the insult, Owen appeared, laying a sickly, saccharine charm on thick. “Thank you, Dean. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you two.” He walked right into the master bedroom. Moments later, my clothes, my books, and all my personal effects were unceremoniously dumped outside the door. They looked just as superfluous as I felt. Our wedding portrait, the photo of us laughing on our honeymoon, was thrown out as well. Owen emerged, feigning apology. “Sorry about that, Dean, buddy. But, you know, Sav and I are trying to conceive. Having your wedding photo on the nightstand? It’s a little… unnerving.” Savannah patted his shoulder with an expression of fierce protection. “Don’t worry, Owen. I’m right here.” They were perfectly in sync. I ignored them both, gathering my things and moving into the empty room I had painstakingly decorated for my son. Savannah dedicated herself to waiting on Owen, bringing him tea and fetching his water. Our wedding portrait lay face-up on the living room rug, and every time someone walked by, it was impossible not to step on it. A clear footprint was etched over my face. Thunk. Suddenly, my favorite coffee mug, the one Sav and I bought together, hit the floor and shattered. Owen, claiming it was an accident, smiled with wicked delight. “Whoops! My bad, Dean. I swear it was an accident. You’re not mad, are you, man?” I refused to engage. But then, he stumbled dramatically onto the shards of ceramic. A piece sliced his forearm, and blood immediately welled up. His eyes flooded with tears. “Dean, I know you hate me. I know I deserve it. Punish me however you want, just don’t hate Sav.” Savannah flew out of the bedroom. She saw the blood and instantly went ballistic. “Dean Miller! How evil are you? He’s a sick man! How could you deliberately hurt him?” She grabbed the dusty baseball bat I kept in the corner for security and swung it hard at my ribs. I crumpled, my legs going weak, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A torrent of warm blood streamed down my face. I lay there, shaking from pain and shock, watching the paramedics load a tearful Owen onto the gurney. Savannah never even looked at me. I was left alone, bleeding on the floor. I held back the overwhelming wave of pain and grief. I closed my eyes and slipped into a dizzying darkness. I woke to the sound of the front door opening. Savannah and Owen had returned. She saw me still lying there and rolled her eyes in disgusted irritation. Then, she kicked me hard in the stomach. “You’re disgusting! If anything had happened to Owen, I swear, I would have killed you myself!” Owen, playing the magnanimous victim, rushed over and pulled Sav away. “Sav, stop! I’m fine. Please, don’t fight. I’m sure Dean didn’t mean it.” Savannah was immediately protective. “Oh, Owen, you are too kind! That’s why people take advantage of you. It’s all Dean’s fault. He’s so thoughtless.” She looked down at me, her expression a mask of cold superiority. “Get up. Stop pretending. Go make us dinner. Owen wants rack of lamb, so make plenty.” Rack of lamb. I was violently allergic to lamb—the smell alone could send me into anaphylactic shock. I forced myself up, hunching over against the waves of crippling abdominal pain. “Why should I cook for you?” I asked, my voice a croak. “Owen fell on the shards himself. I didn’t touch him.” Savannah didn’t care about the facts. “He’s not an idiot! He wouldn’t just fall on shattered glass for no reason!” She pushed me roughly toward the kitchen. “You’re not leaving until that food is cooked. It’s because Owen is too gentle that you keep taking advantage of him. All I asked was for you to cook one meal. Don’t be difficult.” I finished the meal, my body protesting with every movement. My stomach cramped, and my skin was already breaking out in angry red hives from the fumes of the lamb. My lips were a sickly white. Savannah eyed the perfectly cooked meal, nodding in approval. Finally, she gave me a cursory glance. Her brow twitched. “Your face looks terrible. What’s wrong?” I managed to pull back before her hand touched me. Ignoring her look of annoyance, I slowly crawled back toward the nursery. I barely made it to the edge of the floor mattress before the door was flung open. Savannah marched in and yanked me off the bed with violent force, then slapped me hard across the face. “I thought you were finally learning your lesson! You went and harassed Owen the minute I went to the bathroom!” The force of the slap sent me reeling. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my throat. Owen stood behind her, his hand covering a fresh, angry red mark on his cheek. He clutched Savannah’s arm, tearful and dramatic. “Sav, don’t blame him. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left the room.” Savannah led him to the sofa, her face etched with profound worry. “Sit down. The ambulance is coming right now. We’re taking you to the ER.” She turned back to me, her eyes alight with fury. “I am not letting you get away with this. You have put him in the hospital twice today!” She left with Owen in the ambulance, never noticing the dark stain of my own blood spreading on the floor. My phone had been kicked clear across the room. I didn’t have the strength to crawl to it. Messages were flooding my screen. Savannah, too enraged to wait, was sending me a flurry of hate-filled texts. My vision was swimming. With the last of my failing strength, I reached the phone and dialed the first number in my emergency contacts. It rang and rang. Finally, a weary, irritable voice answered. It was Savannah. “Dean, what do you want? I’m with Owen. You hit him so hard his lip is bleeding. You are a truly malicious person, and I will never forgive you.” I couldn’t argue. I just needed help. “You’re right. It’s all my fault. Could you just…” The line went dead. She had hung up. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I fell down on the floor.

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While slacking off on the clock, a post of Slack Channel popped up on my phone. [I have a massive crush on the new intern. Problem is, his girlfriend is also an intern here. Advice?] The top comment read: [If he has a girlfriend, back off. Are you seriously considering becoming the office homewrecker?] But the original poster fired back with a long response. [Okay, here’s my deal: I’m thirty, unmarried, and completely financially secure—car, condo, savings. Aside from being eight years older than him, I have his girlfriend beat on pretty much everything else.] [I finally found someone I actually like. Am I really supposed to just walk away?] Immediately, a flood of commenters jumped in to offer advice. [They just graduated, they haven’t faced the real world yet, no stress, no professional rivalry. Stir the pot a little and they’ll break up, guaranteed.] [Support the poster! Go get your man. I agree with the above. Start being overly nice to his girlfriend. That’ll make the guy feel off-balance and guilty. Once a couple starts fighting over work, it’s game over.] [Bonus tip: You’re management. Just block her promotion. Then it’s just you and him left in the company.] I muttered a curse under my breath—seriously, what a psycho—and immediately forgot about the thread. That afternoon, however, the Department Director, Miranda Shaw, called me and my boyfriend into her office. “A major, high-value feature just landed,” she announced. “Whoever lands the exclusive interview for this project gets a guaranteed fast-track to full-time.” Chapter 1 While slacking off on the clock, a Reddit post popped up on my phone. [I have a massive crush on the new intern. Problem is, his girlfriend is also an intern here. Advice?] The top comment read: [If he has a girlfriend, back off. Are you seriously considering becoming the office homewrecker?] But the original poster fired back with a long response. [Okay, here’s my deal: I’m thirty, unmarried, and completely financially secure—car, condo, savings. Aside from being eight years older than him, I have his girlfriend beat on pretty much everything else.] [I finally found someone I actually like. Am I really supposed to just walk away?] Immediately, a flood of commenters jumped in to offer advice. [They just graduated, they haven’t faced the real world yet, no stress, no professional rivalry. Stir the pot a little and they’ll break up, guaranteed.] [Support the poster! Go get your man. I agree with the above. Start being overly nice to his girlfriend. That’ll make the guy feel off-balance and guilty. Once a couple starts fighting over work, it’s game over.] [Bonus tip: You’re management. Just block her promotion. Then it’s just you and him left in the company.] I muttered a curse under my breath—seriously, what a psycho—and immediately forgot about the thread. That afternoon, however, the Department Director, Miranda Shaw, called me and my boyfriend into her office. “A major, high-value feature just landed,” she announced. “Whoever lands the exclusive interview for this project gets a guaranteed fast-track to full-time.” 1 Hearing those words, my stomach tightened. It was probably because of the ridiculous post I’d just read, but I instantly flashed back to the comments. I shook my head a second later, trying to physically jettison the thought. What were the chances of a coincidence that absurd? The world wasn’t a bad romance novel. I heard my boyfriend, Owen Grant, say, “No problem, Miranda.” I quickly chimed in with, “I’m on it.” Miranda nodded, satisfied with our responses, and waved us out. She was nothing like the psycho in the comments. It was just a crazy coincidence. I put the whole thing out of my mind. As soon as we were out of the office, Owen and I made a verbal pact. “No matter who wins, no pouting,” I said, holding out my hand. “And whoever gets the interview, the winner buys dinner to celebrate,” he added, shaking my hand vigorously. We both laughed, a shared, easy sound. We knew when we decided to intern at the same company that there would be competition. But neither of us thought it would ever jeopardize our relationship. For the past month, we’d adapted beautifully. We didn’t have to worry about fitting in, going to work, eating lunch, and leaving together every day. We were a couple, but we were also each other’s primary support system. I’d told him more than once how much I loved our life exactly as it was. Owen had always agreed. That night, though, we didn’t drive home together. We went our separate ways. I figured Owen would take the direct route and try to stake out the CEO’s office. So I decided to go rogue. I tracked down the CEO’s daughter. I’d heard Mr. Brad was completely devoted to her, and I figured leveraging that relationship was my best shot. The conversation went better than expected. Chloe promised she’d talk to her dad for me. My heart full of smug satisfaction, I headed home. When I walked in, I found Owen had already cooked dinner. He looked unusually pleased with himself. My heart did a tiny, nervous flop. Did I get here too late? Just as the thought crossed my mind, Owen walked over. “Babe, guess what? Mr. Brad already agreed to my interview. Looks like you were a step too slow, but don’t look so bummed!” His joy was obvious, but there wasn’t a hint of malice or gloating in it. And he’d cooked all my favorite dishes. I was genuinely happy for him. “Well then, congratulations on the early promotion!” I said, smiling. He stroked my hair and gave me a playful squeeze. “My girl is amazing; you’ll get yours soon enough. And when I get my first real paycheck, it’s all yours.” I nodded, not disappointed in the slightest. In fact, his words made my heart feel warm and sweet. So sweet, in fact, that I completely forgot to follow up with Chloe. I didn’t remember until the next morning. When I got to the office, Miranda Shaw called us both into her office again. I knew she was going to discuss the interview. I was ready for the inevitable professional dressing-down; that’s just how the corporate world works. But I wasn’t ready for what Miranda did next. She walked right up to me. “Lily,” she said, her smile wide and slightly unnerving. “Congratulations. You’ve been assigned the feature interview. Make us proud.” At her words, the happy smiles on both Owen’s and my face instantly froze. 2 I was the first to recover, my surprise giving way to confusion. “Miranda, I think there’s a misunderstanding. Owen secured the interview yesterday!” Owen, now catching up, frowned, though his expression was more confused than angry. “That’s right. Mr. Brad personally agreed to meet with me yesterday afternoon. Did something change?” Miranda looked genuinely surprised, though later I’d realize it was the performance of a lifetime. “That’s impossible,” she said. “Mr. Brad called me early this morning and specifically requested Lily Hayes for the interview.” I frowned, a deep, unsettling premonition sinking in my gut. Before I could speak, Miranda spoke to me in a warm, motherly tone. “Lily, I know you two are a couple, but there’s no need to sacrifice your work for him. You have the talent. Go get it.” Then she turned to Owen, her voice hardening slightly. “Owen, listen to me. Competition is completely normal in the workplace. Don’t worry. You missed this one, but there’ll be others.” Owen nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. But he still managed, “Of course. Whatever is best for the company.” Miranda smiled, gave a curt nod, and dismissed us. Outside the office, Owen turned to me. “It’s fine, babe. Seriously. You nail the interview and get the experience. Don’t feel any pressure from me.” I nodded absently, a knot still tightening in my stomach. Something felt deeply wrong. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Chloe Lin. Ah, this must be it. I immediately typed an apology and started to explain the mix-up, asking her to clarify things with her dad. Instead, she called me. “I can’t believe you!” she practically screamed. “I only helped you because you begged me to talk to my father! You took the interview from your own boyfriend and you’re not celebrating? Stop acting so innocent!” “Don’t ever contact me again!” She hung up, and the messages I sent immediately turned into a single exclamation point. I sighed, bewildered, and turned around. Owen was standing right behind me. He had clearly heard Chloe’s voice over the speaker. His face was a mask of disbelief and rage. I opened my mouth to explain. “Lily Hayes,” he said, his voice shaking. “If you wanted this interview, I would have stepped back without a fight. But setting up this kind of backstabbing scheme? That’s low.” I knew I hadn’t set him up. But I was certain someone had set me up. I was about to explain the situation with Chloe when Miranda’s voice cut in from behind me. “Owen Grant. My office. Now.” Owen didn’t emerge for nearly half an hour. By then, the office was buzzing, and I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I finally caught up to him during the lunch break. He was already walking out the door. “I have something to do this afternoon,” he said coldly. “I won’t be joining you for lunch.” With that, he walked away. I knew he believed Chloe’s fabricated story. With no chance to explain face-to-face, I sent him a series of detailed texts. He didn’t reply. Not when he came back from lunch, and not by the time we left for the day. The drive home was silent. When we walked into our apartment, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Owen, did you see my mess—” I stopped. He had pulled a rolling suitcase out of the closet and was filling it. Panic gripped me. “Owen! What are you doing?” We’d been together since freshman year of college—four years. Was he breaking up with me over this? I grabbed his arm, trying to stop his frantic packing. “Lily, just focus on the interview. I’m going on a quick business trip with Miranda. We’ll talk when I get back,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “We both need a reset.” He pulled his arm free, grabbed the suitcase, and walked out the door. A trip with Miranda? A sudden, horrifying thought surfaced. Against my better judgment, I pulled out my phone, found the post, and clicked on it. The psycho had updated it. 3 [I set them up! Got my old contact to agree to the guy, then flip the interview to the girl. Today, they had a major fight in the break room.] [Just scheduled a business trip with him. Wish me luck, ladies!] Every single detail matched. I finally knew it. The post was Miranda Shaw’s. I couldn’t believe the brazen, professional manipulation. Below the update, the comments were piling up, eager for the next step. I was shaking with anger. My fingers flew across the screen. [This is psychopathic. You’re nothing but a predator.] Miranda replied almost instantly. [It’s called strategic ambition, sweetheart. The ends justify the means. If I can successfully ‘poach’ him, he’ll thank me for upgrading him.] Her logic was sickening, but I had to admit, she had a point—a truly cynical one. But before I could reply again, the trolls came out. Whoa, same IP address! Girlfriend alert! Stop fighting the poster and go get your man back! I knew they only wanted a spectacle. Two seconds later, my comment was deleted. I gritted my teeth, navigated to my contacts, and called Owen. He picked up almost immediately. “Lily, don’t explain. I saw your texts. I know this isn’t your fault! It’s complicated,” he said, his voice back to its old, gentle, reassuring tone. “I’ll bring you back a present when I get home.” Hearing his familiar voice, I felt the knot in my stomach loosen. He’s right. We had four years of history. We had trust. Why was I letting a psycho on a public forum make me doubt him? As Miranda herself had said, if she could truly steal him, then she was only helping me recognize him for what he was. My anger deflated. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from checking the thread. Miranda hadn’t updated, but Owen was texting me constantly, checking in, sending me photos of the city. It was as if our argument and the trip hadn’t even happened. I slowly started to relax. The night before he was due to return, we were on a long video call, the way we always did when we were apart. Then, I heard a knock on his hotel room door. A second later, I heard Miranda’s voice. “Owen, the shower in my room is busted. Can I use yours?” Owen sounded completely nonplussed. “Sure, no problem.” My heart jumped into my throat. I tried to interrupt, to demand he call me back, to say anything. But before I could, Owen abruptly hung up. My good mood evaporated. [Don’t hang up on me! Call me back NOW!] [Owen, I’m serious, I’m getting mad!] My messages went unanswered. I tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail. After several agonizing minutes, he finally sent a text. [Lily, I’m busy. Talk later.] Busy doing what? What could a man and woman alone in a hotel room possibly be doing? I wanted to trust him. I truly did. But in that moment, I couldn’t. I kept refreshing my phone, waiting for his follow-up call, that promised “talk later.” By 3:00 AM, my heart felt cold and numb. I stopped texting. Instead, I opened the thread. I knew, somehow, it would be there. Miranda’s latest update was waiting for me. [I’ve been trying to initiate physical contact this whole trip. He keeps pulling away, but I can feel that he’s not resistant. We go back tomorrow. I used the ‘busted shower’ excuse to get into his room. Yes, we kissed. I asked him if he’d ever done that with his girlfriend. He said no.] [I asked him if he wanted to try it with me. He got heated, but in the end, he stopped. He said he couldn’t do that to his girlfriend.] [Ladies, what do I do now?] The words stabbed me like needles, leaving me breathless. I told myself Miranda was doing this to torture me, that it wasn’t true. But if it wasn’t true, why hadn’t Owen called? My eyes burned. I knew I was done. I was packing my bag. But before I could say the words, Owen beat me to it. “Lily, I’m putting in my two weeks’ notice.”

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My wife, Chloe, was practically vibrating with excitement as she told me. Her mother was gifting an investment property to every son-in-law. “My mom is so generous!” she beamed, her face flushed with pride. But when the meeting was held, three sets of deeds were handed out, and mine was conspicuously absent. I looked at Chloe, but she immediately avoided my gaze. “Mom must have her reasons for this, Alex. Don’t make a scene. We’ll look ridiculous.” I simply nodded. The first thing I did when we got home was cancel my mother-in-law’s reservation for that exclusive, eight-figure treatment slot at the Swiss longevity clinic. 1 The computer screen cast a cold, detached light on my face. With a light click of my finger on the mouse, a dialogue box popped up. “Are you certain you wish to cancel this booking? This is a top-tier, highly limited slot. Once canceled, restoration is not guaranteed.” I clicked confirm. The action was swift, clean, and without a trace of hesitation. A confirmation email from Zurich slid into my inbox, looking less like a receipt and more like a death warrant—only the condemned wasn’t me. I shut the laptop. The world instantly went silent. The liquid magma that had been churning in my chest for hours instantly cooled, solidified, and hardened into black obsidian. I walked into the kitchen, retrieving the broccoli and beef tenderloin I’d bought that afternoon. The water ran, washing the vegetables with mechanical precision. The knife struck the cutting board in a rhythmic thud, thud, thud. Every step was the same as it had been for the last three hundred and sixty-five days. A calculated, domestic routine. It was as if the elaborate, humiliating farce of the afternoon had never happened. The sound of the lock turning signaled Chloe’s return. Her movement as she slipped off her shoes was a beat slower than usual. When she entered the living room, her eyes deliberately skirted past me. She carried a scent of nervous guilt mixed with an eager-to-please desperation. I slid the sliced beef into the hot skillet. The oil spat a little, and the savory aroma instantly filled the air. Chloe hovered at the kitchen doorway, her voice small and careful. “Honey, you didn’t have to cook. What are you making? Smells amazing.” I didn’t turn around. “Just something simple.” My voice was flat, like a stagnant pool that refused to ripple. She awkwardly rubbed her hands together. “It really does smell great.” Dinner was set: two dishes and a soup—all her favorites. She served my plate with an unusually deferential posture. At the dinner table, the only sound was the faint clink of silverware, the silence heavy enough to choke on. Finally, she couldn’t stand it. “Alex, about this afternoon… try not to let it get to you.” I picked up a floret of broccoli and didn’t respond. “My mom, she’s older, a bit forgetful, you know? She just loves the spectacle, making everyone fuss over her.” Her voice sounded so hollow, every word a pathetic excuse for her own cowardice. “She didn’t mean anything by it, so please don’t hold it against her.” “Later, I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” Make it up? With what? Her meager bank salary? Her cheap, shaky affection? I finally swallowed the bite of food in my mouth and looked up at her. “Got it.” Just two words, but they were an ice wall, stopping every other feeble word she had planned. She stared at me, visibly startled, as if she expected hysterics, or at least a tearful interrogation. This cold, terrifying calm was new. Just then, my phone blared, shattering the peace. The name “Mom” flashed on the screen, a cruel irony. I let it ring, the sound echoing through the dining room again and again. Chloe’s face was tightening with panic. She urged, “Alex, pick up! It has to be Mom.” I slowly and methodically set down my fork and wiped my mouth with my napkin. Then, right in front of her, I answered the call. Patricia’s sharp, abrasive voice immediately spewed from the speaker. “Alex! What the hell is this! You think you can give me attitude? Who do you think you are, putting on a show for everyone! You ungrateful snake!” I remained silent, listening. My lack of response seemed to fuel her, and she ramped up the abuse. “I know you’re mad about the properties. But what right do you have to be? What have you ever done for this family? You’re a liability, a kept man who—” I didn’t let her finish. I ended the call. Immediately after, I went to her contact, selected it, and dragged it to the blocked list. The entire action was smooth and deliberate. Chloe’s eyes were wide and fixed on my screen. She jolted up, the chair scraping the floor with a harsh noise. “Alex! What are you doing! That’s my mother!” It was the first time she had ever shouted at me like this. Her face was bright red with agitation. “How could you hang up on my mom and block her number? That is so disrespectful to your elders!” I looked at her face, slightly contorted by anger, with cold indifference. “Disrespect?” I let the word hang in the air, the tail end dripping with scorn. “When everyone in your family gets a gift except me, is that respect?” “When your mother publicly humiliates me, and you don’t dare to utter a single defense, were you respecting me then?” The barrage of rhetorical questions was a series of pointed knives, slicing through her mask of feigned innocence. Chloe’s face turned instantly white. She opened her mouth, her throat working, but no words came out. After a few excruciating seconds, she finally found her voice, but her bravado had completely evaporated. “But… but that’s different. She’s my mother, she’s older… We’re family, you shouldn’t keep score…” There it was again. The same tired excuse. This woman would never learn to take responsibility, always hiding her cowardice and selfishness behind the cheap shield of “family.” I didn’t want to waste another second. I walked into my study, pulled a document from the drawer of my safe, and slammed it down onto the dining table in front of her. “Chloe, open your eyes and look closely.” She looked down and saw the bold title: PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT AND ASSET DISCLOSURE. My voice was icy, devoid of all emotion. “We’ve been married five years. The funds and stock options in my name have appreciated by seven figures. That’s a number your yearly salary wouldn’t reach if you worked for a hundred years without spending a dime.” “Your first startup failed, sinking two hundred thousand dollars. I was the one who filled that hole.” “Your father’s heart bypass last year. The best imported stent, three hundred grand. I pulled the strings to get the surgeon, and I paid the bill.” “Your mother complained about her back last year. I bought her that bespoke, German-engineered stress-relief chair. Ten thousand dollars.” “Everything in this house, everything in your lives, has been supported by my effort and my capital. Your mother says I haven’t contributed? What was all of that? Feed for the damn dogs?” Chloe’s face went from chalk-white to a sickly grey. She stared at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, as if she were seeing me for the very first time. Watching her pathetic reaction, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. “Chloe, I paid for you and your family because I thought you were my wife and they were my in-laws.” “Now I understand. I was never family to you. I was just an outsider, someone you could all casually humiliate and exploit.” “The game is over.” 2 First thing the next morning, my older sister-in-law, Stella, called. Her tone was hostile and commanding. “Alex, you and Chloe need to get back to the main house immediately. Mom has something to say.” She hung up without even bothering to say “brother-in-law.” I looked at the dead phone screen and a cold smile touched my lips. The family inquest had begun swiftly. Chloe was a nervous wreck beside me, her face profoundly distressed. “Alex, maybe… maybe we should just go? Mom is definitely still furious. If we just apologize, say a few sweet things, this will all blow over.” I glanced at her, said nothing, and walked into the bedroom to change. She interpreted my action as a surrender and a look of relief washed over her face as she followed me. “That’s right. Family doesn’t hold grudges. I promise, I’ll speak up for you this time.” I selected a black collared shirt—simple, but making my whole demeanor sharper, colder. The man in the mirror had eyes as keen as a knife edge. Chloe looked at me, momentarily stunned. “Alex, why… why are you dressing so formally?” I turned to face her. “I’m going to a funeral. I should be appropriately dressed.” Chloe’s face instantly crumbled. At the main house, a heavy, suffocating atmosphere hit us the moment we opened the door. The living room couch was fully occupied. My mother-in-law, Patricia, sat in the center seat, her face so dark it looked like it might drip acid. Stella and her husband, Marcus, were on one side. My younger sister-in-law, Jenna, and her husband, Scott, were on the other. The setup for the three-way inquisition was clear. As we walked in, all eyes focused on me like floodlights. Marcus spoke first, his tone oily and mocking. “Well, well, the second son-in-law decided to grace us with his presence. So busy, aren’t you? Not like us. Mom says jump, we jump.” He subtly flashed the new wristwatch on his wrist, the smugness radiating off him. Patricia had bought him the watch yesterday with some of the money from the property sale, a reward for his eager flattery. I ignored him, walking directly to the single armchair and sitting down with casual confidence. Chloe followed, looking like a scolded child, standing awkwardly beside me, afraid to sit. Patricia gave a heavy grunt and slammed her teacup down on the table, the noise jarring. “Alex Philips, you finally decided to show your face! Do you have any respect left for me!” She finally launched her attack, her voice shrill and piercing. “I called you yesterday, and you dared to hang up on me and block me! Who do you think you are! That is utterly tasteless!” I watched her performance quietly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on my lips. My serenity seemed to enrage her further. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is about! The properties! Well, let me tell you, those properties are for the contributors!” She pointed at Marcus, raising her voice. “Your older brother-in-law, he’s sweet, he talks nicely, he keeps me happy every day!” Then she pointed at Scott. “Your younger brother-in-law, he has a good, stable job, earns well. We’ll rely on him in our old age!” Finally, her finger almost jabbed my face. “And you? What have you done, Alex? Five years of marriage, you quit your job, you sit at home and do nothing! What is your contribution? Why do you deserve a property?” Her words were cruel nails, driven one by one into the heart. I felt Chloe stiffen beside me. She was desperately making silent gestures at me, her lips mouthing, “Apologize, just apologize.” I did not comply. I actually laughed out loud. My laughter was soft, yet it cut through the dead silence of the living room with chilling clarity. Everyone froze, confused as to why I was even capable of amusement. Patricia’s face was dark with fury. “What is so funny!” I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and opened my photo gallery. Then, I stood up and walked step-by-step toward her. My voice was low, but clear enough for every person in the room to hear. “Patty, you asked what my contribution is? Allow me to remind you.” “Last March, when you complained about your back, I pulled strings to get you that bespoke, German-engineered stress-relief chair from Linden & Haas. Cost: ten thousand eighty-six dollars.” The screen showed a clear receipt. “Two years ago, for Richard’s seventieth birthday, you insisted on the best hotel in the city. Twenty tables. The bill was eighty-six thousand, and I paid it.” Another bill screenshot. “Three years ago, Chloe had that fleeting idea to start a company. She was scammed, lost everything, and racked up debt. I pulled out half a million dollars of my own capital to pay off her creditors and keep the bank from seizing our home.” I paused, letting my gaze drift over Chloe’s pale, stricken face. “Four years ago, Marcus’s brother needed money for a down payment. You told Chloe to get it. She didn’t have it, so she took fifty thousand dollars from me. Marcus, you remember that, don’t you?” Marcus’s face instantly paled, his eyes flickering away from mine. My gaze returned to Patricia. Her expression had moved from rage to shock, and finally to an undisguised, sickened pallor. I leaned in slightly, speaking close to her ear, in a voice only we could hear: “Oh, and one more thing. That three hundred thousand dollar imported stent currently keeping your heart beating? If I hadn’t pulled strings to move your surgery date up from a year out to the following week, you wouldn’t be sitting here yelling at me right now.” Patricia’s body spasmed, her pupils violently contracting. I straightened up, put my phone away, and let the smile drop, replaced by an expression of cold resolution. “Patty, does that count as contribution?” The living room fell into a deathly silence. The tension was suffocating. Every face was a mask of disbelief and shock. They were so accustomed to my gentle nature and my compliance that they forgot even a rabbit would bite if cornered. Patricia’s lips were quivering. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. I didn’t want to look at their faces anymore. “Since none of you can see my contribution, I’m done making them.” “I’m tired of catering to this family. I’m out.” “Good day.” With that, I turned and walked out. The sound of my shoes striking the hardwood floor was sharp, like a march of triumph. Chloe finally reacted, scrambling to grab my arm. “Alex, Alex, don’t go! Let’s talk about this!” I shook her hand off without looking back. “Let go.” The word was quiet, but it carried an undeniable, forceful authority. She froze in place. I opened the door. The sun outside was blinding, but it tasted like a freedom I hadn’t known existed. Behind me, the Smith house was steeped in silent, shocked inertia, with Patricia’s face turning from pale to blue. 3 I half-expected Patricia to have a stroke and be hospitalized immediately. But she didn’t. Perhaps the mention of the heart stent had truly unnerved her. She simply felt dizzy, took a couple of her nitroglycerin pills, and dismissed it. In her mind, my rebellion was just a childish tantrum. If they just ignored me for a few days, and Chloe cooed at me a little, I would crawl back and apologize. She was waiting for me to come back and beg for her forgiveness. The next week passed in a tense, cold quiet. Chloe tiptoed around me every day, taking over the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning. But I remained aloof, exchanging less than ten sentences with her all week. Our house had become an icebox. Until Friday night, when Patricia called Chloe’s mobile again. I was reading in the living room, close enough to hear Patricia’s imperious commands clearly. “Chloe, ask Alex what the status is on that Swiss treatment. It’s been over a week. Why hasn’t anyone from the clinic contacted us? Tell him to hurry up, don’t drag his feet!” Chloe held the phone, her face pale, a fine sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. She stammered an answer: “Mom… Mom, I know, I’ll… I’ll ask him in a minute.” When she hung up, she slumped onto the sofa, looking like a dog whose spirit had been broken. She didn’t move for a long time. I turned a page in my book, not lifting my head. Finally, she shuffled over to me, her voice close to tears. “Honey… about Mom’s clinic slot…” I looked up, as if I had just heard her. My expression was perfectly neutral. “Oh, that.” “I canceled it.” The four words detonated like a bomb in Chloe’s ear. She sprang up from the sofa, her eyes wide as saucers, her face a picture of absolute disbelief. “C-canceled it? Why? Alex, are you out of your mind!” She rushed toward me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently.

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I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? 1 I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? Chicago in January is a bone-deep cold. The central HVAC unit in the high-rise office had long since cut off. I, Asher Reed, sat at my isolated desk, bundled into the same black winter coat I’d worn for three years. He was eating the cheapest pizza, which was already cold. My phone screen flickered to life. The company group chat, “Nova Creative Outreach,” was blowing up. A photo. Sunshine, beach, bikinis. Dead center was Vivian Hale, the CEO, stunning in a flowing bohemian maxi dress and oversized sunglasses. She held a flute of champagne, grinning wider than the Miami sun. Tucked right next to her was Zane, the intern who had only been with us for three months. Zane was shirtless, flashing a peace sign, his teeth unnervingly perfect and white. The caption: “So grateful to Vivian! And the company! The Nova family, nobody gets left behind! Love you all, xoxo!” My finger hovered over the screen. Nobody gets left behind? I lifted my gaze to the pitch-black office. Only the fluorescent light over my desk was on, humming like a forgotten ghost. Three days earlier, Admin had announced that since we hit our quarterly metrics, Vivian was footing the bill for a three-day, New Year’s Eve getaway to Miami. I had been reworking that goddamn pitch deck for Vivian until three in the morning. I was thrilled, thinking that after five years of working like a draft horse, I was finally getting a chance to breathe. On the morning of the departure, the charter bus was waiting downstairs. I walked toward it with my small backpack, only to be intercepted by Zane. Zane smiled, all false innocence, but his voice was loud enough for the whole bus to hear. “Oh, hey, Ash! What are you doing here?” I blinked. “Isn’t this the all-staff retreat?” Zane dramatically clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops! Did Admin forget to tell you? Vivian said we can’t have the office completely empty. Someone reliable needs to hold down the fort. You’re the veteran, Asher—who else could handle this kind of responsibility?” The window of the bus rolled down. Vivian’s face—sharp, elegant, and chillingly indifferent—appeared. She didn’t even look up from her phone. Her voice was flat. “Asher, the client for the ‘Horizon Account’ is hassling us for the revised data. Go keep an eye on it. You can do Miami later. I’m not cheap; I’ll cut you a bonus for the airfare.” The bus door hissed shut, and exhaust fumes choked me as it pulled away. Now, looking at the celebratory emojis and the stream of comments like “Vivian’s a legend” and “Best boss ever,” my stomach turned. The noodles were completely cold. I pushed the food away and stood up to dump the congealed mess. As I walked past Zane’s pristine desk, my foot clipped a small, overturned trash bin. A crumpled sheet of A4 paper spilled out onto the floor. I hadn’t intended to stop, but my eyes caught the printed header: Nova Creative New Year’s Miami Trip Personnel Confirmation List. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I bent down and picked it up. I smoothed the paper flat. The list was long, from CEO Vivian Hale down to the front desk intern. Even Martha, the weekend cleaning lady, was on it. Right in the middle, a single line was viciously scored through with a red Sharpie. My name: Asher Reed. The mark was so heavy it had torn the paper slightly. Next to that blinding red slash was a sloppy, hurried note, written in ballpoint: Keep him back to work. Don’t bring. Too much of a downer. The handwriting was messy, but I recognized it. It was Zane’s. And below that note, there was a signature—a quick, confident flourish from the approving executive. Vivian Hale. She had placed a small, neat checkmark right next to the note “Too much of a downer.” My hands started to shake. It wasn’t just the cold. The tremor started in my fingertips, crawled up my arms into my chest, and made my teeth rattle. Five years. I had been there since the three-person startup phase. Back then, to save money, we’d split a single takeout container. I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer from drinking with a client. Vivian had cried by my bedside, promising, “Asher, when I eat the pizza, I will never leave you with just the crust.” Now, she was eating the pizza. And I, Asher Reed, was not only left without the broth but was dismissed as “a downer.” The phone suddenly rang, the sound jarringly loud in the empty office, like an alarm. The screen displayed two words: Vivian Hale. I took a deep breath, fighting for control, and answered the call. “Hello, Vivian,” I said, my voice hoarse, betraying nothing. I could hear the sound of the ocean, loud music, and laughter on the other end. Vivian sounded slightly tipsy, and her tone carried an undeniable arrogance. “Asher, you’re at the office, right?” “I am.” “Zane just told me there are some data issues with the Horizon Account proposal. The client is flipping out; they said if they don’t see a revised final draft by midnight, they’re walking. I need you to drop everything and send it over, now.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty at night. “Vivian,” I gripped the crumpled list until my knuckles were white, “Zane was responsible for the Horizon Account. He spent the last week buying swim trunks and sunscreen. He only put the data in yesterday. I warned him there were errors, and he told me to mind my own business.” A second of silence, then Zane’s whiny, wounded voice—clearly right next to her phone—cut in: “Vivian… I didn’t think the client would be this demanding. And Ash didn’t explain the issues clearly. If I knew it was a big deal, I wouldn’t be here celebrating…” Vivian’s tone instantly turned glacial. “Asher, what is that supposed to mean? Are you pushing responsibility? Zane is new. You’re the veteran. Is it so hard to mentor him? Or are you just bitter that a younger guy is succeeding?” “Bitter?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Vivian, this is a business, not a playground. He screwed up. Why do I have to clean up his mess? I’m a person, too. It’s a holiday. I want to rest.” “Rest?” Her voice ratcheted up, becoming sharp and cruel. “Asher, get this straight: you’re not on vacation. We’re paying you overtime! Earn your money and do the job! Stop with the self-pity!” “I won’t do it.” It was the first time I had ever been this firm. “Excuse me?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “I said, I won’t do it. Whoever made the mess cleans it up.” The line went silent. After a few tense seconds, Vivian let out a cold chuckle, her voice dripping with threat. “Fine, Asher. You’ve grown a backbone. I’m telling you now: if we lose this account, you can kiss your annual bonus goodbye! And when we do our personnel review after the New Year, you can forget about that VP spot you’ve been chasing!” Click. She hung up. I held the phone, listening to the dial tone, which sounded like the five years of my life being flushed down the drain. Annual bonus. VP spot. Those two carrots had been dangling in front of me for three years. Every time I felt like quitting, she’d wave them. I used to believe her. Now, I looked at the crumpled list, the red checkmark, and the words “a downer.” Suddenly, the whole situation felt absurd. Just then, the group chat buzzed again. Zane had tagged everyone and sent a large cash bonus. Zane: “Hey, team! I messed up and upset Vivian about a work thing. Drinks are on me! Grab this cash and let’s not let a little corporate drama kill the mood! Cheers!” The chat instantly flooded with “Thanks, Zane!” “Best manager ever!” “Love you, Zane!” No one asked about the guy who was still sitting in the freezing Chicago office, alone. No one knew that “the work thing” required me to pull an all-nighter. With a stone-cold expression, I crumpled the list again and tossed it back into the bin. Then, I walked back to my computer. Not to work. I opened a deeply hidden folder. The file name was simple: Backup. It contained five years of core client data, original pitch drafts, and records of some highly questionable financial dealings Vivian had done. And of course, it held Zane’s raw, disaster-prone data for the Horizon Account. My first impulse had been to fix it. If the project imploded, the company would take a big hit. But not anymore. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I pulled up the faulty file Zane had sent to the client. I didn’t correct the mistakes. I simply highlighted a few of the more subtle, catastrophic logical flaws that Zane had tried to hide, making them glaringly obvious in the final review. Unless the client was blind, they would instantly see they were being treated like idiots. I packaged the file and sent it to Vivian’s email. In the subject line, I wrote one sentence: “Vivian, as per your instruction, this is Zane’s ‘final draft.’ I haven’t touched it. Pure, uncut.” I closed my laptop. I stood up, switched off the light, and locked the door. Walking out of the high-rise, the wind felt like a knife on my face. But I realized that in five years, I had never felt this exhilaratingly free. The first day after the New Year’s holiday. The office reeked of expensive cologne and the cloying sweetness of duty-free souvenirs. Everyone wore that look of exhausted but satisfied post-vacation bliss, exchanging gifts: artisanal chocolates, custom-blended coffee, and cheap, colorful trinkets from Miami. “OMG, look how tan you got!” “It’s the healthy look! Vivian was amazing; we had a suite overlooking the ocean!” I walked through the bustling office like an invisible man and sat down at my desk. It was piled high with documents that had accumulated over the break. No gift. Not even a single piece of chocolate. Sarah, the accounting supervisor next to me—for whom I’d covered countless reports and even helped her kid with his geometry homework—was showing off a box of high-end skincare to the front desk girl. “Vivian specifically picked this out for me. Anti-aging magic, she said.” When she saw me sit down, Sarah’s voice dropped. Her eyes darted away, and she turned her back, pretending to organize her space. The awkward silence was worse than a direct insult. Everyone knew I hadn’t gone. Everyone was pretending I wasn’t there. “Well, look who decided to show up early!” Zane’s voice, smug and self-satisfied, came from behind me. He was wearing a brand-new, impeccably tailored designer suit and carrying a few high-end shopping bags. He strutted to the center of the office and clapped his hands. “Everyone, quiet down! We had a blast, all thanks to Vivian. To show our appreciation for all your hard work, Vivian bought a special New Year’s cash bonus for everyone! Every single person gets one!” A cheer erupted. Vivian emerged from her corner office. She was flawlessly made up, her bold red lipstick adding to her powerful aura. Zane followed her like a well-trained puppy, carrying a thick stack of bonus envelopes. Vivian handed them out, one by one. “Sarah, great job last year.” “Mike, keep up the hustle.” “Martha, the floors look great. Here you go.” Even Martha, the cleaning lady, received a fat envelope and smiled, her face wrinkling with joy. Finally, Vivian arrived at my desk. Zane’s hand, holding the remaining envelopes, was completely empty. The boisterous energy of the office suddenly choked, replaced by a suffocating silence. All eyes were locked on me and Vivian. Vivian didn’t appear embarrassed in the least. She adjusted her hair and looked down at me with cool indifference. “Oh, Asher. I’m so sorry. The envelopes were packaged according to the trip roster. Admin must have forgotten to include you. Since you weren’t in Miami, you know.”

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The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” 1 The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” … I hadn’t even finished my recovery period when Sterling ordered me home. Stepping into the marble foyer, the first thing I saw was the staff clearing all my belongings from the master suite. Penny stood there, her belly slightly protruding, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Clara, I truly didn’t want to take your room. But my doctor insisted that pregnancy requires a space with maximum light and good qi flow—it’s crucial for prenatal education. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Eleanor, my formerly kind and doting mother-in-law, watched me with open contempt. “After deceiving the Rhodes family for this many years, she should be grateful we haven’t shipped her back to that shantytown she came from. What right does she have to complain? All that talk of being a ‘Golden Key,’ and she couldn’t even produce a male heir. What a waste of fifteen years of our investment, and what a cruel delay for Sterling’s life.” I looked to Sterling. He was gently cradling Penny’s lower back, his gaze skimming past me. He said nothing. Penny sidled up to Eleanor, linking her arm sweetly. “Mrs. Rhodes, please don’t be upset. As the City’s premier family, the Rhodeses are bound to attract some opportunists. But since I am carrying your grandson, I can resolve this issue for you. Don’t be too hard on Clara.” Eleanor’s eyes lit up. Her tone softened instantly. “You have a truly good heart, Penny. And stop calling me Mrs. Rhodes. Soon, you’ll be calling me Mom.” Penny’s cheeks flushed pink. She turned and buried her face in Sterling’s chest. He paused for only a second before beginning to stroke her hair in a compliant, proprietary way. I stood in the opulent foyer, a stranger holding a small bag of clothes. I bent to pick up the luggage at my feet, turning toward the guest wing. Eleanor’s voice, sharp as a glass shard, cut through the air. She pointed toward a prefabricated metal shed tucked near the landscaping. “That’s your room.” I spun back to Sterling. His expression was flat. No denial. “Sterling! It’s over a 40 degrees outside! You’re putting me in the maintenance shed with the housekeeping staff!?” My voice cracked. “I accepted that you brought her home! I accepted giving up my room! But I haven’t even finished recovering from a major medical trauma! You…” The crash of a heavy vase interrupted my protest. Sterling loosened his tie, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Keep your voice down, Clara. Don’t ruin the peace for everyone.” He sighed, the perfect portrait of a man inconvenienced. “The guest rooms are being converted into a yoga studio, music room, and meditation space. We’re bringing in several pre-natal specialists to live here for Penny’s early education. She’s an expert in the field.” He paused. “Just see it as temporary. I’ll find a separate place for you to move into in a few days.” As the City’s wealthiest tycoon, Sterling owned properties spanning the continent. The fact that it would take him ‘a few days’ to find me a place was a calculated effort to punish me. I walked toward the sweltering metal structure, acutely aware of the contemptuous stares from the staff and my in-laws. The shed contained a few wooden cots, surrounded by scattered sandals and cleaning supplies. A broken, dust-coated fan whirred futilely, doing nothing to cut through the oppressive heat. An old plastic basin was shoved at my feet, splashing me with fetid water. “These are our uniforms. Wash them before dark and hang them outside.” I looked coldly at the housekeeper, a woman who had once knelt to adjust the train of my wedding dress. “Why should I?” She spat a mouthful of grape skins at my feet, grinning. “You still think you’re the high-and-mighty Mrs. Rhodes? Everyone knows the boss is replacing you. You’re a low-born piece of trash from a fishing village who tried to climb the ladder on the back of a superstitious lie. You have a lot more coming.” They snatched my bag and, using a broom and a mop handle to prod me, forced me into the blazing sun to wash basin after basin of clothes, socks, and even their undergarments. The sun beat down, turning my face crimson, pushing me toward unconsciousness. Through the heat haze, I looked up and saw the full-length window of the master suite. Sterling was inside. One moment he was carefully folding Penny’s clothes; the next, he was kneeling, cautiously pressing his ear to her slightly swollen belly, a picture of warm, doting devotion. When I was pregnant with our first child, he feared the housekeepers would be too clumsy to care for me. He had personally helped me dress and folded every piece of my maternity wear. “I will only ever be this devoted to you,” he’d sworn, “pregnant or not, I will wait on you like this for the rest of my life.” He had kissed my forehead with such genuine sincerity. I was naive enough to believe it was true love. Now, watching him rush to cater to the child in another woman’s womb, I understood the true extent of my foolishness. The thick, hot air pressed down, making my breathing shallow and tight. A suffocating pressure seized my chest, and I pitched forward, collapsing into the basin of soapy, gray water. Just before the blackness took me, I thought I saw his face—the man in the window—catch my eye. Was there panic? Does he still see me at all? When I woke, I was lying on a sofa. Sterling was sitting beside me, holding a glass of iced tea. He gently blew on the surface to cool it and held it to my lips. I kept my mouth shut, staring at him. “Why, Clara? What was the point? You know the entire family is furious with you. What harm is there in staying in the shed for a few days? Once this blows over, I’ll take care of you. Why are you making a spectacle right now?” My face was stark white. I managed to force out two words: “I’m making a spectacle?” He slammed the glass down, his expression hardening. “Isn’t this just attention-seeking? You deliberately put Penny’s personal laundry in with the staff’s, and then you poured pest-control spray into the basin! You know that was meant to upset her!” “She is pregnant! Did you even consider the consequences? If anything happens to this baby, it can’t be undone!” A raw, humorless laugh escaped my throat as tears streamed down my face. I whispered, “You know that a child’s loss can’t be undone.” My voice rose to a broken shout. “What about my children? The two children murdered by your family’s hands? Were those losses justified?” Sterling flinched, then his eyes turned cold as ice. “Clara, children founded on a lie shouldn’t have been kept.” A deafening roar filled my skull. All thought ceased. I felt like a stunned marionette. Founded on a lie? Shouldn’t have been kept? In his eyes, those two aborted fetuses weren’t even worthy of being called his children. I took a deep, shaky breath, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet. He reached for my hand, a flicker of something that looked like regret in his brow. “Clara, I love you. But Penny is carrying my son. Once she gives birth, I’ll pay her off handsomely and send her out of the country to pursue her education.” “But don’t try anything else. I told you, next time, you know what I’m capable of.” He strode quickly away, leaving me shivering in the suffocating heat. Twenty years of knowing him, and he had just prioritized another woman by explicitly threatening my life. I walked back to the shed, collapsing onto the foul cot. A sharp kick landed on my shin. Rosa, the head housekeeper, snarled, “Hey, Disaster. Stop slacking. Get up and finish the wash!” She raised the wooden broom handle, ready to strike. I grabbed the nearest object—a spiked high-heeled shoe—and swung it with all my remaining strength at her head. Then again. And again. I didn’t stop until her face was streaked with blood and her eyes were wide with pure terror. I surveyed the stunned staff. I spoke slowly, my voice flat. “I’m a disaster. Anyone who touches me again, I will kill them.” Surrounded by a circle of sudden, palpable fear, I let myself fall onto the wooden slats, still clutching the blood-splattered heel of the shoe. A sudden, insistent beep-beep woke me deep in the night. [Come up to the second floor. Got a little something to show you.] I took a deep breath and started walking toward the main house. A gripping, terrifying premonition had seized my heart. The moment I reached the second floor, I heard the faint sounds of gasping and moaning. The moonlight streamed through the slightly ajar door, throwing the intertwined, intimate shadows onto the wall. Sterling’s hard, muscular silhouette was clear even in the dim light. Penny’s eyes found mine, filled with a look that was both seductive and utterly provocative. “Sterling, who’s better? Me or Clara?” Sterling bit his lip, refusing to answer, but his movements grew deliberately more intense. Penny ran a finger across his chest and asked again. “Mmm… you. You’re the best.” He gasped the answer, his eyes glazed over. “Do you love me?” “Yes. I love you.” “Then when I have your son, I’ll stay here forever. Day and night. I’ll be your only Mrs. Rhodes, won’t I?” I was past pain, numb. I held my breath, waiting for the final, mortal blow. Sterling was silent for a moment, but as Penny’s hands urged him on, he surrendered completely. “Yes. Stay with me forever. You’re my only one.” On the wall directly facing the bed, our wedding portrait—the one where we were laughing into each other’s eyes—still hung. I fled the villa, swallowed whole by the inky blackness of the night. The cold shock of water woke me before dawn. Sterling leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a plume of smoke. Two security guards dragged me by my hair to his feet. “Clara, why won’t you behave?” He crushed the cigarette under his heel, grabbed my chin, and spoke with icy detachment. “The surveillance showed you entered the villa last night. This morning, we found Penny’s prenatal vitamins were switched with Mifepristone. That’s an abortifacient!” “Since you have such a cruel heart, you will never be allowed to have a child again.” A terrible premonition chilled me to the bone. My voice shook. “What are you going to do to me?” He released me and nodded to the guards, who dragged me onto the lawn. Every member of the staff surrounding us had been handed a heavy wooden dowel. Sterling turned his back and lit another cigarette. “Give the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Rhodes a solid beating. Pay special attention to the abdomen. Make sure she understands the true meaning of a mother’s devotion.” As the cold words dropped, a barrage of blows rained down. They aimed viciously at my stomach and hips. I could feel the warm, sticky flow of blood immediately run down my legs. The extreme agony made me crawl, forgetting all dignity, to Sterling’s feet. I gripped his pants. “Sterling, I didn’t—” My legs were violently yanked out from under me. “Clara, you were a mother once. How could you try to harm an innocent child?” Penny approached, gently stroking her belly. “Oh, I forgot. Your children were either terminated or stillborn. A woman who can’t even protect her own lineage doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” She looked at the staff with a sweet, feigned confusion. “Are you all tired? You’re barely hitting her.” Rosa, the head housekeeper—the one whose head I’d split—stood at Penny’s side, her bandaged head still oozing. With the new permission, she began to kick and strike me with a horrifying ferocity. “That’s what you get for being defiant! You low-class slut who everyone has had a turn with, daring to challenge me! You deserve to be barren for life!” Sterling, who had remained indifferent with his back to me, suddenly turned when he noticed Penny near the action. He extinguished his cigarette and rushed to support her waist. “Why are you out here? The doctor said you needed bed rest.” Penny instantly transformed into a picture of fragile worry. She looked at me with what she hoped was ‘concern.’ “Maybe that’s enough, Sterling. After all, I managed to throw up the pill. Isn’t this too much?” Sterling glanced at my prone body. “She needs a lesson that will stick. She won’t learn otherwise.” I was so numb that I forgot how to struggle. Surprisingly, even the pain in my heart had dulled. As I faded into unconsciousness, I watched Sterling gently lift Penny into his arms and carry her away. His final words drifted back to me: “I’ve punished her. This is over.” I awoke in a sterile hospital room. Faint voices carried through the closed door. “Mr. Rhodes, is the former Mrs. Rhodes truly refusing surgery? If we treat her now, there’s a small chance she could conceive again. The injuries are severe, and delaying the procedure will make it impossible.” Sterling’s voice, cold and clinical, cut through the quiet. “No. No surgery. The goal is to ensure she never gets pregnant. Just make sure she’s stable, and process the discharge immediately.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, unique talisman I had carried for years. I remembered the spiritualist’s instruction: “If you wish to sever the karmic bond and end your flow of fortune, burn this charm.” I picked up the lighter Sterling had left on the bedside table and, without a second’s hesitation, set the unique Talisman of Fate alight. Within three days, the bond would be severed, and the Rhodes family would face the ruin they had so desperately tried to avoid. The early summer sun on my body did nothing to relieve the chill in my bones. I was shoved into Sterling’s car, still in a thin hospital gown, and driven to the City’s most exclusive hotel. Security guards flanked me and threw me into the middle of a massive, high-society gala. The elite crowd—all in couture and holding crystal glasses—turned, their stares filled with shock and malicious curiosity. “Is that Mrs. Rhodes? Why is she dressed like that?” “What is this? Some kind of morbid performance art?” “Haven’t you heard the gossip? The headlines say she ‘Snapped from Grief and Obsession’—husband has a mistress, and she’s carrying his heir.” Their gazes were like razor blades, peeling away the last vestiges of my dignity. Penny, dazzling in a custom-tailored evening gown, was hanging sweetly on Sterling’s arm, gazing at me with a smirk that was anything but sweet. I tried to escape, but the bodyguards blocked every exit. A journalist, invited for the spectacle, rushed over to Sterling. “Mr. Rhodes, can we get a photo of you and the Second Mrs. Rhodes?” With her designer clothes and her proudly visible pregnancy, Penny looked every bit the legitimate socialite. In this city’s old money circles, a mistress who was publicly acknowledged was no longer just a mistress—she was the official Second Wife. She had everything but the certificate. And I, the legal wife, had nothing but the certificate. The journalist, sensing a better story, swiveled toward me. “Oh, there’s the official Mrs. Rhodes! Why don’t you join them for a family portrait?” The room erupted in suppressed laughter, waiting for the show. Sterling frowned, his voice cold. “Get over here. Help Penny stand, Clara.” I remained frozen. “Clara, I know you hate me,” Penny purred, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “But the baby is innocent. I’m willing to forgive the past. I truly hope we can all move forward and be good friends.” With a single, perfectly crafted sentence, she cast me as the unforgiving, jealous villain. “Do you know the difference between a person and a parasite?” I countered, my voice sharp. “People and parasites don’t become friends.” My retort drew a ripple of laughter across the floor. Penny’s face drained of color, then flushed crimson. She burrowed tearfully into Sterling’s chest. Sterling held her protectively, then raised his hand and struck me across the face, a hard, echoing slap that silenced the room. “Serve Penny a cup of tea. Apologize.” He wanted the legal wife to publicly submit and serve the mistress. “And if I don’t?” I wiped the blood from my lip and stared at him without flinching. He dropped his arm, his voice lethally calm. “Then we divorce.” “You will get nothing. No assets, no shares. You will be sent back to that island with nothing but the clothes on your back. And I will ensure no one in this entire City’s social circle will ever touch a discarded trophy wife who was thrown out without a cent.” He looked me over. “If you serve the tea and apologize now, I’ll pretend this never happened—” “Fine. Let’s divorce.”

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The day Alexander “Alex” Sterling chose the “true love” over me, I discovered I was pregnant. Eight months later, while he was finalizing the details for a sprawling, televised society wedding to Tiffany Reed, I was in a brutal, near-fatal delivery giving birth to Leo. Then, the news alert: Breaking: Sterling Heir, Alex Sterling, Involved in Late-Night Street Racing Crash. Tiffany Reed Seriously Injured. Sterling Permanently Sterilized. Terrified he would try to take Leo, I spent five years looking over my shoulder, disappearing into the city’s background noise. Until Eleanor Sterling’s sixtieth birthday gala. Drafted as a last-minute server, I brought Leo with me to the staff lounge. He must have slipped out, because I heard the commotion just as he ran headfirst into Eleanor. The entire ballroom went instantly, shatteringly silent. That face. It was a perfect, heartbreaking copy of Alex’s own childhood portrait. Alex pushed through the crowd, rushing toward the child. His voice was hoarse, warped with shock: “Little guy, whose son are you?” Leo was frightened, his voice catching on a sob: “Mommy… I can’t find my mommy.” “Her name is Joanna Nelson.” 1 Knock, knock, knock. My supervisor, Mr. Chan, rapped impatiently on my desk. “Joanna, the catering company for the Sterling gala is short-staffed. You’re drafted for a server shift tonight. Triple pay.” I hesitated. Eleanor Sterling’s birthday. That kind of high-society event was exactly where I risked running into people from my past. More importantly, I hated leaving Leo alone at night. “Mr. Chan, I can’t leave my son tonight…” His tone turned dismissive. “Leave him with your parents, a neighbor, or the staff lounge for God’s sake. Can’t you figure out basic childcare?” A sneering laugh came from the next cubicle. It was Brenda, the office gossip. “Oh, triple pay. I’d kill for that! Mr. Chan, you’re doing Joanna a favor, aren’t you? After all, a single mom with a kid whose paternity is a mystery always needs the cash.” Brenda’s words were cruel, but they were true. Leo was growing fast, and the cold snap meant he needed a proper winter coat. I told myself I’d only be working the external area of the hotel, far from the main ballroom. I nodded, accepting the assignment. “Thank you, Mr. Chan. I’ll do it.” “Fine. Change now. Hotel service entrance, six p.m. Don’t be late.” As I walked toward the locker room, I passed Brenda’s desk. Her voice was just loud enough—intentional, I knew—for me to hear. “Please. Unwed and pregnant. Acting like some high-and-mighty saint. She doesn’t even know where the hell his father came from. Someone probably knocked her up and tossed her.” A muffled snicker came from a nearby intern. I felt the sharp sting of heat in my eyes and couldn’t help but stop. “Brenda, you’re a mother yourself. Watch your mouth.” Brenda humphed, crossing her arms as she stood up. “My mouth isn’t clean?” “And yours is? A little tramp. Coming here acting like a virtuous maiden when we all know she was just used goods. If I were you, I’d fix myself up. Maybe some drunk millionaire at the party will be desperate enough to look past your little brat and offer to be a stepdad.” My eyes were burning. I was ready to fire back, but Mr. Chan intervened, smoothing things over. “That’s enough, Brenda. Joanna, go get your son and don’t be late for the shift.” I tilted my chin up, ruthlessly shoving the heat back down. I wouldn’t cry here. On my way out, I could still hear Brenda laughing with a colleague, their expressions flicking to me with undisguised contempt. I turned the corner and quickly wiped my eyes. Joanna, you cannot cry. For Leo, you can swallow anything. I couldn’t shake the worry of leaving Leo alone, so I brought him with me to the staff lounge at the hotel. I set him up with his favorite dinosaur picture book, snacks, and water. “Leo, Mommy has to work just outside for a little while. You play here, okay? Promise me you won’t leave this room.” Leo was always so earnest. He nodded, then asked quietly: “When will you be back?” “Very soon.” I kissed his forehead. “As soon as you finish reading this book, Mommy will be back.” “Remember, don’t run off, ever, okay?” He nodded firmly and stuck out his pinky. “Promise, cross my heart.” We completed our ritual, and only then did I feel slightly better about heading toward the main hall. Brenda and a few other female colleagues were already there, gathered near the ballroom entrance, touching up their makeup. “God, the Sterling heir is such a tragedy. Handsome, rich… why did he have to get ruined?” “I heard the Tiffany girl was the one to blame. The long-lost daughter, right? Total loose cannon. Loves to race. She almost killed herself and took him out in the process. Now the poor man’s sterile.” “If you ask me, the Sterling family is cursed. She’s a jinx. She destroyed their entire bloodline.” … Just then, a delicate, yet furious voice spoke from behind them: “Who are you calling a jinx?” Tiffany Reed glared at Brenda and the others. They went pale, bowing their heads and muttering apologies. Tiffany’s gaze swept past them until it landed on me, standing a little way off. “Joanna?” she called out, a note of startled surprise in her voice. 2 I swallowed a heavy sigh, annoyed I hadn’t slipped away fast enough. I braced myself and walked toward her. “Tiffany.” Tiffany closed the distance, her eyes raking over my cheap server uniform. She managed a smirk that was half triumphant, half sickly-sweet. “It really is you. Why are you wearing this? Are you low-tier staff? It must be exhausting.” With an overly dramatic gesture, Tiffany grabbed my arm and tried to pull me toward the main ballroom, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Come on, I’ll get you a job inside, it’s easier work. Who knows, maybe you’ll even see Mom and Dad!” She led me a few steps, then remembered the terrified huddle of Brenda and the others. Her face instantly hardened. “All of you. You’re fired. Get out of here! A bunch of filthy trash.” Brenda’s group scattered, too shocked and scared to beg. They shot daggers at my back, unable to direct their hatred at Tiffany. Inside, Tiffany stopped and wore a mask of sudden, innocent realization. “Oh, Joanna, I completely forgot. We don’t need any more staff inside right now. Only the restrooms and the trash bins need attention.” She tilted her head, enjoying the moment. “But you…” I knew this was a deliberate humiliation. But honestly, compared to the last five years I’d clawed my way through, this was nothing. “I’ll do it.” I took the cleaning supplies without preamble. I was wiping down a bin tucked away in a corner when the guest of honor, Eleanor Sterling, made her entrance. Before the crowd could swarm her with fawning compliments, Eleanor’s voice, sharp with fury, cut through the noise. “How can I have a long life when my son’s future is destroyed!” I looked up. Five years hadn’t touched Alex; he was still impossibly handsome, but his face was etched with a new, dark shadow of perpetual gloom. The inability to have children had clearly broken him. Alex stood silent. Tiffany offered a nervous, careful smile. “Mom, don’t get upset. It’s bad for your health…” “Don’t call me Mom!” Eleanor roared, cutting her off. “I can’t bear it! If you hadn’t insisted on that ridiculous street racing, Alex wouldn’t have been in that accident! What terrible luck has the Sterling family had? Our son, ruined. You destroyed the Sterling line!” Eleanor turned her wrath on the silent Mr. and Mrs. Reed. “And you two! You brought back some… some fraud. Now you’ve ruined my son! Are you happy?” The Reeds’ apologetic murmurs were lost in the lavish room. Eleanor was becoming hysterical, years of pent-up resentment finally erupting. “That Joanna girl you two raised, she was quiet, decent, and respectable! It was Alex who lost his mind, insisting on bringing this jinx into our house! I regret it! I regret it all!” Tiffany’s face went even paler, a mix of sheer hatred and mortification crossing her features, especially when Eleanor mentioned me. She quickly diverted the attention. “Mom, you won’t believe the coincidence. You just mentioned Joanna. I ran into her here today!” Before I could react, Tiffany grabbed my arm and dragged me into the center of the ballroom. The spotlight was unforgiving. My coarse uniform, the half-wet cleaning rag still clutched in my hand, were starkly visible. I felt a rare rush of shame, but forced a greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling. Mr. and Mrs. Reed.” Eleanor stared at me, her eyes complex. The words of praise she’d just spoken seemed to hang awkwardly in the air. The Reeds were stunned. After a beat of deafening silence, a light, contemptuous laugh was heard. Soon, low, mocking comments spread through the gathered guests. “Oh my God, is that her? The one who used to follow Alex around?” “Look at that uniform. That’s the lowest-tier housekeeping staff. And she’s still holding that filthy rag! Tiffany calls her ‘sister’? I’d have security toss her out. What a bad omen.” “I heard she got a massive payout when they broke up. How is she this broke? Must have blown it all on some loser boyfriend.” … The waves of humiliation were about to drown me when— “Quiet.” I hadn’t expected Alex to intervene. His expression was flat, but his gaze swept the room with such cold authority that the crowd immediately fell silent. He turned back to me, his tone almost gentle, pitying. “Joanna, why are you working as a cleaner? I thought I gave you a substantial amount when we broke up.” Money? I looked up at him, bewildered. In five years, I hadn’t received a cent. After giving birth to Leo, I couldn’t even afford the rent. I’d been out taking odd jobs before my six weeks were up. I opened my mouth and instinctively whispered the question: “…What money?” Those two quiet words were a thunderclap. Alex’s pupils instantly constricted. The shock was impossible to hide. His gaze snapped to Tiffany. “Tiffany, where is the money?” 3 Tiffany stammered, choked on an excuse, and frantically looked to her mother. Mrs. Reed instantly stepped forward, reaching out to take my arm, but I subtly pulled away. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air before she recovered and scolded me with a forced affection. “Oh, Joanna, you silly girl! You left in such a hurry back then! We’ve had that money set aside for you all this time, just waiting for the right moment. It’s a complete misunderstanding, darling!” Mr. Reed nervously rubbed his hands together, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes! We never forgot!” The lie was transparent, riddled with holes. Alex’s face went dark. His eyes were like cold steel on Tiffany. “Three hundred million dollars. Every cent. You have until noon tomorrow to deposit it into Joanna’s account. Fail to do so, and you can stop pretending to be a Sterling.” Tiffany was aghast that Alex would be so ruthless, forcing her hand in front of this entire crowd. She shot me a look so venomous I could practically taste the acid. She managed a strained smile for Alex. “Alex, I was just so negligent. You don’t have to worry. I’ll handle it tomorrow.” I sighed. I just wanted out of this mess. All I wanted was to take Leo and live our quiet life. “The money is unnecessary. I can provide for myself now.” “I still have work to do. Please excuse me.” Without looking back, I headed for the corner. The ballroom returned to a muted buzz. Clutching the mop and bucket, I returned to cleaning. One more stall in the restroom, and I could take Leo home. Suddenly, I heard shouting outside. Tiffany’s shriek cut through the noise: “How is this possible? It was right here on my wrist! That diamond bracelet is fifty million dollars!” “It’s gone!” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A wave of ominous foreboding washed over me. The next second, I heard Tiffany continue, her voice low and calculating: “Just now… only Joanna was close to me. The bracelet was still there right before I walked her in from the entrance. Could it be…” Tiffany didn’t have to finish the sentence. The door to my stall was violently shoved open. Two massive security guards grabbed me. “I didn’t do it!” I cried out. “I’ve been working this entire time. I haven’t touched anything that wasn’t mine.” I struggled desperately, but I was easily overpowered and dragged back toward the ballroom floor. Tiffany hurried forward, putting on a pretense of distressed apology. “Sister, I’m so sorry! I truly am!” “But this bracelet is irreplaceable. I only need to check. If it’s not on you, I’ll tell them to release you immediately. I’ll even apologize!” Despite her gentle words, her actions were precise. She reached immediately for my right pocket. Under the cruel glow of the chandeliers, in front of every single person present, the diamond bracelet was pulled out. The entire ballroom erupted in gasps, followed by a torrent of disgusted whispers and judgmental glares. Tiffany stumbled backward, feigning shock and profound disappointment. She clutched the bracelet. “Sister, how could you…?” “If you needed money, you only had to ask! How could you resort to… stealing?” At that moment, the police and venue security arrived. The evidence was irrefutable, played out under the harsh, public eye. I looked around in a panic, my voice a desperate, choked whisper. “It’s not me! I swear, it’s not! I don’t know how that got into my pocket!” Frantic, I grabbed the sleeve of Alex’s suit. I was so helpless, so terrified, I could only plead with him. “Alex, we grew up together! You know me!” “I am not a thief! Alex, please, you have to help me!” “I didn’t take it! This is a setup!” Tears streamed down my face. Alex looked at my wet, pleading eyes, his own expression complex. He reached up, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. His voice was chillingly devoid of warmth. “Joanna, you know the rule.” “I only trust the facts.” 4 Alex didn’t believe me. The lead officer didn’t hesitate, stepping forward to address me gravely. “Ma’am, we suspect you are involved in the theft of a high-value item. Please come with us to the precinct to assist with the investigation.” Click. The cold, metallic handcuffs snapped shut on my wrists. I stared at Alex, unable to speak. The old wounds ripped open, a fresh, painful ache in my chest that made me sway. We had been inseparable since childhood. He once swore he would always protect me. Why? Why did he keep hurting me like this? As the officers escorted me away, Tiffany leaned in close, her voice a low, triumphant hiss that only I could hear. “Bitch, you really think you can win against me?” I was led away and pushed into the back of a police cruiser. Meanwhile, back in the staff lounge, Brenda and her friends were sullenly gathering their things. “It’s that Joanna’s fault. She was probably trying to get us fired! She saw them coming and didn’t warn us!” The intern chimed in, “Serves her right to get arrested as a thief! I hope they lock her up for ten years. Let’s see her flaunt that little brat then!” Brenda had lost her job and was seething. She zipped her bag shut, her teeth grinding. Just as they were about to leave, Brenda’s eye caught a small figure in the corner. It was Leo. He was still being a good boy, quietly flipping through his old picture book. A malicious idea instantly seized Brenda. She dropped her bag and pasted a fake smile on her face, walking over to Leo. “Leo, honey, reading your picture book? You’re so good.” Leo was shy but polite. “Hello, Auntie.” “Aww. Leo, Auntie has to tell you something. Your mommy was just taken away by the police officers in uniform. They said your mommy did something bad.” “What?” The picture book slipped from Leo’s hands. He frantically shook his head, his voice high and thin with panic. “Mommy doesn’t do bad things!” “Auntie believes you, too. That’s why you have to go save her!” Brenda pointed toward the main ballroom. “Leo, don’t cry. See that way? Run toward the brightest, loudest place. Go in there, and find a… a very glamorous old lady who looks the most important!” “Find her, and you beg her to save your mommy! Tell her to make the police let your mommy go!” “Remember, she’s the only one who can help your mommy!” Leo was too young, too distraught to register the malice in Brenda’s words. “Thank you, Auntie!” he cried. He didn’t even stop to pick up his book. He bolted toward the ballroom. Brenda watched him go, a twisted, triumphant smile spreading across her face. Her friends crowded around, slightly worried. “B-Brenda, will he be okay?” “Okay? What could happen? He might annoy the Sterlings and make Joanna’s life harder in jail. If the little brat gets lost, it has nothing to do with us.” Brenda walked out, leading her relieved group. Leo was terrified, but the need to save me was a primal urge. He ran blindly into the main ballroom. He instantly saw her: the imposing old woman in the center, surrounded by fawning people. She was sparkling, and everyone deferred to her. That’s her! Leo didn’t hesitate. Saving Mommy was all that mattered. He ran with all his strength, pushing through the barrier of adults, crashing into Eleanor Sterling. Eleanor staggered, only caught by an attendant’s quick reflexes. She looked down, her angry words freezing in her throat. “Oh my… who is this child…” That face! The entire room went instantly, shatteringly silent. His eyes, his nose, his brow—they were the exact, tiny replica of her son, Alex, when he was small. At that moment, Alex rushed over. He saw Leo’s face, scooped him up in disbelief, and asked in a voice raw with emotion: “Little guy, whose son are you?” Leo, frightened by the sudden attention, sobbed into Alex’s shoulder. “Sir, please save my mommy! The police took her!” “Mommy… I can’t find my mommy.” “Her name is Joanna Nelson.”

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The night before our engagement party, I found the adoption papers in Nolan Rhys’s jacket pocket. The name listed under “Child to be Adopted” was the son of his late squadron mate. Nolan, my fiancé, was going to be the child’s legal father. I didn’t choose the high road. I didn’t pretend to be the magnanimous woman, throwing the documents in his face demanding an explanation. Instead, I waited. Nolan spent the entire night on the rooftop, the scent of expensive cigar smoke thick on the air, battling his conscience. He walked into the living room at dawn, his eyes red-rimmed. “I owe Mac, Ellie,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of his aviator’s code. “It’s a debt. I have to give that boy a stable home, a name.” Eight years. I’d loved him for eight years. To have him ask me to concede our future for a guilt-driven obligation to someone else’s child—I couldn’t swallow it. I put on my bespoke ivory gown and let the engagement party proceed as planned. The speeches were just wrapping up when his best friend, Liam, burst through the ballroom doors. “Nolan!” Liam’s face was a mask of panic. “Serra—Serra Hayes is on the roof with Finn! She says the child can’t live without a father!” The champagne flute I was lifting, ready to toast my parents, slipped. It hit the marble floor with a sharp, sickening crash. Nolan was already sprinting toward the exit, a blur of tailored tuxedo. I watched him go, my throat tight. “Nolan Rhys!” I shouted after him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. “You walk out that door, and I promise you, I’m closing it forever!” He paused, a momentary tremor in his spine, but his feet kept moving. He was gone. He chose them. …… I stood suspended in the middle of the dance floor, the fragments of glass and spilled wine around me, still holding the bottle of celebratory champagne. The live band music died. Every eye in the room was fixed on me. Nolan’s parents were ashen. They rushed over, his mother clutching my hand. “Eleanor, that bastard! We’ll go drag him back here!” I shook my head, my control absolute. I placed the bottle back on the linen-draped table. “No, Mrs. Rhys. Let him go.” My own parents approached, my mother’s eyes already welling up. “What kind of stunt is this? Where do we put our face, Ellie?” I stepped down from the dais. “I’m taking you home, Mom. Dad.” The whole scene dissolved into chaos. Liam, Nolan’s friend, stood nearby, his face crumpled with guilt. “Ellie, I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. But Serra was really unstable. She was going to do it.” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Liam and Nolan had been inseparable since childhood, and they shared the same fierce loyalty to their fallen squadron mate, Mac Harding. They saw Mac’s widow, Seraphina Hayes, and her son, Finn, as a sacred trust. But a grieving relative doesn’t pick the exact moment of a man’s engagement to stage a suicide threat. It was a calculated detonation. I retrieved my clutch and walked out. My phone vibrated endlessly inside the bag. I didn’t need to look. I knew it was Nolan. He would explain. He would apologize. He would tell me how fragile Serra and Finn were and how he had to go. After eight years, I knew his playbook. His sense of duty to his wingman’s memory was his personal North Star, one that eclipsed all others. Mac had crashed covering Nolan’s fighter jet. That guilt had been a three-year-long weight on his chest. I used to admire that devotion. I used to believe that him taking care of them was a noble, necessary thing. Until he decided to put that child’s name on his own legal documents. Until today. I finally understood the truth: that particular line of responsibility had been crossed long ago. I returned to my apartment, peeling off the ruined couture gown and slipping into my scrubs and white coat. I’m a cardiac thoracic surgeon at the City Medical Center. If Serra was serious enough to be hospitalized after a suicide attempt, she’d be coming through our doors. I drove to the hospital. The rooftop access was roped off with caution tape. Nolan was inside, holding little Finn, who was wrapped in a blanket. Serra sat beside them, eyes swollen and red. Nolan looked up and saw me. Holding the child, he stood instantly. His eyes were layered with a thick, cloying apology. “Ellie, you came. I—I’m so sorry about tonight.” “How is the patient?” I cut him off, looking past him to Serra. “She’s fine. Just shaken up. Finn, too.” I nodded. “Good.” I turned to leave. Nolan grabbed my arm. “Ellie, don’t be like this. Mac died for me. I can’t abandon his wife and child. They’re helpless. They’re just… pitiable.” I pulled my arm free. “Nolan, I’m not angry. I’m just realizing that our engagement party wasn’t as important as a woman you’ve known for three years and her son.” “That’s not it! Ellie, you are the most important person to me! But they were threatening to die!” “The police said it was a low-probability threat.” I met his gaze, my voice flat. Nolan’s jaw worked, but he had no reply. Then, Serra walked over, still clutching the blanket. She looked up at me timidly. “Dr. Sterling, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t—didn’t mean it to be like that. I just saw the two of you, and it reminded me of Mac and me, and I just completely lost it.” She began to sob, shaking uncontrollably, looking on the verge of collapse. “I ruined your engagement. I apologize.” Nolan immediately handed Finn to Liam and put his arm around Serra, stabilizing her. “Stop, you need to calm down. Your health is what matters.” He looked at me, and his eyes held a flash of reproach. “Can’t you try to be a little understanding, Ellie? Look at her state.” I didn’t say another word. I simply turned and walked away. Outside the main doors, the night air hit my face. Only then did I realize: my hands were trembling. The next morning, Nolan showed up at my door with coffee and a bag of high-end pastries. I opened the door but stood blocking the entrance. He held out the bag. “Ellie, I’m apologizing for Serra. She had a genuine breakdown yesterday. It wasn’t calculated.” “Can’t she apologize for herself?” Nolan paused. “Her state is really poor. And little Finn has a fever.” “Nolan, let’s talk about us. Forget her. What about the engagement? What do we tell our friends and family?” He went silent. After a moment, he said, “We wait for the dust to settle, and then we re-do it.” “Re-do it?” I stared at him. “You think this is something we can just reschedule, like a reservation?” “What else can we do? It happened. Ellie, I know this is rough on you, but she just lost her husband. She’s alone with a child. Can we just have a little more patience, please?” Patience. That word again. I took the pastries and set them on the entryway table. “I understand. Go. They need you.” Nolan visibly relaxed, believing I had conceded. “I knew you’d come around. Don’t worry. When they’re stabilized, I will make this up to you. Everything.” He left. I picked up the breakfast and dropped it, untouched, into the trash. Then I went to work. Near the Pediatric wing, I saw him. Nolan was holding Finn, his brow furrowed with concern, while Serra walked beside him, her face a mask of anxiety. Nolan’s expression was awkward when he saw me. Serra immediately ducked her head, playing the role of the chastened victim. I ignored them both and headed to my office. That afternoon, Dr. Kaplan, my department chair and former mentor, tracked me down. “Ellie, I need you to consult on the Hayes boy. Finn. He’s got some cardiac issues, and we need a surgical opinion.” I frowned. “I’m a cardiac-thoracic surgeon, not pediatric cardio.” “I know, but you’re the best we have, and this case is complicated. Just take a look.” Dr. Kaplan was my teacher, and I couldn’t refuse. I went to the room. Finn lay in bed, his skin pale. Serra sat at the bedside. When she saw me, the tears started instantly. “Dr. Sterling, please, save Finn. He’s all Mac left behind.” I picked up the chart and flipped through the reports. “Congenital Ventricular Septal Defect. The hole isn’t large, but the location is bad. It’s a high-risk surgery.” Nolan stood beside me, his entire body tense. “How high is the risk?” “A thirty percent intra-operative mortality rate,” I said, closing the chart. Nolan’s color drained. Serra immediately collapsed to the floor. “How could this happen… how could this happen…” Nolan lifted her up, then turned to me, his voice sharp with command. “Ellie Sterling, you will do this surgery, and you will succeed!” I looked at him, leveling my gaze. “Nolan, I’m a surgeon, not a miracle worker. I can only inform you of the risk; I can’t guarantee an outcome.” “I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice rising. “Mac died for me! His son will be saved! If you’re not confident, you find the best surgeon in the country! I’ll pay any amount!” The entire room turned to look at us. I kept silent. At that moment, Serra grabbed the sleeve of my white coat. “Dr. Sterling, I’m begging you. I know you resent me for the engagement. If you hate me, take it out on me, but the child is innocent. You can’t fail him because of me…” Her words were a master stroke of emotional blackmail. The buzzing whispers started immediately. “That’s her, the fiancée of the pilot who ran out on the engagement.” “Wow. What a mess. Do you think the doctor will use this to get back at them?” Nolan’s face was thunderous. He looked me dead in the eye, saying each word with icy control: “Eleanor Sterling, if you use this child’s life to play games, we are finished.” My heart plummeted, the coldness spreading to my bones. I looked at him, then at Serra, and then I nodded. “Fine. I’ll do the surgery.” I added, “But you will sign a full liability release, and we will formally upgrade the surgical risk level. Every relevant department in the hospital will be notified to prepare for the worst. Nolan froze. Serra stopped crying. “What are you saying?” Nolan asked. “I’m saying I want the entire hospital to know exactly how high-risk this is, and that you, Nolan Rhys, required me to perform it. If the child dies on the table, the responsibility is not mine. It’s yours.” Every word was measured and clear. Nolan’s fists clenched. He stared at me, his eyes filled with disbelief and rage. “Eleanor, I never thought you were this kind of person.” I smiled, a thin, brittle thing. “You know now, don’t you?” I slapped the chart against his chest. “Decide, and go sign the papers.” I turned and walked out. In the pocket of my white coat, my hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t make a fist. We entered a cold war. Nolan didn’t call. I didn’t call. He was busy with Serra and Finn, preparing for the surgery. Our unit-assigned home, the one we had meticulously furnished and planned to move into after the engagement, sat empty. I went there alone. The house was large and silent. We had picked out every piece of furniture together. I sat on the couch for hours, in the middle of our suspended future. A week later, the surgery was scheduled. The pre-op consult included me, Dr. Kaplan, Nolan, and Serra. I detailed every conceivable risk: post-op complications, and the worst-case scenario. Serra’s face was white. Nolan signed the papers. He looked up at me after he finished. “Ellie, I trust you.” I ignored him. On the day of the procedure, Nolan and Serra stood vigil outside the OR doors. I changed into my scrubs and entered the sterile field. Washing my hands, I caught my reflection in the steel mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. I had barely slept for a week. I had reviewed Finn’s charts, scans, and images over a hundred times, modeling dozens of approaches. I wasn’t doing this for Nolan. I was doing it for the oath of the white coat. The surgery lasted eight grueling hours. It was more difficult than the imaging suggested. The defect was trickier, surrounded by vital vessels and nerves. Every movement was a walk on a razor’s edge. When I stitched the final layer and stepped out of the OR, my legs felt like rubber. Dr. Kaplan steadied me. “Well done, Ellie. Textbook success.” I nodded. Nolan and Serra rushed forward instantly. “How is he?” “The surgery was successful. He’s been transferred to the ICU,” I said. Serra sobbed with relief, burying her face into Nolan’s chest, crying and laughing at the same time. Nolan looked at me, his eyes unreadable. “Ellie, thank you.” He stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I took a deliberate step back, dodging his touch. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.” I pulled off my surgical cap, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “Nolan, I came here to tell you something. I don’t want the house.” He froze. “What does that mean?” “The unit-assigned house. The one that’s in your name until we married. I don’t want it anymore.” “Why? The surgery was successful! It’s our home!” “I’m afraid that one day, Ms. Hayes’s son will have another midnight fever, and you’ll decide she needs a home more than I do.” Nolan’s face darkened. “Eleanor, do you have to be so cruel? You have to stab at me right now?” “Am I wrong?” “That’s different! That was a matter of life and death!” “Was the shame on my parents’ faces at the engagement not a kind of death? Are my eight years of devotion not a kind of life?” My questions silenced him. Finally, he took a deep, shaky breath. “Fine, Eleanor. If you think that, I’ll prove you wrong.” He looked at me, every word a deliberate, crushing blow. “From today, I’m moving Serra and Finn into that house. I’ll put them in the guest suite.” My mind went instantly, utterly blank. “What did you say?” “I said I’m moving Serra in!” He raised his voice, trying to convince me, or perhaps himself. “She can’t manage alone! The child just had major surgery and needs care! If they’re under our roof, I can supervise them, and you can see that nothing is happening! That’ll settle your mind!” I looked at him as if he were a stranger. “Nolan, you’re insane.” “I’m not! I’m perfectly clear! I will not let Mac’s son be displaced!” Every word was a nail driven into my heart. A profound weariness, the kind that permeates the bone marrow, washed over me. “All right,” I said. “Move them in.” Nolan seemed stunned that I agreed. I took the keys to the house out of my pocket and placed them on a nearby chair. “Here’s the key. It’s yours.” “From now on, this is your home with your squadron mate’s widow.” “I wish you both a happy life.” I stood up and walked away from the corridor that was supposed to lead to my future. As I pulled the heavy glass door of the ICU entrance shut, I thought I heard the sound of something—a chair, maybe—smashing inside. My tears finally fell. Eight years. It was over.

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That New Year’s Eve afternoon, my best friend Sasha’s floral shop received an order from my husband. I stared at the name on the shop’s mobile ordering app—three times, just to be sure. It was definitely Dean, my husband, who was supposedly away on a business trip. But the recipient wasn’t me. I dialed his number for a video call. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. Before I could launch my interrogation, Sasha, with a forced smile, squeezed into the frame. “Not even coming home for the holiday, Dean? What kind of apology gift are you sending Brooke?” she chirped, saving me from myself. The room behind him was pitch-black. Dean had the sheets pulled over his head, only his eyes visible, and the corner of his mouth twitched unnaturally. “Babe, I am so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” “I pulled an all-nighter yesterday. I’m exhausted. Just going back to sleep for a bit.” The interruption had given me a moment to calm the frantic beating in my chest. I mumbled a few non-committal words and hung up. I picked up the packaged bouquet and headed for the door. “I’ll take this delivery.” 1 The delivery address wasn’t far from the shop—a newly developed, upscale apartment called The Bluffs. The security guard stopped me at the gate. “No outside deliveries allowed past this point.” I pulled out Sasha’s shop phone and dialed the number on the order, putting on a slightly saccharine voice to explain the situation. Dean’s voice, clear and loud, came over the speaker. “This is Dean Sterling, owner of Unit 1603 in Building Five. She can come in.” The guard nodded, logged my license, and waved me through. Ding. The elevator door opened onto a plush, silent hallway. I took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll go the rest of the way myself.” Sasha nodded, walking toward the nearby stairwell. “Yell if you need me.” I started the video recording on my phone, then pressed the doorbell. Dean’s muffled voice called out, “Honey, can you grab that?” A moment later, the door swung open. The woman on the other side froze. “Lily’s mom?” I, too, was stunned. This was Chloe Vance, Lily’s former art teacher. She had left her job six months ago, citing a difficult pregnancy. Was she carrying my husband’s child? Her gaze dropped to the flowers in my hand, then back up to mine. A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across her face—a mix of bashful pride and subtle provocation. “Lily’s mom, are you… doing deliveries now?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. She wore a long, loose-fitting sleep dress. Her belly was dramatically, undeniably round. The paper wrapped around the flowers crumpled under the sudden, desperate tension in my grip. She reached out to take the bouquet, her expression all-too-solicitous. “Thank you so much. It must be freezing out. Why don’t you come in and warm up?” “I’d love to. Thank you for offering.” She faltered, clearly not expecting me to accept so readily. Her eyes darted quickly toward the kitchen before she smiled again and opened the shoe cabinet, pulling out a pair of slippers. The cabinet was full of men’s shoes. One pair—a pair of Italian leather oxfords I’d bought Dean last month—was right on top. They were the exact shoes he’d worn when he left for his supposed ‘trip.’ On a small console in the foyer was a framed, slightly cheesy photo of the two of them. Chloe inhaled the scent of the roses. “My husband is such a romantic. He never forgets a holiday. Always surprising me.” I gave a cold, small laugh. “Does he send flowers for tax day, too?” She paused, mouth half-open, then snapped back, slightly defensive. “Tough times since the divorce, huh? The socialite turned delivery driver.” I scanned the apartment’s open-concept living area. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the winter sun set over the sweeping panorama of Lake Bluffs. The view was breathtaking, but all I could feel was a profound, icy ache. A thousand tiny needles of pain spread through my body. “It is,” I agreed smoothly. “Not everyone can snag a successful CEO and climb the socioeconomic ladder the way you did, Chloe.” With the truth laid bare, her mask of politeness dissolved into smug satisfaction. “Dean would have divorced you years ago if it wasn’t for Lily. But my baby is more important. The moment I told him I was pregnant, he filed the papers.” “Filed the papers?” I asked, feeling a strange calm settle over the shock. “Don’t play dumb. Dean told me everything. He only goes back once a month to keep up appearances for Lily. Now that you’ve seen us, just be smart about this. Stop trying to cling to him.” She lifted her chin, radiating confidence. “I know exactly how women like you operate.” Just then, Dean emerged from the kitchen, carefully carrying a bowl of freshly brewed chicken soup. He put it on the dining table, then reached for a ladle. He hadn’t seen me yet. Chloe wrapped her arm around his, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Honey, we have a guest.” Dean turned. The moment he saw me, his hand jerked, and the porcelain bowl crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering into sharp pieces. “What are you doing here!” he yelled. Chloe sighed a showy, theatrical sigh. “Lily’s mom is having a hard time. She’s delivering flowers now.” Dean glanced at the bouquet on the table, realizing that the delivery voice on the intercom had sounded vaguely familiar. He paled, stumbling toward me. He reached out, panicked. “Brooke, let me explain, this—” Chloe yanked his arm back, staking her claim. “You two are divorced, Dean. What’s there to explain?” “Lily’s mom, Dean will cover the child support for Lily, but don’t be pathetic and try to chase after him.” I held Dean’s gaze, my voice steady. “We are getting divorced,” I said, not as a question, but as a final decree. 2 Dean yanked his arm free of Chloe and grabbed mine, pulling me toward the exit. “We need to talk outside. Chloe is heavily pregnant; don’t frighten her.” Chloe gasped, then slid her foot—perhaps intentionally—onto a shard of porcelain. She lost her balance and crashed to the floor, grabbing Dean’s pant leg. “Dean! My stomach!” Dean’s focus instantly shifted. He hoisted her up frantically. “Chloe, don’t panic. I’m taking you to the hospital.” His elbow slammed into my lower back as he spun away, sending a jolt of searing pain through me. “Ah!” Dean paused, looking back over his shoulder for a split second. “Brooke…” Chloe let out a pained whimper, cutting him off. He looked down at the agony on her face, his features contorted with concern, and sped toward the door. I walked out slowly, Sasha rushing over from the stairwell to steady me. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I lied. Sasha held up her phone, showing me a conversation with her brother, a corporate lawyer. “I told Grant to start looking into any suspicious asset transfers. Just in case.” I nodded gratefully, sending her the video I’d just recorded. “The woman is Chloe Vance, Lily’s former art teacher. Have Grant draft a full divorce agreement for me now.” “I’ll take you home.” Sasha insisted I was in no state to drive. She drove me home, then took Lily to her place for a couple of days. Grant was astonishingly fast. The moment I got home, the initial documents landed in my inbox. The house and car in Chloe’s name, plus wire transfers, amounted to nearly seven million dollars. A year ago, Dean had told me the subsidiary needed him to travel constantly. Turns out, he was establishing a luxurious second life with Chloe the entire time. I immediately called the company’s CFO. “Mr. Wallace, please send me the financial statements for the main company and all subsidiaries for the last three years.” “Mrs. Sterling, company financials are confidential. You don’t have the authority to view them.” “I am a majority shareholder!” There was a two-second pause on the line. “I will need to get Mr. Sterling’s signed approval before releasing any documents to you, Madam.” Good. Very good. Since my first pregnancy, I had retreated from the business world, spending my days shopping, getting spa treatments, and raising my daughter. Everyone thought I had simply married well. It seemed even Dean had forgotten that I was still the company’s largest shareholder—and had the authority to fire him at any moment. I started clearing out the house. I threw open the walk-in closet and pulled Dean’s clothes out, one by one, tossing them onto the floor, tearing and stomping on them like a madwoman until the fury subsided into exhaustion. As I emptied the last shelf, a small, clear storage bin slid out of the corner. It contained all the things Dean had given me during our four years in college. A tulip-shaped LED nightlight. A backpack he’d sewn himself. A silver hair clip he’d designed. Jars filled with paper stars on which he’d written out sweet memories. His family hadn’t had money then. He couldn’t afford expensive gifts, so most of them were things he’d made by hand. I hugged the bin to my chest and cried until the sun came up. The next day, my mother-in-law (MIL) and sister-in-law (SIL) stormed into the chaotic apartment, immediately launching into a loud tirade. “Brooke Sterling, have you lost your mind? You smashed all this expensive stuff! Do you think my son earns money easily? Why did he marry a wastrel like you? You couldn’t even give him a son, and now you can’t manage a home!” My MIL saw me and her hand lashed out, delivering a stinging slap across my face. “You bitch! You almost hurt my grandson!” “You gave us a useless girl and now you think you can put on airs in front of Chloe? You know what? Be smart, divorce my son, and get out of the Sterling family.” The SIL started emptying the kitchen cabinets, filling designer bags with things like expensive supplements and imported vitamins. “These good things are wasted on her, Mom. Let’s take them to our new daughter-in-law. She needs to recover.” The MIL rushed to the kitchen, joining the grab-and-stuff operation. “Yes, Chloe is the great hero of our family. She needs to be well nourished.” My MIL didn’t even look at Lily the day she was born, furious that I hadn’t given her a boy. But I wasn’t focused on her attitude. I was focused on the revelation: Chloe had given birth? “Where is Dean?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. My MIL spat. “He’s with my grandson, of course! I’m warning you, if anything happens to that boy, I’ll hold you responsible!” 3 Chloe had given birth to a boy. My entire extended family had known about the affair for months, conspiring to keep it from me. Dean finally came home that afternoon, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue, his expression a mask of impatience. “My mother took a few things from the house, and you called the police? It’s my money that bought those things. What’s the big deal if my mother takes them?!” “Clean yourself up and come with me to the police station to clear this up.” I had waited until the MIL and SIL left, then called the police, reporting the theft. The security camera footage clearly showed them stealing items worth well over the felony threshold. The police had found them at the hospital. Dean was there alone, juggling the baby and Chloe’s post-delivery needs. He was overwhelmed. He had finally managed to hire a postpartum nurse, which was the only reason he had time to come home and settle the score with me. I looked at him and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Your money?” He seemed genuinely amused, his tone mocking. “Whose else would it be? If I hadn’t held the company together all these years, it would have collapsed. I’ve been supporting you. You’ve had over a decade of luxury.” “I need an heir for a company this size. You couldn’t have another child. Just stick to being Mrs. Sterling, and no one can threaten your position.” I pointed to our framed family photo on the mantelpiece. “Isn’t Lily your child?” “What use is a girl? She’ll just belong to someone else eventually.” A fresh, horrifying wave of dread washed over me. Belong to someone else? “Dean,” I whispered, my heart racing, “Did you only approach me in college because of my family’s company?” Dean stepped closer, grabbing my hands, his voice dropping to a fake, soft tone. “Brooke, I do love you.” I pulled my hands away and slapped the printed divorce agreement onto his chest. “Sign it.” He glanced at the document, then tossed it onto the floor, sneering. “Brooke, look around. How many men out there don’t have mistresses, or even multiple small families? I made one little mistake, and you want to throw away our marriage?” “Stop being dramatic. My mother wanted a grandson, and you can’t have another child. I had no choice. What’s the big deal? We can even bring him back when he’s a bit older and raise him here.” He spoke as if he were commenting on the weather. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. I reacted instinctively, slapping him hard across the face, then again. “You Asshole.” He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Wife, I know you’re angry. But how will you survive without me? You’ll really go back to delivering flowers?” “Don’t forget, this company is my family’s now.” Dean snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Don’t be naive. After a decade, the people at the company won’t listen to you. They are loyal to me.” “We can fix this. I promise, no one will ever threaten your position as my wife. I won’t short-change Lily, either.” “But if I don’t agree, you won’t get custody of Lily. Can you really let her grow up in a broken home, all because of your pride?” The irony was sickening. He hadn’t thought about Lily when he cheated, but he was willing to use her as a moral hostage now. My father had given Dean a 10% share when we married, hoping he would protect me. Now that stake was Dean’s weapon against me. Before marrying Dean, I had hidden my family’s wealth. After graduation, we both started working at the company. I found out I was pregnant right as we were both competing for executive roles. My father, overjoyed, quickly arranged a wedding and ordered me to focus on my health. He passed away suddenly soon after. The stress led to a miscarriage, and I spiraled into severe depression. Dean cared for me, all while stepping in to manage the company. He promised to protect my father’s legacy. I believed him. I worked with the other shareholders to elect him as CEO and Chairman. At the time, I truly wasn’t capable of running things. I became the envied Mrs. Sterling, and eventually, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter. Because of the child I lost, I was fiercely protective of Lily. Dean knew all this. That’s why he thought he could use her to control me. “Dean, you’re the naive one,” I said, turning my back on him. “Not me.” 4 A few days later, I exercised my rights as the majority shareholder, issuing a comprehensive notice of Dean’s immediate dismissal from all executive roles, and announcing that I would be taking over all company affairs. The email landed in every employee’s inbox. I put on a professional suit that hadn’t seen the light of day in years and walked into the lobby of Sterling & Co. The receptionist, a young woman who had been hired recently, stopped me. “Ma’am, who are you here to see?” I hadn’t been in the office in at least five years. Most employees wouldn’t recognize me. “I am Brooke Sterling. I’m here to work.” “Brooke Sterling?” The receptionist mumbled my name, then her eyes widened as she recalled the morning’s explosive email. “You’re the new Chairman!” She respectfully scrambled to open the main security doors for me. The elevator climbed to the 26th floor. The doors slid open, and Dean, flanked by a group of key shareholders, was waiting for me. He wore a patronizing, confident smile, clearly ready to dismiss me as an amateur. The first to speak was an older man, Mr. Wallace, who had worked alongside my father for years and had watched me grow up. He adopted a stern, paternal tone. “Brooke, Dean has told us everything. You’re being utterly ridiculous! You can’t let a small marital spat spill over into the company like this. The Chairman position is too important to be used as a political statement!” The surrounding employees, drawn by the commotion, laughed quietly. “The CEO’s wife probably can’t even read a balance sheet.” “Why can’t she just stay home with the kid? What’s the point of this scene?” “I know her type. She’s just worried her husband will leave her. This is just a performance.” The other shareholders chimed in with friendly-sounding advice. “Mrs. Sterling, the Chairman’s seat is not a joke. You should go home to your daughter.” “Brooke, Sterling & Co. has grown so much under Dean’s leadership. Why rock the boat?” “The company doesn’t belong just to you. What right do you have to make this kind of decision?” Dean smiled confidently and stepped forward to play the benevolent victim. “It’s my fault. I upset Brooke, and she’s reacted to it. I apologize to everyone for this disruption.” “Nonsense, Dean. This is between you two, we won’t get involved.” “Brooke, don’t make these jokes again!” The group chuckled, preparing to disperse. Dean leaned in close to my ear. “See that, Brooke? No one is on your side.” Many of the people gathered had been my father’s loyalists, yet they were now fully aligned with Dean. I scanned the room, the internal chill growing until it was absolute zero. I spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “A joke? I am the largest shareholder in this company. I am demanding the immediate dismissal of Dean Sterling from all his roles.” The shareholders froze, turning en masse to look at Dean. Dean, however, remained unfazed. “Since everyone is here, why don’t we just hold an impromptu shareholder meeting? We can elect a new Chairman right now.” “Assistant Stone, take everyone to the conference room. And notify Mr. Robert, we need him here for a vote.” We filed into the room. Dean naturally took the head seat, then dramatically produced his ownership agreement. He now held a staggering 20% stake. “I’ve acquired all the scattered stock over the years. I hold 20%, and Brooke holds 35%. Who do you all support?” Mr. Wallace, Mr. Mac, and others quickly voiced their full support for Dean. Dean leaned back, crossing his legs, looking down at me with an air of superiority. “Forty percent of the shares are already on my side. You only have thirty-five. Time to concede, Brooke.” I ignored him, looking toward the door, waiting for the final shareholder to arrive. Dean followed my gaze, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. Half an hour later, my Uncle Robert finally arrived, giving me a weary look. “Brooke, you shouldn’t be doing this.” My eyes immediately welled up. “Uncle Robert, Dean betrayed me.” My uncle pulled me aside, starting his lecture. “Even if Dean is at fault, you can’t air this in public! Men need face. Now, you two go home and settle this privately.” Then he turned to the room. “I support Dean.” I could stomach the others, but the betrayal from my own flesh and blood, my mother’s brother, cut me deep. Dean stood up and thanked everyone. “Brooke, the tally is 46% for me. Do you have anything more to say?” “Mr. Sterling, you seem to be forgetting the 19% shareholder who hasn’t cast a vote yet.”

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My billionaire husband framed me—falsifying evidence and pinning an entire corporate fraud case on me—all to clear his innocent-act secretary’s name. Faced with the planted evidence, I was powerless. I served two years. When my mother heard the news, her weak heart gave out. She was gone shortly after I was locked away. When I was released, the secretary, Skye Abbott, was five months pregnant. Seeing that I was quiet and compliant, my husband, Spencer Graham, thought I’d finally learned my lesson. He promised to put me in charge of our new tech venture, The Meridian Project. But at the shareholders’ meeting, he abruptly announced that Skye Abbott would be the new CEO. Back home, he explained it to me with a dismissive shrug. “Skye graduated from a top-tier university, and she’s competent,” he said, utterly nonchalant. “More importantly, she has a clean track record. People will trust her.” I gazed at the raw, dark hickey staining the skin above his collar and simply nodded. Spencer, taking my silence for acceptance, looked pleased. He promised the next new company would surely be mine. But I didn’t want it anymore. I only wanted a divorce. I wanted us to part ways, never to cross paths again. … After the shareholders’ meeting, the office buzzed with gossip. Every time I sat at my desk, I was met with pitying or sneering glances. The break room was a constant hive of noise. “Seriously, how does Audrey Hollis even show her face?” I overheard. “Her husband basically threw the mistress in her lap, and she’s just… sitting there.” “Maybe two years inside scrambled her brains.” “She’s probably terrified Spencer will divorce her. She’s useless now. Without him, she’d be begging on the street.” A burst of cruel laughter followed. They exchanged knowing looks when I walked in. Years ago, I would have stormed in and confronted them. Now, I just quietly collected my things and left. Prison does change you. Inside, there was only the relentless grind of bullying and degradation. I was immune to this kind of cheap shot now. Everyone in the firm knew Spencer and I were married, and they certainly knew about the tawdry affair with Skye Abbott. Spencer and I had been college sweethearts. We married right out of school. Our relationship had been solid—or so I thought. I’d been a star student, recruited by a major Silicon Valley firm straight out of graduation. Spencer was fiercely ambitious, desperate to build his own empire, but he was fundamentally mediocre. I quit my high-paying job and threw myself into helping him. I secured the investors he couldn’t charm, and I did the crucial groundwork he couldn’t execute. I was the architect who put him in the corner office. Then, two years ago, he insisted on hiring Skye—a woman with zero experience—for the executive assistant pool. He claimed her troubled background reminded him of his own struggling youth. I was unhappy, but I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t want him to be unhappy. I trained Skye myself, painstakingly teaching her until she could handle all the necessary tasks. She repaid me by telling Spencer I was using my position to feed intel to a rival firm. Spencer, without checking a single fact, immediately transferred me out of the executive suite. From then on, Skye was untouchable. He dumped her work on my plate and “accidentally” deposited portions of my salary into her account. One rainy night, he even ordered me to drive two hours to deliver a bag of toiletries to Skye and her alleged boyfriend. I convinced myself he just saw her as a little sister. I never imagined he would frame me. Skye, drunk, had caused a serious accident. Spencer paid off the victim and destroyed the evidence. To cover the financial trail and ensure my silence, he used the company’s existing tax discrepancies—which I’d been trying to fix—and pinned them on me as massive corporate fraud. Faced with the victim’s accusations and crushing debt, I had no choice but to take the fall. He never visited me once in the two years I was inside. Only his lawyer came, delivering a single, cold message: “Mr. Graham says don’t talk. He’ll still give you a meal ticket when you get out.” The memory made me curl my lip in a self-deprecating smile. I sent the heavily-encrypted folder from my laptop to my lawyer and let out a long, quiet breath. Since my release, I had played the role of the devoted, humbled wife. I was always near Spencer, always agreeable. He believed I was tamed. What he didn’t know was that I had been methodically, patiently gathering irrefutable proof of my innocence. “Alright, Audrey. We can file the motion now.” My lawyer’s text came through quickly. Not yet. I thought. I wanted to catch them both in the same net. Before I could reply, Skye’s text arrived. It was a photo. Spencer was in a high-end baby boutique, smiling a gentle, paternal smile I’d never seen before, picking out newborn essentials. He’d always claimed he was a DINK—Double Income, No Kids—and loathed shopping, preferring everything online. It was clear now. He just loathed me. “Audrey, your husband is shopping for OUR baby’s clothes,” the text read. “He said I’m the best woman he’s ever met, and only a woman like me deserves to carry on his legacy. That new company? It’s a gift for my tireless work every single night.” Her taunt left me completely unfazed. I simply saved the text and the photo. When I didn’t reply, she started flooding my phone with photos: sweet dates, intimate moments, pictures of them touching. I saved every single one. I still didn’t respond. A minute later, Spencer called. “Why are you giving Skye the silent treatment?” he demanded the moment I answered, his voice thick with undisguised contempt. “How dare you ignore her? She’s your boss now! You should be kissing up to her. Instead, you freeze her out.” I remained silent. “You apologize to Skye immediately!” Then Skye’s saccharine voice chirped in the background, “It’s okay, Spence. Audrey doesn’t need to apologize. She’s your wife, I won’t make trouble for her.” Skye’s ‘generosity’ only enraged Spencer further. “See her maturity, her class?” he spat at me. “You’re such a petty, small-minded senior employee. Audrey, apologize to Skye! Do it, or I swear I’ll divorce you.” I couldn’t stop a quiet, dark laugh from escaping. “Fine. I was wrong,” I said flatly. Wrong to have ever trusted you. Wrong in not leaving you sooner. Spencer sounded instantly mollified. “Good. Glad you get it. Look, I’m doing you a favor by staying married. You have a record now. It’s an act of grace.” “Your apology needs sincerity. Buy Skye a gift.” “Try to be a good wife going forward…” Buy her a gift? I thought. Go to hell. But Spencer took care of the ‘gift’ himself. He gave Skye my mother’s heirloom jewelry. Before we married, my mother had given Spencer the antique set—the most valuable thing our family owned, worth more than our childhood home. He had casually handed that irreplaceable piece of my legacy to his pregnant mistress. The set was in our home safe, which required both our fingerprints to open. “Get home now!” Spencer barked over the phone, his voice sharp with command. Scrolling back through our chat logs, I realized Spencer’s texts had devolved into nothing but short, clipped orders. I ignored him. I finished clearing my desk and left the office. I found Spencer seated on the living room couch, arms crossed, when I returned home, divorce papers tucked into my bag. He stood up abruptly at the sound of the door, then stormed into the master bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. It was a tantrum. He was demanding to be coddled. Though I despised the routine, the thought of the signed divorce agreement soon made me knock and enter. A coffee mug smashed against the wall by my head, sending ceramic shards flying. A piece grazed my calf. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the blood bead up, but the surprise quickly morphed into a look of impatient annoyance. “Fine, I won’t hold a grudge about you failing to beg for forgiveness earlier,” he said. He meant that in the past, a tantrum like this would have ended with me on my knees, followed by an emergency shopping spree for his favorite luxury goods. God, I was a fool. “I know you’re still sulking about the company. But I explained the reason.” He didn’t meet my eye. “Can’t you be more generous?” He looked down at his phone, gazing at a photo of Skye’s pregnant belly. The tenderness in his face was something I had never once been shown. “The baby will be here soon. Audrey, my child will be your child. I’ll make sure they treat you like their mother,” he vowed. “Let’s forget the past and move on.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up. He slapped me with public infidelity and now expected me to raise his mistress’s child? “And I gave her that jewelry,” he continued, oblivious. “It was a thank you. When you were incarcerated, if Skye hadn’t gone to the victim every day, practically begging for mercy, your sentence would have been much worse.” The audacity of the lie was breathtaking. If not for him and Skye, I would never have been arrested at all. I knew every small, sordid move they’d made behind my back. Seeing my silence, Spencer thought I was wavering. He leaned in, kissing me quickly on the corner of my mouth. “Just tell me where the set is, and let’s put this behind us.” God, that’s disgusting. I fought down the wave of nausea. “I have a few company documents here,” I said, pulling out a slim folder. “The firm needs your signature urgently.” Eager to get his hands on the heirloom, he swiftly signed every page, including the separation agreement tucked subtly at the back. “Great! Let’s get the jewelry now,” he said, dropping the pen. I gave a faint nod. I retrieved the antique necklace and bracelet. Even in my hands, the gold and diamonds seemed to shine with a perverse glow. “Give it to me.” Spencer reached out, his hand already grasping for the box. The ringtone for Skye’s personalized ringtone cut through the air. Spencer’s face softened into a smile, forgetting the heirloom entirely. I took advantage of his distraction and swapped the real necklace with a high-quality replica I’d retrieved earlier. I placed the fake set in his hand. “Fine, you can go now. Don’t bother me.” I knew who was on the line. He and Skye often talked all night, sometimes making noises that drifted through the wall. Whatever Skye said, it sent him rushing out of the apartment. He didn’t come back for days. I didn’t call or text him. I was busy preparing. The moment the court summons was issued, my vindication would begin. I returned home from work a few days later to find all my personal items tossed into the hallway. My prized collection of rare figurines was shattered in the trash bin, lying next to my wedding ring. I pushed the bedroom door open. Spencer and Skye were kissing. They broke apart at the sound of the door. “Don’t you knock when you get home?” Spencer snapped, annoyed at the interruption. I found it mildly hilarious. I shot them a cold glance. “This is my house,” I stated icily. “Spence, Audrey’s being mean,” Skye whimpered, her tone soft but her eyes flashing with provocation. “Maybe I should just leave.” Spencer’s eyes immediately went soft with protectiveness. “No, you stay here. Don’t worry.” He turned back to me, his expression hardening with outright disgust. “I’m turning this apartment into a collection gallery for Skye. She loves designer handbags, you know.” This apartment was my parents’ graduation gift to me, purchased outright. The deed was only in my name. Spencer had zero claim. “I don’t agree,” I said. Spencer rolled his eyes. “Your agreement doesn’t matter.” He remembered something else. “And I heard you left work early yesterday. How irresponsible. Do you think this company is your playground?” “Tomorrow, you will follow the rules and stand in the lobby, shouting out your apology to the entire staff.” This particular humiliation was only ever reserved for me. While the rule was supposedly for all employees, anyone else who messed up was given a pass. I was always punished with severity. This was the reward for building his empire. “Spence, please don’t be angry. Audrey is probably still adjusting to life outside. Give her a chance. You’ll upset the baby.” The mention of the child instantly dissolved Spencer’s anger. He looked at me with deep disappointment. “See how mature Skye is? Young, yet capable and considerate,” he lectured. “And look at you. Accomplished nothing. A leech.” I cut him off. I was sick of the monologue. “This apartment was my parents’ gift. It has nothing to do with you. You have no right to decide its use.” I held up the paper. “We signed the divorce agreement yesterday. You and your mistress need to get out of my house.” Spencer’s face tightened into an ugly scowl. “Audrey Hollis! Who do you think you are?” he roared. “We’re married! Your assets are mine! And as for divorce, you can forget it!” I gave a humorless laugh. “Whether we divorce is my call. Are you really willing to risk me pressing charges for bigamy?” Spencer’s face turned scarlet. All he could manage was a guttural, “You are despicable, Audrey!” Skye rushed to him, soothing his back. “Don’t fight over me, Spence. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” She started walking out. As she passed, she leaned in close and whispered, her voice laced with malicious glee, “You know, your mother was crawling at my feet before she died, clutching my pant leg, begging me. She looked just like a sick dog.” The fury that erupted in my chest was blinding. Call me what he liked, but he would not touch my family. “You filthy bitch.” I put all my strength into a slap across her face. Her frail body crumpled, hitting the corner of the wall with a whimper. Seeing his lover on the floor, Spencer became a raging beast. He hauled off and struck me across the face. “How dare you touch her!” He lunged at me, fists flying. I sidestepped, and he stumbled, falling hard onto the floor. “Get out, both of you!” I said, my voice dangerously low. Suddenly, Spencer tore his own shirt and raked his nails across his cheek. He rushed to the door and flung it open, screaming: “Help! Someone, help me!” The noise drew curious neighbors out. “What in the world is happening?” Mr. Donaldson from upstairs asked, supporting the tearful Spencer. “I am so sorry to bother everyone,” Spencer apologized profusely, bowing deeply. “I just didn’t know what else to do.” Naturally, the neighbors instantly saw Spencer as the victim. A clamor of voices demanded an explanation. Spencer spoke with the voice of a man broken by grief. “My wife came home demanding money. When I said I didn’t have it, she attacked me and my pregnant sister…” Seeing Skye on the floor, her lip already bleeding, the neighbors immediately turned on me. “You’ve been out for over a year! Why aren’t you working?” “And your sister is pregnant!” “Call the police! Put this viper back in jail! Your husband is a saint for putting up with you!” Spencer had clearly paved the narrative long ago. He had engineered the perfect mob scene. Someone even grabbed my arms, restraining me. It was at that moment my lawyer arrived, followed by a team from the Prosecutor’s Office. “Prosecutor’s Office. We have a warrant,” the official announced, flashing a badge. “Wait, we called the police, not the District Attorney,” a neighbor muttered, confused. Spencer looked stunned. The prosecutor spoke, his voice grave. “We are here regarding a two-year-old case of aggravated assault and corporate fraud.”

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