Author: Momo Chan

I had been working at the company for five years, and I was universally known as the ultimate office doormat. I never missed a department dinner, and I was always on call for overtime. Until today, when the guy sitting next to me went to the restroom, and his phone screen lit up. The latest message was from our department manager, Harrison: “We’re doing layoffs next week. Start with the doormat first.” The replies from my coworkers flooded in immediately. “Good call. Chloe does the most work for the least pay. She’s the easiest to push around.” “Yeah, she has no connections or family background anyway. She won’t make a scene when she’s let go.” My heart squeezed. I took another glance at the group. The group name was: *Office Survival Guide*. I counted the members. 12 people. The entire department was in it. Except for me, the “doormat.” After a long silence, I picked up my phone and sent a text to my dad: “Dad, cancel the partnership with Harrington Enterprises. I’m coming home to take over the family business.” ***

I didn’t lose my temper on the spot. My coworker, Leo, hadn’t locked his computer screen, and his Snapchat window was still open. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Using Leo’s account, I compiled the entire chat history and emailed it to my personal address. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. Humming a tune, Leo walked back from the restroom and picked up his mug. “Hey, Chloe, need me to grab you a coffee from downstairs?” I forced a smile and shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” Once he walked away, I opened the email. The group had been created three years ago. It was during my second year at the company. I scrolled through the messages, line by line. The earliest record was from our manager, Harrison Vance. “How’s the rookie working out?” Someone replied, “Chloe? She’s great. She practically begs to take over our workloads.” “She’s a pushover. Perfect for taking the fall if anything goes wrong.” Harrison replied with a satisfied emoji. As I kept scrolling, it was all work. Whenever someone messed up, they blamed me. Whenever they had tedious work, they dumped it on me. They stole my ideas. They took credit for my achievements. And I, like an absolute idiot, had been working myself to the bone in the web they spun. I had genuinely thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough, which was why I never got promoted. Turns out, I was just their convenient, unpaid slave. The chat logs felt like physical blows to my chest. Three years ago, during the company’s annual reviews. My KPIs were the highest in the entire department. But Harrison told me in the meeting, “Chloe, you’re still new. You need more grooming. Let’s give this opportunity to the seniors first.” I believed him. I even thought he was looking out for me, protecting me from getting arrogant. But in the Snapchat group: Harrison: “We can’t give the $15,000 annual bonus to Chloe.” A coworker asked: “Why? Her performance was the best.” Harrison: “She has no background. Even if we give it to her, she might leave. Let’s give it to Maya instead. Her uncle is an executive at one of our partner firms.” So, the outstanding employee of that year became Maya. With the $15,000 bonus, she treated the entire department to a dinner at a high-end steakhouse. Except me. She said, “Chloe doesn’t really like loud social events. Let’s not bother her.” That night, I was working overtime at the office, revising a proposal they had casually thrown at me. I ordered myself an $8 convenience store sandwich. Two years ago, there was an opening for a supervisor position. I spent three months preparing for it, revising my presentation over a dozen times. Everyone thought the position was mine. In the end, it went to Maya again. Harrison called me into his office. “Chloe, you have great technical skills, but you lack leadership experience.” “Just wait a bit. You’ll get the next one.” I believed him again. But in the chat logs: The night before the presentation, Maya wrote in the group, “Manager, I’m so nervous.” Harrison replied, “Don’t worry. I’ve already talked to the executives.” “Just read Chloe’s report tomorrow. I already told her to send you the final draft.” So that was it. I had hand-delivered my own promotion to someone else. And I had even thanked Harrison for “mentoring” me. My blood ran cold. I kept scrolling. Last Thanksgiving, my mom had to undergo major surgery. I asked for three days off. Harrison only approved one. He said, “The project is at a critical stage. You can leave after you finish this.” I had no choice but to book a red-eye flight, running back and forth between the hospital and the airport. I slept for less than five hours over three days. My mom held my hand from her hospital bed, tears in her eyes, aching for me. But in the Snapchat group: On the day I took leave, Harrison sent out a virtual cash gift. “Guys, holiday is here! Company’s paying, let’s go to the hot spring resort!” The group exploded with cheers. Maya asked, “Didn’t Chloe say her mom is sick?” Harrison replied, “It’s fine, just a minor surgery. Work comes first, she knows her priorities.” They traded my mother’s health for their luxury vacation. I closed the email. My vision went blurry. Five years. I had been nothing but a joke in this company. *** ### Chapter 2

For the next three days, I went to work as if nothing had happened. I made coffee, printed documents, and smiled as I responded to everyone’s requests. “Chloe, can you look over this contract for me?” “Chloe, there’s a bug in this data. Can you double-check it?” “Chloe, grab me an iced Americano from downstairs, will you?” I accepted all of it. “Sure.” “No problem.” “Just a second.” When they looked at me, there was a faint, barely noticeable pity in their eyes. Like they were looking at a lamb about to be slaughtered. Harrison called me into his office once. “Chloe, you’ve been working hard lately. The proposal for the ‘Starlight Project’ is absolutely perfect.” He patted my shoulder, looking extremely pleased. “Once the project launches, I will personally request a bonus for you from the board.” I lowered my head, acting incredibly grateful. “Thank you, Harrison. It’s just my job.” He walked away, satisfied. The moment he turned, I saw Brandon posting in the group chat. “The old fox is dangling carrots again.” “Poor Chloe, she actually bought it.” “She’s literally getting fired next week, and she’s still dreaming.” I expressionlessly closed the Snapchat monitoring tool. It was a plugin I had casually installed on the department’s public router last month when I was helping the IT department test some software. I started digging up the old files. I didn’t have many virtues, but I had an excellent memory. I remembered during my second year, there was a prestigious training program at our European headquarters. My sales performance was the highest in the department back then. Everyone assumed I would get the spot. But in the end, the person who went was Harrison’s cousin, Ethan. Harrison had told me, “Chloe, you’re still young. You have plenty of opportunities. Focus on the project at hand first.” And I believed him. I stayed up for three consecutive nights to clean up the disastrous mess Ethan had left behind. On the final project report, the only name signed was Harrison Vance. Because of that project, he won the Manager of the Year award. I logged into the company’s internal server. I found the project folder from three years ago. Deep inside the folder, there was an encrypted document. Inside were all the original raw data and my operation logs. As well as the email exchange showing how Harrison had ordered me, step by step, to alter the data to cover up his cousin’s massive errors. I zipped the files and sent them to my private email. Then, I remembered another thing. At last year’s annual gala, the company held a raffle. The grand prize was a brand-new Tesla. Before the raffle, a girl from HR secretly told me that my name had been entered five times into the drawing box. She said, “Chloe, you’re so nice. We all hope you win.” But the winner turned out to be Brandon. He was so excited he practically jumped onto the stage, claiming he was the luckiest guy alive. Everyone went to congratulate him. Only I noticed Harrison standing in the corner, giving Brandon a subtle “OK” hand gesture. After the gala, I was responsible for cleaning up the venue. In the hidden compartment of the raffle box, I found a pile of crumpled paper balls. I opened them. Every single one had my name on it. At the time, I thought it was just a mistake. Now, I realized it was all rigged. *** ### Chapter 3

I checked the company’s financial expense reports from last year. Among the gala expenses, there was a $5,000 receipt from a VIP lounge bar. The claimant: Brandon. Reason: Department team-building. But that night, I was alone in the office, working overtime. While they were at the VIP bar, celebrating Brandon’s “lucky win.” Using our department’s team-building budget. I saved the digital copy of that receipt as well. But what broke my heart the most was Lily. She was an intern I had personally trained. When she first arrived, she knew absolutely nothing. I had to teach her how to use even the scanner. I shared all of my experience with her without holding anything back. When she made mistakes, I took the blame. When others tried to bully her, I stood up for her. She always followed me around, calling me “Chloe, Chloe,” like a loyal little puppy. I really thought she was different from the rest of them. The day before yesterday, she came to me with teary eyes. “Chloe, I heard… the company is doing layoffs.” I comforted her, “Don’t worry, you’re doing so well. They wouldn’t lay you off.” She hugged me, almost crying. “Chloe, you’re so good to me. Don’t worry, even if I have to leave, I’ll never forget how much you helped me.” I was so moved at that moment. But just now, I saw her messages in the group. “Manager Vance, can I take over the follow-up for the ‘Starlight Project’? Should I start taking over the files from Chloe now?” Someone replied: “Lily is so proactive!” Harrison replied with a single word. “Approved.” In that exact moment, my heart went completely cold. It turned out her little performance the other day wasn’t because she was afraid of being laid off. She was just worried that I, the “office doormat,” wouldn’t be fired fast enough to clear her path to promotion. Friday afternoon, right before clock-out. Harrison called me into his office. The blinds were drawn, making the room quite dim. He sat in his leather executive chair, a look of rehearsed pity on his face. “Chloe.” He spoke, his voice heavy. “You know how the company’s financial situation has been lately. For our long-term survival, we have to make some difficult decisions.” I looked at him quietly, saying nothing. I just waited for him to finish his act. “You’ve always worked hard, and we appreciate it. But…” He paused, pretending to search for the right words. “We need to optimize our department’s structure. Some roles are being merged. So… look, here is your severance package.” He slid a document toward me. It was the bare minimum required by law. Not a single penny more. He had calculated it perfectly so I couldn’t sue them. “Sign it. You don’t have to come in on Monday.” He said it so casually. As if he were just letting me know the cafeteria menu had changed. Instead of the fact that he was destroying the career of an employee who had worked herself to the bone for him for five years. I picked up the agreement. The paper was thin, yet it felt incredibly heavy. I caught the faint, smug smirk on Harrison’s face. He thought I was still that obedient “doormat” who would take the hit, sign the papers, and leave in tears. I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. Word by word, I said clearly: “I’m not signing this.” *** ### Chapter 4

Harrison’s smirk froze on his face. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m not signing.” I repeated. “And the one who needs to leave isn’t me.” He looked at me as if I had just said the most hilarious joke in the world. “Chloe, have you gone crazy from working too much overtime? You have no connections, no money, no background. How do you think you can fight me?” “With this.” I placed my phone on his desk and played a video. In the video, which was recorded two afternoons ago, Harrison was meeting with the representative of the ‘Starlight Project’ client at a cafe. The representative said, “Manager Vance, we really appreciate the core creativity and data models of this proposal. But we would like to meet the original creator, Miss Chloe Sterling, to have a deeper discussion.” Harrison took a sip of his coffee and said slowly: “That won’t be necessary. Chloe is unwell and has taken an extended medical leave. I will be handling all follow-ups personally.” The representative frowned. Harrison continued, “To be honest, Chloe is already planning to resign. She’s… not very bright, and she isn’t suited for such an important project anyway.” The video ended there. Harrison’s face instantly turned from smug to pale. “You… you tracked me?” “I just happened to be passing by.” I retrieved my phone. “Manager Vance, maliciously defaming an employee and attempting to steal credit for a core company project… I believe this is more than enough to get you fired.” He slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, pointing at me. “How dare you!” *Knock, knock, knock.* The office door was knocked. Harrison barked impatiently, “Who is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?!” The door opened. A middle-aged man in a bespoke designer suit, radiating an incredibly powerful aura, walked in. Behind him were several executives from our parent company. Even the CEO of Harrington Enterprises, Victor Harrington, was trailing behind him, sweating profusely and looking terrified. Harrison froze. “Mr. Sterling! What brings you here?!” The man Harrison called “Mr. Sterling” didn’t even glance at him. He walked right through the crowd and stopped in front of me. Then, in a helpless yet incredibly fond tone, he spoke: “Done playing around?” The entire room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared in absolute shock. I blinked and gave my dad a sweet, innocent smile.

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After my roommate secretly drank the protein powder I kept in our dorm, her weight shot up from 100 pounds to 135 pounds in just a single month. She literally cried and accused me of poisoning her. “What the hell did you put in here? Are you trying to kill me?!” I let out a cold laugh. “When you were busy stealing it, why didn’t you bother asking what it actually was?” What she didn’t know was that it wasn’t protein powder. It was a rapid fattening formula I had custom-mixed for my lab pigs. Harper Vance stood by my desk, clutching the empty plastic tub in her hands, tears streaming down her face. “Chloe Miller! Did you put something in this powder?!” She had visibly bloated. Her once-sharp jawline was now completely round, her collarbones had vanished under layers of puffiness, and the rolls around her waist practically spilled out of her pajamas like rising dough. I closed my lab notebook, slowly looking up at her. “Who told you to steal my powder? Did I force it down your throat?” “So you admit it! You did put something in there! You wanted to ruin me!” Her voice pitched into a shrill shriek. “You’re an Animal Science major—you spend all day with farm animals! What kind of sick chemical did you mix into this? I gained thirty-five pounds in a month! Thirty-five pounds!” She slammed the empty tub onto my desk. I didn’t even flinch. “I’ll ask you again. Who told you to touch my stuff?” Harper choked on her words, her face turning a furious, blotchy red. Our other roommate, Maya Brooks, poked her head out from her bed, took one look at the drama, and quickly pulled her curtains shut. Someone walked past our door in the hallway, their footsteps pausing briefly before hurrying away. Harper’s voice suddenly dropped, her eyes darting around nervously. “I—I just thought it was regular organic protein powder. You left it sitting there and weren’t using it, so what’s the big deal if I had some? Roommates are supposed to share. Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” I stared at her. “Share.” She sure loved using that word. Last semester, she ate a whole pint of organic strawberries I left in the shared fridge, claiming she “didn’t want them to go to waste.” She took handfuls of my expensive imported vitamins every single day, claiming she just “needed some extra nutrients.” She even wore my limited-edition designer hoodie to a frat party and brought it back reeking of cheap beer and weed. When I asked why she didn’t ask for permission first, she scoffed and said, “It’s just a hoodie, Chloe. You’re not gonna die.” Every single time, she called it “sharing.” Every single time, she took it for granted. When we first moved in, I thought she just had a few boundary issues. Everyone has flaws, right? Back then, I was naive. I figured we had to live together in this suite for a couple of years, so there was no point in making things tense. So I let it go. Every single time, I let it go. But being passive never makes a bully back down. It only makes them take more. Midway through freshman year, my mom ordered a massive, five-pound box of premium Rainier cherries from Whole Foods and had it shipped to me. The box was huge. I kept it in the corner of our shared kitchen, planning to savor them. That afternoon, I went to my chemistry lecture. When I came back, the box was completely empty, with nothing left but a few crushed, rotten stems rolling around at the bottom. Harper was lounging on the couch, picking her teeth. Seeing me walk in, she smiled. “Oh, Chloe, those cherries were so sweet! I invited the girls from next door over, and we finished them.” A fifty-dollar box of imported cherries, and she just “invited the girls” to eat them. “Why didn’t you text me first?” I stood at the door, my keys still clenched in my hand. “Oh, come on, I assumed you bought them for the suite anyway,” she said, rolling over on the couch. “Don’t be so dramatic, Chloe. We’re practically sisters.” Sisters. Hearing that word roll off her tongue made me physically sick. I stared at her, wanting to scream, but in the end, I said nothing. It wasn’t because I was scared. It was because I felt it wasn’t worth the energy. Screaming over a box of cherries? What would that even solve? She still slept in the room next to mine. We still had to see each other every single day. I didn’t want to turn our dorm into a war zone. But now I realize that when you refuse to treat someone as an enemy, they just treat you as their prey. “That wasn’t protein powder,” I said flatly. ### Chapter

2 I tapped the empty plastic tub on my desk. “It’s a weight-gain supplement I formulated for my experimental pigs. The main ingredients are high-fructose corn syrup, soy lecithin powder, a concentrated Vitamin B complex, and yeast extract to stimulate their appetite. I mixed the recipe myself specifically for my animal growth performance study.” Harper’s face drained of color, going from flushed red to ghostly white. “You… what did you say?” “I said,” I emphasized every single syllable, “you’ve been eating pig feed for a month.” She froze, her mouth hanging open like a gasping fish. From behind her curtain, Maya let out a loud snort of laughter before quickly covering her mouth. Harper suddenly spun around and bolted into the bathroom. I heard the toilet seat slam open, followed immediately by the sound of violent, soul-crushing gagging. I didn’t bother to go check on her. I sat back down and opened my lab notebook. I had spent two entire months perfecting that weight-gain formula. Every single batch had to be weighed down to the milligram, mixed to a 95% homogeneity, and scanned under near-infrared to ensure even nutrient distribution. I had mixed five tubs in total. Four were already in the university barns with my test subjects. I only brought the last tub back to my dorm because the lab lockers were full, and I needed a place to store it temporarily. I had put a label on the tub. A bright white label with bold, red letters. “FOR LABORATORY ANIMAL USE ONLY. DO NOT CONSUME.” Harper wasn’t blind. She saw it. She just didn’t care. The horrible sounds from the bathroom finally stopped. She dragged herself out, gripping the doorframe. Her lips were pale, and her eyes were watery and bloodshot. “Chloe, you did this on purpose! You left that thing there and didn’t warn me just so you could watch me make a fool of myself!” I looked up at her. “The warning label was huge. Are you illiterate?” “The font was tiny! No one reads that!” “It was in bold, red, half-inch letters. How is that tiny?” She stomped her foot, tears spilling over her flushed cheeks. “You tried to poison me! I’m going to the Resident Director! I’m reporting you for poisoning a student!” “Poisoning?” I snapped my notebook shut. “Do you even know what’s in that formula? Corn syrup, soy powder, yeast extract—it’s all food-grade ingredients. The worst it’ll do to a human is pack on the pounds. It’s not toxic. What are you going to report me for? Making you fat?” She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. I stood up, grabbed the empty tub, and shoved it back into her hands. “If you feel so wronged, go ahead and report me. Let the whole campus know you’ve been stealing and eating pig feed for a month, and that’s why you gained thirty pounds.” She held the tub, her entire body shaking with rage. Maya finally climbed down from her bed, grabbed Harper by the arm, and started pulling her out of our room. “Okay, okay, let’s just go get some air. Stop fighting.” At the doorway, Harper suddenly whipped her head back, her eyes red and venomous. “You’re going to pay for this, Chloe.” The door slammed so hard the walls vibrated. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the closed door for a few seconds. Pay for it? Sure. Bring it on. The next morning, I went to the university barns to feed my pigs. My subjects were twelve Yorkshire-Landrace crossbreeds, divided into four groups. The control group got standard feed, while the experimental groups got varying percentages of my weight-gain formula. Every pig had an ear tag with a registered ID. I could recite them in my sleep. This trial had been running for nearly four months. I weighed them weekly, took blood samples, and logged their daily feed intake and fecal scores. My data book was almost full. I just needed the weight data from the final two weeks to complete my senior thesis. I had just poured the feed into the trough when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an alert on Snapchat from our Resident Director, Mrs. Harrison. “Chloe, Harper, Maya. My office. 3 PM today.” ### Chapter

3 I didn’t reply. I just kept feeding my pigs. Mrs. Harrison’s office was on the third floor of the student services building. The door was half-open. When I arrived, Harper was already sitting inside, her eyes swollen like bruised peaches, and her mother was sitting right next to her. I had never met her mother, but one look told me they were definitely cut from the same cloth. She had the same round face and petite frame, though her mother was significantly wider, sitting in the office chair like an immovable boulder. Mrs. Harrison gestured for me to sit and rubbed her hands together anxiously. “Chloe, thanks for coming. Harper’s mother reached out to me regarding a situation in your suite. She claims you kept hazardous substances in the dorm, which has caused Harper some health issues.” “It wasn’t a hazardous substance.” I placed my lab notebook on the desk. “It’s experimental animal feed for my research project. Every ingredient is food-grade, and the formula is fully cleared and registered with the University Animal Care and Use Committee.” I flipped the notebook to the approved biosafety registration page and slid it across the desk to Mrs. Harrison. Mrs. Harrison looked down, scanned it, and then looked up at Harper’s mom. Her mom snatched the notebook, aggressively flipped through a couple of pages, and slammed it back down on the desk. “I don’t care about your little science papers! I want to know one thing: my daughter drank your garbage and gained thirty pounds. How are you going to take responsibility for this?” “Why should I take responsibility?” I looked her dead in the eye. “She stole it. I put a warning label on the container, and she chose to ignore it. She stole and consumed something she shouldn’t have. Why is that on me?” Harper’s mom slammed her hand on the desk and stood up. “What is wrong with your attitude, young lady?! What did your little label even say? ‘Animal feed’! How is an ordinary college student supposed to know if that means it’s for pigs or humans? You’re an Animal Science major—bringing farm feed into a shared student dorm is a violation in the first place!” Mrs. Harrison quickly tried to de-escalate. “Mrs. Vance, please, let’s keep our voices down and discuss this calmly.” “Calmly? My daughter gained thirty pounds! Thirty! She was a gorgeous girl, and look at her now! How is she supposed to go out in public? How is she supposed to date?!” Harper sobbed loudly on cue, her shoulders shaking. I looked at her, suddenly wanting to laugh. She wasn’t crying because she felt bad about stealing. She was crying because she got caught. She wasn’t afraid of being unhealthy; she was embarrassed about gaining weight. And her mother wasn’t fighting for justice; she was fighting to save face. Mrs. Harrison sighed and turned to me. “Chloe, you do bear some responsibility here. School policy states that laboratory experimental materials should not be kept in residential halls. That was a lapse in judgment on your part.” “The storage lockers at the animal center were completely full. It was temporary. I sent an official request to our department group chat on WhatsApp, and Dr. Sterling approved it.” I pulled up WhatsApp on my phone and showed her the screen. The timestamp was crystal clear. I had sent the temporary storage request along with a photo of the labeled tub, and Dr. Sterling had replied with an “Approved.” After reading it, Mrs. Harrison’s face turned incredibly stiff. Harper’s mom didn’t care about the proof. She just waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care about your little group chats! I want to know what you’re going to do about my daughter. Thirty pounds! How is she supposed to lose that? How is she supposed to fit into her clothes?!” I almost laughed out loud. Thirty pounds of fat, and she was acting like I owed it to her. She was the one who shoveled it into her own mouth, spoon by spoon. “Mrs. Vance,” I kept my voice as cold and steady as possible. “Your daughter stole a tub of my experimental research materials. Under university policy, at best, this is a roommate theft dispute. At worst, it’s unauthorized tampering with active research materials, which violates the university’s academic integrity and biosafety codes.

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In front of his precious first love, Melanie, my husband laughed and said my stomach looked like I was five months pregnant. Melanie giggled, leaning softly into his chest. She glanced at me with a smirk, though her voice remained sweet and gentle. “Oh, Chloe, sweetie. Women really need to take care of their bodies. Otherwise, how do you expect to keep your man’s heart?” She offered a card. “How about I recommend my personal trainer to you?” I smiled and took the card. “Sure, why not?” The very next day, I maxed out my husband’s black card. I booked the most expensive personal trainer in the city, the highest-end skincare package, and bought the luxury watch he’d been eyeing for three years but was too stingy to buy. He was furious. “Are you out of your absolute mind?” I admired my freshly done manicure and replied slowly, “Didn’t you say I was fat and old, Ethan? I’m doing all of this for you.” *** Ethan Thorne’s face was as dark as a thundercloud. He stared at the watch box on the table for ten solid seconds, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. “Chloe Sinclair, do you have any idea how much this watch costs?” I looked up and gave him a sweet, innocent smile. “Of course. Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars. It’s been sitting in your shopping cart for three years. Every time we passed the boutique, you couldn’t take your eyes off it.” “Then why the hell did you buy it?” He slammed his hand on the table. His coffee cup jumped, spilling dark liquid across the marble surface. “You spent my money to buy a gift for me? Chloe, did you get dropped on your head, or are you just stupid?” I calmly grabbed a tissue and wiped up the spilled coffee. “Didn’t you say I was fat, old, and had terrible taste?” I balled up the tissue and tossed it perfectly into the trash can. “I’m just trying to fix that. A personal trainer costs money, right? Skincare treatments cost money, right? If I’m going to present myself well, I need the right wardrobe, don’t I?” Ethan’s face turned from red to a sickly pale green. “A three-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar watch is part of your wardrobe? Who do you think you are? A Kardashian?” I tilted my head, blinking at him. “I’m Mrs. Thorne. Surely the wife of Ethan Thorne is worth that much?” He froze, completely speechless. Taking advantage of his silence, I pulled up the receipt for the trainer on my phone and held it in front of his face. “Oh, by the way, I booked three hundred sessions with the trainer. He’s the top celebrity coach in the city, eighty dollars an hour. I also got the diamond-tier annual skincare package for ninety-eight thousand dollars. And I signed up for a style-consulting course to learn how to dress and do makeup. That was sixty thousand.” “You—” “Melanie Crawford recommended all of it to me, actually.” I smiled sweetly. “She was right. I really need to manage my image. You always say I’m not as elegant as her, so I’m just trying to learn from her.” Ethan was literally shaking with rage. He snatched my phone, scrolling through the bank alerts. His expression grew worse by the second. “Chloe, you spent over six hundred thousand dollars in a single day?” I rested my chin on my hand, looking at him innocently. “You always complained that I didn’t know how to spend money. Now I do.” “You don’t know shit!” He slammed the phone onto the couch and pointed a finger at my face. “This isn’t spending money! This is burning it! Do you think my money just grows on trees?” I stopped smiling and stood up slowly. “Ethan, when you took Melanie to Paris to buy those designer bags, one of them cost thirty thousand dollars. The luxury apartment you rent for her is eight thousand a month. And that sports car you bought her? Two hundred thousand. Tell me, did that money grow on trees?” His mouth opened, but no words came out. “What? It’s totally fine to throw millions at another woman, but it hurts when your own wife spends a dime?” I picked up the watch box and shoved it into his hands. “Take it. You love it, don’t you? Consider your three-year dream fulfilled.” ### Chapter 2 Ethan held the watch box, his face turning various shades of red and white. I grabbed my designer purse and headed for the door, my brand-new heels clicking loudly against the floor. “Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted after me. “To my first training session,” I replied without looking back. “You hate my stomach, right? I’m going to go work it off.” The moment the door slammed shut, I heard something shatter inside. Probably his coffee cup. I didn’t care. I pressed the elevator button. Downstairs, a private chauffeur was already waiting in a sleek town car—also hired using Ethan’s black card. I used to drive myself everywhere. But Melanie had mentioned that real high-society ladies always sit in the back. They never grip the steering wheel themselves. I thought she was absolutely right. After all, it wasn’t my money. The gym was located in the most exclusive part of the city. The annual membership alone was eighteen thousand dollars. I had mentioned wanting to join this gym before, but Ethan had dismissed it as a waste of money, telling me to just jog around the neighborhood. Well, look at me now. Not only was I here, but I had also bought the most expensive package they offered. My trainer was a gorgeous man in his early thirties named Ryan Brooks. He looked like he had just walked off the cover of a fitness magazine. He wore a tight black athletic shirt that showed off his perfectly sculpted muscles. “Mrs. Thorne, let’s start with a fitness assessment,” Ryan said, his voice warm and polite as he handed me a clipboard. As I was filling out the form, my phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Melanie. *Chloe, sweetie! I heard you signed up for personal training? That’s amazing! A woman should always invest in herself. By the way, is Ethan mad? He called me earlier and sounded really upset.* I stared at the message for two seconds and smiled. She was trying to gloat. I typed back: *Mad? Not at all. He actually praised me for finally being sensible. He even said he’s giving me an unlimited black card so I can spend whatever I want.* The other side was silent for a long time. I added another message: *By the way, Melanie, what was the name of that skin-tightening treatment you mentioned? Thermage? I want to get it done. After all, a woman has to invest in herself, right?* This time, she replied quickly: *Oh yes! Thermage is amazing. I’ve done it three times. If you go, I can introduce you to my doctor. He can give you a twenty percent discount!* *No need for a discount,* I replied, leaning back in my chair with a grin. *Ethan told me not to worry about saving money. He wants me to spend as much as I want.* The typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times. Finally, she sent back a single smiling emoji. I put my phone face down on the table and began my fitness assessment. Ryan measured my waist and said, “Mrs. Thorne, your foundation is actually great. Your body fat is just slightly high. With the right diet and training, you’ll see incredible results in three months.” “No rush,” I said, looking at my soft belly in the mirror. “We can take our time. I have all the time in the world.” And more importantly, I had the money. ### Chapter 3 After leaving the gym, I went straight to the luxury mall. I remembered Melanie showing off a Bvlgari necklace on her Instagram story a few weeks ago. It was worth about twenty thousand dollars. I walked into the boutique, picked out a limited-edition piece worth thirty-two thousand dollars, and told the sales assistant to wrap it up. The assistant beamed. “Mrs. Thorne, you have exquisite taste. This is our limited-edition piece for the season.” I swiped the card and glanced at a diamond bracelet in the display case. “Pack that one too.” “Of course, Mrs. Thorne! This bracelet is eighteen thousand—” “You don’t need to tell me the price,” I interrupted with a smile. “I’m not the one paying anyway.” The assistant blinked, and then her smile grew even wider. She probably thought I was some rich man’s spoiled mistress. I didn’t care. I walked out of the mall carrying the luxury bags, the warm evening sun hitting my face. Squinting against the light, I remembered the day I married Ethan three years ago. He had stood at the altar, looking golden and perfect in the sunlight. He had held my hand and promised in front of everyone that he would love me forever. It had only been three years, and now he was praising another woman’s body while telling me my stomach looked like I was five months pregnant. A man’s promises really are worthless. When I got home, Ethan was sitting in the living room, smoking. The room was filled with haze, and the ashtray on the coffee table was overflowing with cigarette butts. He saw me walk in, stubbed out his cigarette, and stood up instantly. “Chloe, stop right there!” I took off my shoes, set the shopping bags down, and walked over unhurriedly. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” He let out a harsh laugh and shoved his phone in front of my face. “Look at how much you spent today! Six hundred thousand wasn’t enough, so you went and spent another fifty thousand? Are you trying to drive me into bankruptcy?” I glanced at the screen. Oh, it was a bank alert. “The necklace and the bracelet,” I said casually. “I saw Melanie wearing something similar and thought it looked nice. So I got myself some.” I paused, then added, “But mine is limited edition. It costs ten thousand more than hers.” Ethan’s face contorted with anger. “Why are you comparing yourself to her? Do you have any idea that what you spent today is equivalent to three months of my company’s net profit?” “Then stop spending money on Melanie,” I said, sitting on the couch and crossing my legs. “If you stop giving her money, there will be plenty for me to spend.” “You!” He was speechless with rage. He paced around the living room twice before pointing at me again. “Chloe, I’m warning you. If you spend another dime without my permission, I will freeze your cards!” I looked up and smiled at him. “Go ahead. Freeze them.” He froze. “If you do, I’ll just go to the media. ‘The CEO of Thorne Enterprises is so broke he can’t even afford his wife’s lifestyle.’ How does that sound?”

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It was my daughter’s seventh birthday party. She was just about to ask her dad to cut the cake. But my husband shoved her away, hard, right in front of everyone. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your father.” He slammed a DNA test report onto the table. I stood there, frozen in shock, only to be slapped across the face by my own adoptive parents. Audrey, the biological daughter who had just returned to the Harlow family, shrunk into my husband’s arms, her eyes red with innocent tears. “I’m so sorry, Gemma. I just casually mentioned that Chloe didn’t look like Julian. I had no idea Julian would actually go and run a test.” From that night on, I was branded a cheating whore, and my daughter became a bastard child everyone looked down on. Later, Julian demanded a divorce. For Chloe’s sake, I wanted to beg him to run another DNA test. But instead, I accidentally overheard a conversation between him and his friend. “You ruined Gemma’s reputation and called Chloe a bastard just to make Audrey feel better. Aren’t you afraid your wife and kid will actually leave you for good?” Julian’s voice was completely nonchalant. “Afraid of what? Her parents knew about the fake DNA test anyway.” “She’s just an adopted daughter who stole Audrey’s life for over twenty years. Once Audrey feels compensated and her mental health stabilizes, I’ll just remarry Gemma.” “Gemma can’t live without me. Even after the divorce, she’ll keep waiting for me.” I recalled Chloe crying, asking me if her daddy really didn’t want her anymore. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deep into my palms. The next day, I didn’t cry or make a scene. I calmly finished the divorce paperwork with him at the courthouse. But what he didn’t know was that the moment I walked out, I turned around and married another man.

Standing outside the door, hearing Julian’s careless words, I could barely stand. His friend wanted to say something else, but Julian cut him off with a soft chuckle. “Alright, when the time comes, I’ll just pretend I didn’t know.” “I’ll tell her the hospital made a mistake. She’ll come crawling back on her own anyway.” I leaned against the wall, my chest aching with a sharp, stabbing pain. Just a few hours ago, Chloe had come home from school crying. Her favorite uniform was covered in mud, and her knees were scraped and bloody. I had called her teacher, only to be met with a cold, demanding voice telling us to transfer schools. “Mrs. Vance, do you really want me to spell it out for you?” “Your scandalous private life is all over the internet. Every kid in school knows Chloe is a bastard of unknown origin.” “The other parents are furious. The school is under a lot of pressure here.” Hanging up the phone, I had held my shivering daughter, my heart breaking into pieces. Yet, she had looked up at me with her tear-stained face and asked, “Mommy, if I’m really Daddy’s baby, will he… will he love me again?” For the sake of that question, I had thrown away all my pride to find Julian today. I wanted to beg him for another DNA test. But I never expected to hear such venomous words. In his eyes, faking a DNA test to publicly humiliate me was just a trivial game. The humiliation and abuse Chloe and I suffered were merely a script he wrote to please another woman. Even my adoptive parents, who had promised to love me forever, were accomplices in this cruel game. I closed my eyes in agony. Inside the room, their laughter continued. His friend seemed to feel a bit of pity. “But Chloe is just a kid. I saw her running out of school crying today because other kids were calling her a bastard. Can you really bear to let her suffer like that?” “If she finds out the truth, she might never accept you as her father again.” Julian’s tone was filled with the arrogance of a man who held all the cards. “Kids forget easily. What’s wrong with her suffering a little?” “Besides, she’s my biological daughter. She can’t actually reject me as her father.” I squeezed my hands into fists, my nails slicing into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the physical pain. If this were the old Gemma, I would have kicked the door open and screamed at him. But this time, I just turned around silently. I was done. This divorce was happening. I packed a few clothes and took Chloe back to the Harlow estate. In the past, whenever I came back, my parents would always greet me at the door with warm smiles. But this time, my adoptive mother didn’t even try to hide the disgust in her voice. “What are you doing here?” “Mom, I have nowhere else to go. I just want to stay here with Chloe for one night.” Helen Harlow sneered. “The Harlow estate is not a homeless shelter. Don’t bring your bad luck into our house.” A lump formed in my throat. Chloe peeked out from behind me, timid and small. “Grandpa, Grandma!” Her voice was soft and sweet, just like before, waiting for them to hug her. But their faces remained ice-cold. “Don’t call us that. We don’t have relatives with such loose morals.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I stood there, paralyzed. In just a few days, we had gone from being a beloved daughter and granddaughter to disgrace. I remembered how my dad used to lift me onto his shoulders, calling me his little princess. I remembered how my mom used to brag about how proud she was of her brilliant daughter. But ever since Audrey returned, their love had vanished overnight. The business projects I had worked so hard on were stripped from me one by one. The connections and resources I had built were handed over to Audrey. At the time, I had comforted myself, thinking Audrey was the biological daughter and it was only natural for them to compensate her. But now, I finally realized the truth. They hated me. They hated me for taking Audrey’s place and living her luxurious life for over twenty years. Julian’s cruel words echoed in my ears.

To make Audrey feel better, they had willingly allowed that fake DNA test to destroy me, stepping on Chloe and me without a shred of mercy. Thinking of this, I swallowed my rising emotions and tested the waters. “What if… there was a problem with that DNA test? What if the report is fake?” My mother paused for a second. “The evidence is clear. Are you still trying to lie your way out of this?” My father looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “So many people saw it. You have completely disgraced the Harlow family name.” “A DNA test isn’t enough proof for you? What do you want? Do we need to catch you in bed with another man for you to admit it?” A bone-chilling cold swept through me. They knew. They knew everything was a lie. Yet, they still cursed me with such venomous words, throwing the label of an unfaithful woman onto my head. My father frowned, his tone dripping with fake charity. “Fine. If you really want to stay here, you will release a statement tomorrow.” “Publicly admit that you cheated during your marriage, and admit that Chloe is not Julian’s child.” “Then, resign from your position at Harlow Group and transfer all your remaining shares to Audrey unconditionally.” I could hardly believe my ears. My voice shook violently. “You want me to admit to what?” “Chloe is not a bastard!” My mother didn’t even look up. “An imposter’s child is just another cheap fake. What else could she be?” A loud buzz filled my brain. Something inside me shattered completely. Just then, footsteps sounded from the stairs. Audrey walked down, her eyes red, looking like a frightened little lamb. “Dad, Mom, please don’t be like this…” She looked at me, her voice incredibly gentle. “Gemma, I know you’re hurting, but our parents are getting old, and the Harlow family has a reputation to protect.” “You can’t drag everyone down just because of your messed-up private life.” “Just apologize first. Once the drama dies down, we’ll still be a family.” She then looked down at Chloe, her eyes filled with fake sympathy. “As for whether the child is Julian’s biological daughter…” “Julian is such a good man. He won’t hold a grudge against you forever.” Before I could speak, my parents lost their patience. They ordered the maid to throw my bags out. “We raised you for twenty years. We wanted to leave you with some dignity.” “Since you refuse to admit your mistakes, don’t ever come back to the Harlow house.” By the time we left the estate, the night was pitch-black and freezing. Chloe curled up in my arms, her eyes swollen and red, not saying a single word. I stroked her hair, thinking she was just exhausted, and quickly looked for a place to stay. When I walked into the hotel lobby, I looked like an absolute mess. “Hi, I’d like to book a suite, please.” I handed over my credit card. The receptionist swiped it and looked up at me. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This card has been frozen.” My heart dropped. I quickly pulled out my personal debit card. But to my horror, even my own savings had been cleared out. My fingers turned cold. I felt a wave of intense nausea. Julian had really gone this far. He didn’t just want me to bow down; he wanted to cut off my every means of survival. The receptionist’s voice was flat. “Ma’am, do you still want to book?” My throat tightened. I quickly called my best friend, Serena. “Serena, can you lend me some money? Or just book a room for us? I need to get Chloe into a room for the night.” There was a long silence on the other end before she whispered, “Gemma, it’s not that I don’t want to help you.” “But my family’s company is trying to close a major deal with Vance Enterprises right now. Your scandal is too huge. If I get involved, our company might suffer.” Before she could finish, I already understood. I hung up. Looking at my reflection in the polished marble floor, I found it hilarious. I had lived for twenty-six years, and yet, I had absolutely nothing. The only person left by my side was my daughter. But in the next second, Chloe’s body swayed, and she collapsed into my arms.

I reached out to touch her forehead. My heart went completely numb. She was burning up. I frantically scrolled through my phone contacts, my thumb stopping on a name I least wanted to bother. But right now, I had no choice. I called, borrowed some money, picked up Chloe, and walked back to the front desk. “Please, give me a room first. My daughter has a high fever.” The receptionist suddenly rolled her eyes. “No wonder your cards were frozen. You’re that adoptive daughter from the Harlow family who cheated on her husband.” I froze. She looked me up and down, her words becoming more hostile. “You’re trash yourself, and you brought a bastard child here to embarrass us.” “Our hotel is a respectable establishment. Please leave. Don’t dirty our lobby.” The other guests in the lobby turned to stare at me. I wanted to explain, but I had no voice. I could only hold Chloe close and run out of the hotel like a criminal. On the cold, midnight street, the wind felt like knives cutting through my skin. Delirious with fever, Chloe buried her face in my shoulder and murmured softly, “Daddy… please don’t leave me…” That one sentence tore my heart to shreds. Gritting my teeth, I pulled out my phone and dialed Julian’s number. I called ten times. No one answered. With trembling fingers, I sent him a Snapchat message. “Chloe has a high fever. Can you please come?” After what felt like an eternity, he replied. “The kid isn’t even mine. I don’t have time to play happy family with you.” I stared at the cold text on the screen. The city was loud and alive, but I couldn’t even make a sound as tears flooded my face. In the end, I took Chloe to the hospital alone. The emergency room hallway was packed. Right after I got our ticket, I heard a familiar voice. Julian was holding Audrey, guiding her into the examination room. The nurse handed Julian an ultrasound sheet with a stern look on her face. “Early pregnancy bleeding. There are signs of a threatened miscarriage.” “The first trimester is critical. As her husband, you need to be more careful. Don’t stress the pregnant mother!” Julian took the sheet, immediately pulling Audrey closer to his chest. “Does it still hurt?” Audrey shook her head, her eyes rimmed with red. Julian frowned. “Don’t go back to the Harlow house tonight. Stay at my place.” “I’ll take care of you.” Audrey bit her lip and nodded, leaning entirely into his embrace. I stood frozen in the hallway, feeling the blood drain from my face. Years ago, when I was pregnant with Chloe, he had held me the exact same way. Back then, my morning sickness was so bad I couldn’t even keep water down. He had canceled all his business trips to stay by my side for ten whole months. He had said, “Gemma, you and our baby girl are my entire life!” And now, he was the one who had labeled his “entire life” a bastard. He was the one who had pushed Chloe and me into this living hell. I wanted to laugh. How could a man who loved you so deeply become so monstrously cruel when he stopped loving you? Chloe was still burning up in my arms. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. I looked down. It was a message from Julian. “Gemma, I’m done waiting. I’ll see you in court in three days.” “Fine,” I replied, my hands shaking as I forced down the overwhelming pain. Once Chloe’s fever subsided, I immediately took her back to the Vance mansion to retrieve our legal documents. Before entering, I turned on the audio recorder on my phone and slipped it into my pocket. I thought I was mentally prepared. But when I opened the door and saw Audrey sitting on the sofa wearing my silk pajamas, a wave of bitterness washed over me. She didn’t bother pretending anymore. She tilted her head and smiled at me like an innocent child. “Gemma, you guys are getting divorced anyway, and you’re no longer the lady of this house. You don’t mind if I wear your clothes, right?” I didn’t answer. I just looked around. In just two days, the home I had lived in for eight years was completely covered in Audrey’s shadow.

I ignored her, holding Chloe’s hand as I walked toward the bedroom. But Audrey stood up and pulled a cake out of the fridge. “Chloe, you didn’t get to eat any cake on your birthday. I bought this specially to make it up to you. I was waiting for you to come home.” She smiled like a saint, but her words were laced with poison. Her birthday party was a traumatic nightmare for Chloe, yet Audrey kept ripping the wound open. “Even though you’re not Julian’s kid, children are always innocent.” “Come, have a bite.” Chloe’s face went pale. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, looking as if she had done something terribly wrong. I forced down my rage. “We don’t want it.” Audrey paused. “Are you waiting for Julian to cut it for you?” “Should I call him out here?” “Don’t worry, Chloe. I already talked to him. Even if your parents divorce, he’ll keep supporting you for my sake.” Chloe’s face turned even whiter, her tiny fingers clutching my coat. I stared at that disgusting cake, a wave of nausea hitting my stomach. In the next second, I swept my hand across the counter, slamming the cake onto the floor. The frosting splattered all over the expensive carpet. Audrey let out a dramatic shriek, tears instantly streaming down her face. “Gemma! I just wanted to be nice to you! How could you do this?” Just then, Julian walked out of the study. Seeing the mess, fury flared in his eyes. He stepped forward and slapped me across the face. “Gemma! Have you lost your mind? Haven’t you embarrassed us enough?!” I burst into laughter, looking at him. “You faked a DNA test at Chloe’s birthday party. Didn’t you think that was embarrassing?” “You took Audrey to the OB-GYN clinic in the middle of the night. Didn’t you think that was embarrassing?” Julian’s eyes widened slightly. “What nonsense are you talking about! If you keep throwing dirt at us, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He shoved Chloe and me into the bedroom. “Go inside and think about what you’ve done! Tomorrow morning, we are going to sign the divorce papers. Since you’re the one at fault, you won’t get a single penny from the Vance estate. You’re leaving with absolutely nothing!” The door was locked from the outside. The strength I had been faking crumbled instantly. Tears poured down my face. I could only hold my daughter tightly, whispering apologies over and over again. “Chloe, I’m sorry… Mommy is so useless. I couldn’t protect you. I let them ruin your name and make you suffer like this.” But Chloe raised her tiny hand, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. “Don’t cry, Mommy.” “Mommy, if Daddy doesn’t want us, we don’t want him either.” That night, looking into my daughter’s resilient eyes, I finally made a decision. The next day, the moment we walked out of the courthouse with the divorce decree in hand, Julian still looked at me with his usual arrogant confidence. “Gemma, if you apologize to me right now, it’s not too late to fix this.” “No need. I’m getting married.” Hearing this, he scoffed, amused. “Married? To whom?” Right at that moment, a sleek black Maybach pulled up smoothly at the bottom of the steps. In front of Julian’s eyes, I grabbed the hand of the man who stepped out of the car, and we walked straight into City Hall. As Julian rushed after us with a look of sheer disbelief, we handed our documents to the clerk. “Hi, we’re here to register our marriage.” The clerk took our IDs and began verifying the information. I didn’t look back, but I could feel Julian’s burning gaze piercing through my back. Julian stood frozen for a few seconds before laughing coldly. “Gemma, cut the crap.” “You really hired an actor just to make me jealous?” He took a few steps up the stairs, trying to get past, but the clerk stopped him with a frown. “Sir, please do not disrupt our clients.” Julian’s face darkened. He ignored the clerk, his eyes locking onto my hand, which was tightly held by Caleb Sterling. “Ma’am, please confirm the information on the screen.” I looked at the monitor and nodded. “Everything is correct.”

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On my fiancé’s birthday, he let his assistant make his wish for him. “She’s good luck,” he said. “I wanted to soak up some of her good luck.” He made her sit right next to him, showering her with undivided attention. “She’s never been to a high-end restaurant like this. Just let her have her way.” He even gave her the antique heirloom pen my mother had just gifted him. And the garlic butter shrimp, my absolute favorite dish, was replaced on his orders with mango pudding because she preferred it. He remembered she hated the smell of seafood, but completely forgot I was deathly allergic to mangoes. Later, he showed up outside my apartment with roses and an engagement ring, crying that he was wrong and could change. I just pulled up the new appointment at City Hall on my phone and showed it to him. The groom’s name on the marriage license was no longer his. It was Julian’s twenty-sixth birthday. We grew up together in the same elite neighborhood. The plan was to sign our marriage license at City Hall right after this family dinner. But he was forty minutes late. I felt a tight knot in my chest, but I kept my mouth shut. I had planned this dinner. Both of our parents were sitting at the table. I personally curated the menu, and I even begged my dad to open a bottle of the vintage wine he’d been aging for ten years. When Julian finally walked in, a girl in a simple white sundress was trailing behind him. She kept her head down, looking nervous and out of place, like she’d never stepped foot into a five-star venue before. It was Daisy Miller. She was the college student Julian had sponsored through his charity program. After graduating, she insisted on working for him and was now his personal assistant. Julian looked down at her, his eyes soft. “She’s good luck, so I brought her along to bring us some good vibes.” I froze in my seat. The polite smile on my mom’s face didn’t fade, but she shot me a sharp look. My dad remained expressionless, but he didn’t say a word. “Since it’s my birthday, I thought it’d be nice to have her join the celebration,” Julian continued. “She doesn’t really have any friends in the city.” Julian pulled out the chair right next to him and turned to the girl. “Daisy, sit here. Close to the birthday boy.” The seat closest to him, the seat that had always belonged to me, was now occupied. Daisy slid into the chair, giving me a timid, fleeting look before whispering, “Julian, I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to sit here.” “It’s fine.” Julian leaned over and poured her a glass of warm water. “We’re all going to be family anyway.” The table fell dead silent. Julian glanced at the dishes on the table and frowned. “Waitress, take this garlic butter shrimp away.” “Daisy can’t stand the smell of seafood.” “She grew up in a small mountain town. She’s not used to high-end seafood.” My dad’s brows furrowed, and his eyes drifted to me. That was my favorite dish. My dad had personally called the head chef to make sure they used the freshest catch for me. Daisy sat in my spot and whispered, “It’s really fine, Julian. Don’t worry about me. I just want everyone to have a good time.” But Julian was already looking at the dessert menu. “Replace it with mango pudding. Daisy loves that.” I almost wanted to laugh. I am deathly allergic to mangoes. When I was seven, I took one bite of a mango parfait and broke out in hives, burning with a hundred-and-two-degree fever. Julian had rushed into my hospital room, crying by my bedside. “Don’t cry, Audrey. I’m going to ban mangoes from the entire world for you.” He kept that promise for sixteen years. I hadn’t seen a single mango around him since. Until today. I watched the waitress carry away the shrimp and return with a gold-rimmed bowl of mango pudding, placing it right in front of Daisy. Julian even reached over and plucked the mint leaf off the top. “Daisy hates mint. She says the taste is too sharp.” My dad’s hand rested on his wine glass, but he didn’t raise it. Daisy seemed to finally sense the suffocating tension in the room. She stood up in a panic. “Julian, maybe I should sit at the bar. Everyone here is family, and I’m just…”

“Sit down.” Julian gently pressed her back into the chair, his voice incredibly soft. “It’s just a family dinner. Don’t be nervous.” “Our latest venture succeeded all thanks to the good luck you brought us. Don’t you think you deserve this?” He was looking at Daisy when he said this, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I had seen that smile a thousand times. He smiled like that when he promised to ban mangoes for me at age seven. He smiled like that at fifteen, riding me on the back of his bicycle through the autumn leaves. He smiled like that at twenty-two, kneeling by the riverbank to slip a promise ring onto my finger. But right now, he was giving that smile to someone else. Julian’s mother, Rachel, tried to smooth things over. “Oh, young people and their superstitions! It’s just for good luck, totally normal.” She shot a quick, guilty glance at me, trying to gauge my reaction. Under the tablecloth, my mom took my hand and squeezed it tight. I knew what my mom meant. If I was uncomfortable, I needed to decide right now how I wanted to handle this. I lowered my head and took a sip of water. The waitress brought out the cake. It was a beautiful six-tier cake, frosted in elegant pastel pink and white, topped with candles shaped like the number “26”. I had pre-ordered it a week ago. He loved this specific bakery, and I’d ordered from them every single year. Since we were seven, the honor of making the wish on Julian’s birthday had always belonged to me. He would always push the cake in front of me and say, “Audrey, you make the wish. My only wish is for you to be happy.” But today, Daisy sat beside him, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the dancing flames. “Daisy, go ahead and make a wish.” For the first time in his life, Julian didn’t look at me. He gently pushed the cake toward her. “You’re young. There must be so many things you want to achieve, right?” I froze. This was the very first time he had given this privilege to someone else. Daisy’s face lit up with shy excitement. “But… it’s your birthday, Julian.” “It’s my birthday, but if you make the wish, it’ll still come true.” He chuckled. “You’re my lucky charm, remember? I’m just basking in your good fortune.” Julian’s parents laughed along, trying to keep the mood light. No one noticed me, except for my parents, whose expressions were growing darker by the second. I sat stiffly in my chair, watching the candlelight cast flickering shadows over Daisy’s face. She closed her eyes, looking as if she were genuinely praying to the heavens. My dad set his wine glass down with a heavy clink. He looked at me, and then at Julian. I looked at Julian, too. I guess the promises made in childhood really didn’t mean anything. The boy who swore to protect me would have never guessed that, years later, he would personally hand a mango dessert to another girl while I sat right beside them, watching the entire show. The cake was sliced. The waitress served the plates, and Julian naturally handed the very first slice to Daisy. It was so instinctive, as if he’d done it a hundred times. In the past, Julian would hand it to me and whisper, “The first bite always goes to the most important person in my life.” I guess the most important person had changed. My mom didn’t say a word, but she patted the back of my hand under the table. She was telling me: Mom is here. You don’t have to worry about anything. Next was the gift exchange. Rachel handed him a velvet box first, claiming it was a late graduation gift. Julian opened it. It was a limited-edition luxury watch. Then, my mom stood up. She pulled a beautifully crafted case from her designer handbag. “This is the pen I used when I signed my very first multi-million dollar corporate contract.” Inside lay a stunning, emerald-green enamel fountain pen encrusted with subtle gems. She looked at Julian. “I hope this pen brings you boundless success in your future endeavors, Julian.” Julian recognized the pen instantly. He had practically grown up in our house. He had heard my mother tell the story of this pen countless times.

It was a family heirloom, passed down through generations of the Summer family. Giving it to him was my mother’s official stamp of approval, welcoming him as a future member of our family and our business empire. Julian’s parents’ eyes lit up. They knew exactly what this pen represented. “Thank you, Helen.” Julian’s voice carried genuine respect. He accepted it like a sacred vow. Suddenly, Daisy leaned closer, her eyes wide with admiration. “Wow, this pen is so beautiful.” She stared at the sapphire embedded in the cap. “I didn’t even know pens like this existed.” “I’ve only ever used cheap dollar-store ballpoints my entire life. My fingers used to get calluses from writing so much.” She held out her right hand, showing us the slight callus on her middle finger. It was indeed a small, faint mark. Just like her, it looked fragile, begging for pity. Julian stared at her hand. Then, without a second thought, he snapped the box shut and pressed it into Daisy’s palm. “It’s yours.” The entire table went dead silent. He gave it away as casually as he had given away his birthday wish. “You always say you feel insecure when signing major proposals,” Julian said softly. “Use this pen. Let it be the confidence I give you.” Daisy gasped. She looked at the pen, then at Julian, and then at my mother. Her face flushed bright red. “No, no, I can’t accept this!” “Keep it.” Julian placed his hand over hers. “Mrs. Summer won’t mind.” He looked up at my mom, offering a polite, easy smile. “Right, Helen? Daisy works incredibly hard. The pen will be put to much better use in her hands.” My mom’s smile remained perfectly intact, but she looked at me with eyes that said everything. “Of course. It doesn’t matter who uses it.” Only I could hear the underlying meaning in her voice. She had completely given up on Julian. Rachel quickly chimed in to break the tension. “Oh, Julian has always been like this! He’s so generous to his employees.” “Daisy runs around doing so much for him. She deserves a little reward.” She patted Daisy’s shoulder warmly, like she was her own daughter. “And this girl is so talented. Ever since she joined, Julian’s projects have been running so smoothly. She’s like a little angel.” The word “angel” seemed to wipe away all the awkwardness in the air. Rachel smiled warmly at me. “Audrey, darling, don’t think too much of it. Helen and Daisy just get along so well. It’s like having another daughter around.” I shook my head slightly. “Of course not.” Then, I turned my gaze to Julian. “Today she makes your wishes. Tomorrow she signs your contracts.” “She really is a great help to you.” Julian’s smile froze. He stared at me, his brows pulling together. He knew I was angry. But Daisy’s eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes welled with tears. “Julian… is Audrey mad at me?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” “I’ll give the pen back. I don’t want it anymore.” She tried to push the box back into Julian’s hands, her fingers shaking. The slight hesitation in Julian’s eyes vanished instantly. “No one is blaming you,” he comforted her softly. “Just sit down and eat. Don’t overthink.” Only after he finished soothing her did he look up at me. His eyes held a flash of annoyance, harboring a silent accusation: Why are you making a scene again? I looked down and let out a soft laugh. At that moment, my dad quietly withdrew the gift he had prepared to present after my mom’s pen. It was a sleek leather folder, bearing the embossed seal of the Summer Group. Inside was a contract transferring thirty percent of our subsidiary’s shares to Julian. Julian saw it. His eyes locked onto the folder in shock.

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Year two of our secret marriage, and I somehow ended up infiltrating a private Telegram group dedicated to stalking my husband. The chat was currently scrolling at breakneck speed: [$1,000 bounty for Wesley Kallan’s private flight itinerary tomorrow! Who has a plug?] I lurked in the digital shadows for a good half hour, watching the frantic messages pile up. It was a hive of obsessive, borderline-feral fans whose sole purpose in life was tracking, photographing, and cornering the man I was married to. Leaning back against the velvet cushions of my empty living room, I toggled over to my iMessage and held down the microphone button. [Mr. A-List, which flight are you taking to New York tomorrow morning again?] His reply came a minute later. [Delta 9527. Why? Finally willing to come to LAX and see your actual husband off?] I copied the flight number and dropped it into the Telegram chat. Sixty seconds later, a thousand dollars hit my Venmo. 1 [Bounty paid. Don’t ghost us on the gate and seating area, you coward.] The notification that popped up on my screen dripped with entitlement. The sender’s handle was StardustWes. She was the admin of this two-hundred-member stalker syndicate. I stared at her profile picture—a girl in a bright red jacket—my thumb hovering over the glass. [Guess our ‘insider’ is a one-trick pony. The nerve to charge for scraps.] When I didn’t reply immediately, the admin’s texts turned venomous. The rest of the group swarmed like sharks smelling blood. [Seriously. Take our money and run, hope you get hit by a bus.] [Watch this be a burner account run by Wesley’s pathetic, secret hag of a wife.] [Ugh, don’t make me puke. That old, washed-up bitch taking up space probably doesn’t even get to see Wes’s face. She’s just a placeholder.] [I heard she’s some ugly corporate suit who trapped him into marriage with Hollywood studio money. Wes is just enduring it for his career.] [Honestly, I pray she gets in a car crash so the spot opens up.] I watched the words scroll past, a sharp, twisting ache taking root in my stomach. Two years of marriage. Outside these walls, Wesley Kallan was a blindingly bright superstar, a cinematic darling. Inside, I was a ghost. A woman who didn’t even deserve a name. For the sake of his flawless trajectory, we had never taken a single public photo together. And now, his deranged fans were casually wishing for my death in a group chat, and I couldn’t even defend myself. If I fired back, my carefully constructed persona as an airport insider would shatter. I took a slow, rattling breath, pressing down the tremor in my fingertips, and typed. [Keep your hair on. Verifying the layout now.] Switching apps, I opened Wesley’s pinned contact. A black square for a profile picture. Two years. He flew to every corner of the earth while I guarded a sprawling, echoing mansion in the Hollywood Hills. He genuinely believed that sending a daily “landed” text and depositing an exorbitant allowance into my account constituted a marriage. But I was starting to forget the physical temperature of his skin. I copied the rest of the flight data and flipped back to Telegram. [DL9527. First Class, Seat 2A.] A new Venmo notification pinged. [Good girl.] The admin sent another thousand. I clicked ‘Accept’ with a blank face. The digital chime of the deposit sounded impossibly loud in the hollow silence of the house. [Who’s going to LAX tomorrow? Remember to get tight shots of his face.] The admin began delegating. [Me! Me! I’m gonna try to rip off that cursed protection amulet that old witch gave him.] [Yes! Shred it. Wes should only wear the jewelry we buy him.] I stared at that sentence until the words blurred, a cold numbness seeping into my chest. That amulet was a hand-carved grounding stone I had driven ten hours into the Arizona desert to get for him from a Navajo artisan, praying for his safety after a stunt went wrong on set. Wesley had worn it flush against his collarbone ever since. Now, these girls were crowdsourcing a plan to destroy it. My phone vibrated in my palm. A text from Wesley. [Wheels up at 6:30 AM. If you can actually wake up that early, I’ll have the driver swing by the house to get you.] I stared at the glowing blue bubble for a long time. Then, very slowly, I typed: [Too tired. Can’t make it. Be safe.] After it delivered, I placed the phone face down on the sofa and closed my eyes. In the suffocating dark, I could already picture the absolute chaos of the airport ambush waiting for him tomorrow. I lost track of time, drifting in a numb haze, until the sudden chime of the front gate intercom shattered the silence. I snapped my eyes open, looking at the digital clock on the mantle. 5:00 AM. I walked over to the security monitor. “Who is it?” The screen was pitch black. No visual. But the voice that filtered through the speaker made my blood freeze in my veins. “It’s me.” 2 The voice was rough, laced with a heavy, gravelly exhaustion. “Open the gate, Camille.” I stood paralyzed for two agonizing seconds before slamming my palm onto the release button. The heavy iron locks clicked open. He walked in bringing the chill of the California dawn with him. He was hidden beneath a black baseball cap and a face mask, a grease-stained brown paper bag dangling from his fingers. “Aren’t you supposed to be flying to New York this morning? Why are you back here?” He pulled off the mask and tossed the cap onto the marble entryway console. “Changed my flight.” He walked the distance between us and held the paper bag out to me. “Those almond croissants from that tiny French place in Venice Beach. Still warm.” I didn’t take it. My eyes were fixed on the heavy, bruised shadows beneath his eyes. “Are you out of your mind? You drove all the way back up the hills at five in the morning just to drop off a pastry?” A faint, tired smile touched his lips. He reached out, his hand brushing through my hair. “It was on the way.” Venice Beach to the Hollywood Hills, while he was supposed to be at LAX. In no universe was that on the way. I stepped back, dodging his touch, and took the bag. My fingers accidentally grazed the back of his hand. It was ice cold. “Eat them before they get cold,” he murmured, turning on his heel and heading toward the master bath. I stood rooted to the spot, watching the broad line of his shoulders disappear behind the frosted glass door. The water turned on. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened Telegram. The chat was an absolute war zone. [What the hell is going on?! The VIP terminal is completely empty!] [Where is the insider?! Get out here and explain! How dare you sell us fake intel!] The admin, StardustWes, dropped a barrage of furious emojis. [Refund us right now, or I swear to God I’ll hire someone to track your IP and dox you to the whole internet!] [You messed with the wrong crowd, bitch. You’re dead.] I scrolled through the manic tags and death threats, a dark, cynical smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Wesley changed his flight without telling a single soul—not even me. His stalkers caught nothing but air, and naturally, my head was on the chopping block. I didn’t refund the money. I didn’t type a single word. The shower shut off. Wesley walked out in sweatpants and a faded vintage tee, vigorously drying his dripping hair with a towel. He stopped, his gaze falling on the untouched paper bag sitting on the kitchen island. “Why aren’t you eating?” “Lost my appetite,” I said, my voice deadpan. He paused, lowering the towel, and walked slowly toward me. He studied my face, his brow furrowing. “Are you in a bad mood?” I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze head-on. “Wesley, we’ve been married for almost two years. Do you honestly think we still look like husband and wife?” His jaw tightened. He tossed the damp towel onto a barstool. “I’ve been slammed with production lately, Camille. Once we wrap this shoot, I promise, I’ll take you to Iceland. We’ll go see the Northern Lights.” Another empty check. Another hollow promise. Every single time I tried to breach the wall between us, he used a vacation as a band-aid to push the conversation down the road. I pushed off the counter. “Don’t bother. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.” I turned toward the hallway. A hand locked around my wrist, stopping me dead. His voice dropped an octave, heavy with a sudden, suffocating pressure. “What is actually going on with you?” I ripped my arm out of his grip. “Nothing. I just feel like you’re a million miles away. You’re so far away that I don’t even know what city you’re going to wake up in tomorrow.” A flicker of something—guilt? frustration?—passed through his eyes. “I thought you understood the nature of my work.” I stared at him, enunciating every single word. “I do understand. Which is exactly why I never ask. Because when I do, all I get is a perfectly curated PR lie.” I turned, walked into the guest bedroom, and locked the door behind me. I was violently jolted awake by the machine-gun vibration of my phone against the nightstand. I squinted at the screen. Telegram. The notifications read 999+. [Found him! The insider wasn’t lying about the flight, Wesley just changed his schedule last minute!] [A paparazzi account just posted pictures of him landing at O’Hare in Chicago last night!] The admin’s tone did a complete 180. [Omg Insider babes, I’m so sorry we doubted you! Do you have Wes’s itinerary for Chicago?!] [Paying $5,000 right now for the name of his hotel in Chicago!] I stared at the bounty. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. Landing in Chicago last night? He had walked through my front door at five o’clock this morning. It was physically impossible. I minimized Telegram and opened Twitter. #WesleyChicago was trending at number eight. I clicked the hashtag. The blurry paparazzi shots showed a man in a black baseball cap and a face mask. The height, the build, the posture—it was a flawless imitation. But I knew my husband’s shoulders. I knew the way he walked. It wasn’t him. Wesley Kallan was deploying body doubles as decoys to shake his stalkers. And the real Wesley? He was currently asleep in the master bedroom, thirty feet away from me. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my throat. I switched back to the stalker chat. [$5,000 is insulting. Make it $10,000.] The admin replied instantly. [Deal. Send the location!] I leaned back against the headboard, listening to the muffled sounds of footsteps in the hallway. He was up. I opened Wesley’s text thread. [Mr. A-List, which hotel are you resting your head at in Chicago right now?] 3 I stared at the screen, my pulse thrumming a slow, heavy beat against my ribs. Through the drywall, the footsteps paused. A heavy, breathless minute ticked by before the typing bubble appeared. [The one the studio booked. Why the sudden interrogation? Checking up on me?] His tone was perfectly engineered—that familiar, indulgent tease he used to deflect. I didn’t take the bait. My thumbs flew across the glass. [Which hotel did the studio book, Wesley?] This time, the reply was immediate. [The Park Hyatt. Why are you asking? Thinking of flying out to surprise me on set?] I stared at the words Park Hyatt. A venomous spike of pure resentment shot through me. He lied with such breathtaking ease. He was in the next room, breathing the same air as me, and he could still fabricate a location two thousand miles away without missing a beat. To protect his untouchable brand, he kept his armor on, even against the woman he married. I didn’t call him out. Instead, I copied the words Park Hyatt Chicago and dropped them straight into the Telegram chat. [$10,000. Pleasure doing business.]

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After Willie’s affair came to light, I spent months screaming, crying, and exhausting every ounce of my soul before I finally found the strength to walk away. But as I was packing up my life, I found a letter tucked away in the back of a drawer. It was a love letter, written in his familiar, sharp cursive. “Nancy, I’ve been planning this proposal for three whole years. I wanted to keep it a secret until the very last second to give you the ultimate surprise. But I know my girl loves to look beautiful, so please, wear your favorite dress tonight. Run to me with a heart full of joy.” My fingers trembled violently as I held the paper. Memories of our old sweetness rushed back, blurring my vision. Even knowing he had let someone else into his heart, even knowing the betrayal was an absolute, cold hard fact, I still couldn’t let go of the phantom of what we used to be. I wanted to give myself one last piece of closure. But the moment I stepped into the venue, the ambient noise of the lounge suddenly drifted away. Time, in an impossible, dizzying shift, had wound back three years. It was the exact night he proposed. “Nancy! There you are!” Willie’s best friend patted his shoulder, laughing. “Willie’s been a nervous wreck all afternoon. He hasn’t even touched a drop of water!” Our friends cheered and whistled. Standing in the center of the room was a younger Willie. His eyes burned with a raw, intense devotion as he walked toward me, holding a massive bundle of deep red roses. Just as I stood there frozen, a waitress rushed past. In her haste, she collided with him, spilling a glass of red wine all over Willie’s pristine custom suit. The girl’s face went dead pale. She stammered out apologies, looking incredibly small, fragile, and utterly innocent. She looked exactly the same as she did three years later, kneeling on my living room floor, sobbing and begging for my forgiveness after I caught them. Mallory. This time, I didn’t step forward to comfort the terrified girl. I simply turned around and walked out. … I had barely taken three steps when Willie’s hand clamped around my wrist. “Nancy, where are you going?” I looked down at his fingers squeezing my skin, a wave of old bitterness rising in my throat. In my past life, I had been so terrified of ruining his big moment. I was worried he’d look foolish in front of his friends, so I immediately stepped in to defuse the situation. I comforted Mallory, arranged for Willie to borrow a spare jacket, and smiled through the mess, telling him it didn’t matter. But now, I wrenched my wrist out of his grip. “Handle your own business first.” The sudden coldness in my voice left Willie paralyzed. Before he could speak, Mallory reached out and timidly touched his sleeve. “Sir, I am so, so sorry. Please, let me help you clean it.” She pulled out some cheap napkins, frantically dabbing at his chest. Willie looked annoyed, but he didn’t push her away. “It’s fine. Don’t touch me.” “Sir, please! It was entirely my fault. At least give me a chance to make it right,” Mallory begged, her eyes brimming with tears, completely ignoring his rejection. One of Willie’s friends, losing patience, stepped in and pulled her back. “Alright, that’s enough. Do you have any idea how much this suit costs? It was custom-made specifically for his proposal tonight. You can’t afford to replace this.” Mallory stumbled back, her tears finally spilling over. “I can pay for it in installments. However long it takes. Please, just don’t report me to my manager.” Hearing her choked-up plea, Willie sighed and glanced back. “It’s just a suit. Let it go. Don’t make things hard for her.” Back then, I had admired his kindness. I thought he was just a generous, gentle soul who didn’t want to ruin a working girl’s life. Only later did I realize Willie wasn’t generous to everyone. He had simply carved out a special, soft place for Mallory from the very beginning. I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. They were destined to entangle themselves anyway; this time, I wouldn’t stand in their way. I turned to leave again, but Willie chased after me, grabbing my hand once more. “Nancy, please. I haven’t even said what I wanted to say tonight.” I shook him off, harder this time. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.” Willie’s brow furrowed. To him, this was just me throwing a tantrum. “Are you really going to make a scene just because a clumsy waitress ruined the atmosphere? Is it that big of a deal?” Looking at his impatient expression, I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. I decided to give him exactly what he wanted. “Yes. It is because of her.” Instead of getting angry, Willie let out a soft chuckle, his tone turning casual. “So you’re jealous? That’s what this is. We can just do it again another night. If it’s a proposal you want, I’ll propose to you as many times as you need to feel secure.” Just then, Mallory came running out of the lounge, breathless. “Sir, you’re incredibly kind not to hold a grudge, but my conscience won’t let me sleep. Could I… could I get your number? I want to transfer the money to you slowly.” Willie looked at me, shifting the responsibility with a lazy smile. “Ask Nancy. She makes the decisions.” In my past life, I was the one who blocked her. I told her she didn’t need to pay, and I absolute refused to let her have his contact info. But they still ended up exchanging numbers anyway—during some “accidental” run-in I didn’t know about, facilitated by Willie’s endless loop of “just helping her out.” They went from strangers to friends, and finally to a messy, lingering affair. This time, looking at Mallory’s carefully crafted display of vulnerability, I didn’t feel angry. I felt amused. “You really want to pay? No matter how expensive?” I asked. Mallory’s eyes lit up with sudden hope, and she nodded quickly. “Yes! Absolutely!” I smiled, pulling out my phone. “Great. In that case, add me.” I opened my contact card and held it out. The eager look on Mallory’s face froze instantly. She reflexively looked at Willie, her eyes wide with a silent plea for help. Willie was stunned too. He never expected me to bypass the jealousy routine and actually demand payment. “Nancy, I gave you the choice so you could reject her as my girlfriend,” Willie murmured, his brow tightening with dissatisfaction. “I already said she doesn’t need to pay. It’s just a jacket. When did you become so petty?” Listening to his baseless accusations, I let out a sharp laugh. “She’s the one insisting on paying, Willie. How is that my fault?” Seeing the tension rise, Mallory immediately stepped into her role as the martyr. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. Please, don’t fight because of me.” Her trembling voice made me look like the cruel oppressor. I already knew exactly what Willie was going to say next. Sure enough, his expression softened as he looked at her, then turned a cool gaze back to me. “Since you’re so desperate to pay, just add my number.” He unlocked his phone and opened his screen, but his eyes stayed glued to my face. I knew what he was doing. Willie was testing me. He was entirely convinced I was just acting out of jealousy, fully expecting me to snap, grab his phone, and forbid them from ever speaking. But I didn’t move. I actually took a step back to give them space. “Go ahead. Don’t let her sincere apology go to waste.” A flicker of genuine panic finally crossed his eyes. “Nancy, what are you doing?” “Exactly what it looks like.” I raised my hand, hailing a yellow cab that was cruising down the street. I pulled open the door and stepped inside without a single backward glance. As the car pulled away, I saw Willie’s cocky testing face crumble into sheer panic. He ran a few steps after the cab, but he was already too late. The bumpy ride home drained the last of my energy. The moment I closed my eyes in bed, I was pulled back into a nightmare—the day before Willie’s birthday. I had pulled all-nighters for a week straight just to finish my corporate projects early, taking the red-eye flight back to surprise him. But when I unlocked our apartment door, the place was a disaster of discarded clothes, and he was holding Mallory tightly in his arms. Mallory had scrambled to pull her shirt together, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I made a terrible mistake. Please, just forgive me this once.” She kept bowing, her knees bending as if she were about to kneel right there on the hardwood floor. Willie, consumed by protective instinct, shielded her behind his back. “Mallory, you don’t have to bow to her. Don’t degrade yourself.” Then he turned to me, his eyes filled with nothing but cold exhaustion. “Since you saw us, let’s just call it over. We’re done.” In that single second, every ounce of my dignity was ground into the dirt. I screamed, demanding to know why, asking him what our three years meant, what all those promises were for. But Willie didn’t offer a single word of explanation. He just watched my breakdown with freezing, detached eyes. Blind with rage, I lunged forward and slapped Mallory across the face. The next second, Willie’s hand flew out, striking me so hard my head spun. “Nancy! Have you lost your mind? I’m the one who did this. What right do you have to lay a hand on Mallory!” The physical pain and the crushing despair of that memory were so vivid that I began to shiver in my sleep. Suddenly, something warm touched my forehead, and a gentle hand brushed the tears from the corners of my eyes. I gasped, waking up instantly. Willie was sitting on the edge of my mattress, his face painted with deep worry. “What are you doing here?” I snapped, my voice laced with defensive panic. We were still three years in the past. He shouldn’t be in my apartment. Sensing my hostility, Willie looked slightly embarrassed. “The last time you went out of town, you gave me a spare key so I could feed your cat. Don’t you remember?” He softened his voice, stepping closer. “You weren’t picking up your phone. No one could get ahold of you. I was terrified something happened, so I came to check.” I looked at the key glinting in his hand. The last shred of hesitation in my heart dissolved. This was exactly how I had lost my boundaries in the past. I let him have my keys, let him run my life, let him drift in and out of my personal space until it felt completely normal. And in the end, when he brought another woman into my sanctuary, he had the audacity to tell me I was the one being ungraceful. “Give me the key,” I said, extending my hand. Willie blinked. “What?” “Give me my key back. And don’t come back here.” Willie’s face went pale. He seemed to finally realize this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. “Nancy, I’m sorry. I know the proposal was important to you. I was careless and dismissive earlier, and that’s entirely on me.” He scrambled to pull out his phone, opening his contacts to prove himself. “Look, I didn’t add her. I swear. See for yourself.” Right then, his phone vibrated. An unsaved, ten-digit number flashed across the screen. I didn’t need a name to know who it was. It was Mallory. It was always like this. Willie would swear up and down that they had no contact, only to make exception after exception for her behind my back. I didn’t say a word. I just watched him quietly as he answered the call. “Willie…” Mallory’s voice sobbed through the speaker, loud enough to echo in the quiet room. “Some guys at the lounge… they think I wanted your number for… for sex work. They won’t listen to me. They’re trying to force me into a car. I don’t know what to do. Please…” Willie’s entire body tensed. He looked at me, torn, desperate to leave but terrified of how I would react. I actually felt a small smile touch my lips. “Go on. What are you waiting for?” His shoulders visibly relaxed, a look of profound relief washing over him. “Nancy, you are so incredibly understanding. This is why you’re the perfect girlfriend.” “I’m not,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Willie, I never accepted your proposal.” His face froze mid-breath. I kept my hand out. “Leave the key, and get out.” Willie hesitated, his eyes darting between me and the crying coming from his phone. But Mallory’s frantic sobs won out. With a tense silence, he dropped the key into my palm and bolted out the door. I sat by the window until the sky turned gray, suddenly remembering that today was the day of our firm’s massive investor presentation. In my past life, because I was so wrapped up in the joy of his proposal, I had backed out of being the lead presenter. I turned down the promotion to our Chicago branch, choosing to stay behind and halt my career for love. Now, with my feelings dead and gone, all I wanted was to get as far away from him as possible. I dressed quickly, but as I was checking my bag, I realized my printed pitch deck and financial models were still at Willie’s apartment. I had left them there the night before for him to review. I called his phone repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail. Out of options, I drove straight to his corporate office. He was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples, dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept a wink. When he saw me walk in, his exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a hopeful smile. “Nancy, you actually came to find me at work? Aren’t you worried about office gossip anymore?” Before, I was always so self-conscious about what our colleagues would say. Even after we started dating, I insisted on keeping it quiet, going out of my way to avoid him in the hallways. But it wasn’t until after I resigned that I discovered Mallory, who frequently waited for him at the lobby, had long been accepted by everyone as the future Mrs. Jennings. “Have you decided on the lead presenter for the pitch?” I asked, ignoring his question. “We haven’t changed the schedule,” Willie said, leaning forward. “We talked about this…” “We don’t need to change it,” I cut him off, my voice ice. “I’m presenting. My physical files are still at your place. Have your assistant fetch them immediately.” Willie stared at my cold demeanor, realizing I wasn’t going to play along. He picked up his desk phone and dialed his housekeeper. But as the clock ticked closer to the meeting, the door didn’t open to his housekeeper. It opened to Mallory, looking incredibly flustered and small. My chest tightened. “What are you doing here?” Mallory bowed her head, clutching a folder to her chest. “I… I was let go from the lounge last night. Mr. Jennings was kind enough to hire me as a temporary house cleaner to help with my living expenses.” She hurriedly held out the folder. The documents, which should have been neatly bound and pristine, were crumpled, torn, and smeared with dark mud. “I was riding my bike to get here quickly, and I fell,” Mallory whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to ruin your files. I swear.” Looking at the ruined pitch deck, my anger boiled over. “Are you completely incompetent? You knew these were critical corporate documents, and you couldn’t even put them in a plastic sleeve?” Mallory’s eyes instantly turned red. She grabbed the hem of my blazer, sobbing. “Nancy, please don’t get me fired. This is the only job I have left. If I lose this, I won’t even have a place to sleep.” “What are you talking about? You work for Willie. What does your employment have to do with me?” Just as the words left my mouth, the door swung open. Willie walked in, his face darkening the second he saw the scene. He immediately stepped between us, shoving Mallory behind him. “It’s just a folder. Can’t you see she’s hurt?” He glared at me, his voice sharp. “I’m the one who told her to bring it. If you want to yell at someone, yell at me.” He glanced at the ruined papers on his desk. “If you didn’t prepare backup copies, Nancy, we can just cancel the presentation. I’ll take full responsibility for the lost deal.” Without waiting for my response, he guided Mallory out of the room, heading toward his car to take her to the clinic. Before she left, Mallory kept looking back at me, whispering apologies over her shoulder, looking like a battered saint. The colleagues passing by in the hallway took in the entire scene, their whispers starting before the elevator doors even closed. Diane, my senior director, came rushing over to drag me into the conference room. Fortunately, I had a habit of keeping digital backups on a secure drive. After a frantic fifteen minutes of printing and prep, I walked into the ballroom with Diane. The pitch was a massive success. But by the time I walked out, the rumors had already mutated. People were whispering that I was desperately clawing my way up, using Willie to secure my projects, and that my sudden bid for the Chicago promotion was just a desperate power move. The gossip grew so loud that Diane called me into her office before the end of the day. “Nancy,” she said gently, pouring me a cup of tea. “Be honest with me. What is going on between you and Willie?” I took a slow breath. “We were… involved. But it’s completely over now.” Diane sighed, shaking her head. “I brought you into this firm, and I believe in your talent. But the noise around this project is getting out of hand. The board is sensitive to these things. I think it might be best if you lay low for a bit.” She gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze. “The Chicago opportunity is great, but there will be other promotions. Let’s let this storm pass first.” I walked back to my cubicle, a profound sense of exhaustion settling deep in my bones. No matter how hard I tried to extricate myself, I was still being dragged down by the gravity of Willie’s mess. Before the clock hit five, Willie returned to the office. He marched straight to my desk, grabbed my wrist in front of everyone, and dragged me out to his car. He drove like a maniac, ignoring my silence, until we pulled up to a high-end country club. “I heard you’re trying to run away to Chicago,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he dragged me through the private entrance. “What did I do that was so terrible? Why are you trying to leave me?” He pushed open the heavy oak doors of the grand hall. Inside was another proposal setup—twice as grand as the night before, filled with white roses and fairy lights. “Do you honestly think I spent all night worrying about Mallory?” Willie breathed, pointing at the elaborate display. “I was fixing this. Can you finally believe me now? There is nothing between her and me.” Looking at the beautiful, hollow display, the dam in my chest finally broke. Tears slipped down my cheeks. Willie stepped forward, his eyes softening as he reached out to pull me into his arms, but I shoved him back with everything I had. In our brief struggle, the old love letter slipped out of my pocket, fluttering onto the polished floor. Willie bent down to pick it up. The moment his eyes registered the handwriting, his entire body went rigid. He slowly reached into his own breast pocket, pulling out an identical, sealed envelope. His voice was laced with pure, unadulterated confusion. “I haven’t even given you this letter yet. Nancy… where did you get this?”

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I’ve always had a terrible sense of direction. It took Jackie six years to teach me how to navigate the world. Every summer, he’d drag me through the winding streets of Boston, making me memorize every brick and cobblestone of Beacon Hill and the North End. When I got lost, he’d laugh, affectionately rapping his knuckles against my forehead. “If you can’t even find your way home, what am I going to do with you later in life?” Eventually, I memorized every turn. My sense of direction became flawless. Then came junior year of high school. A transfer student, Candice, joined our class. She was a quiet scholarship kid who was constantly getting lost, which made her an easy target for the meaner kids at school. It was Jackie who stepped in, standing between her and the whispers. After that, he started driving her home every single day, going miles out of his way. That detour lasted all the way until graduation. And I was left walking alone. Today is our joint birthday—mine and Jackie’s. By tradition, our families always celebrate together. Standing outside the restaurant, the rain pouring down, he took a call. When he hung up, his face was tight with anxiety. “Candice got turned around in the city,” he said, not looking at me. “She’s lost. I have to go get her.” And for the hundredth time, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the rain. I took a slow breath, pulled out my phone, and logged into the college enrollment portal. I changed my decision. Jackie spent years teaching me how to find my way. But looking back over these last two years, of all the roads we traveled, not a single one led back to him. If that’s the case, I’m done walking. … He hung up, his face full of raw worry for Candice. I squeezed the gift box in my coat pocket, the cardboard bowing under my grip. The words I’d spent all week preparing withered in my throat. I only managed a quiet, “Go ahead.” When I walked into the restaurant, the rain was still drumming against the glass. Jackie’s mother, Mrs. Landry, waved me over with a warm smile. “There’s my girl! Come sit. Where’s Jackie?” “He had to go pick up a classmate,” I said softly. “Who?” “Candice. Candice Wells.” A shadow of disapproval crossed Mrs. Landry’s face. She patted the back of my hand consolingly. “That boy… he doesn’t know what’s important.” I forced a smile and let it drop. A while later, the door swung open. Jackie was soaked through, water dripping from his jacket. But Candice, standing beside him, was completely dry. A dull, cold knot tightened in my chest. Jackie always hated the feeling of wet clothes sticking to his skin. He was the type to complain for hours about a damp collar. But right now, there wasn’t a trace of annoyance on his face. He smiled, introducing her. “This is Candice. She’s a close friend of mine and Chelsea’s. I thought she should join us for our birthday dinner.” The private dining room went dead silent. Thankfully, the waiter came in to take our orders, breaking the tension. Midway through the meal, Jackie reached across the table and placed a prime piece of ribeye onto Candice’s plate. Mrs. Landry cleared her throat pointedly. “Jackie, since when do you stop serving Chelsea first?” He offered a quick, easy grin. “Mom, come on. Of course I’m going to take care of Chelsea. I’m just being a good host.” A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest. But a moment later, he cracked open a lobster tail and dropped it onto my plate. I stared at it, then gently pushed the plate back. “What’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely confused. “I’m allergic to shellfish, Jackie,” I said, my voice flat. “I have been my whole life.” He froze, his expression blanking. “Right. God, I’m sorry. I forgot.” Sensing the sudden chill, Candice tried to smooth things over. “You guys are so lucky. Sharing a birthday, having your families celebrate together like this. It’s beautiful.” “We’ve done it since we were kids,” Jackie said, his voice warming up again. He ladled some butternut squash soup into a bowl for me. “Here, Chelsea. Don’t be mad. Try this.” After dinner, he drove us home. Candice sat in the passenger seat; I sat in the back. As we drove past the Prudential Center, Jackie let out a soft laugh. “Remember this place?” I looked out the window, answering automatically, “Not really.” But he didn’t even hear me. I looked at the front seats. Candice was playfully swatting his shoulder. “Why do you keep bringing that up? We said we wouldn’t talk about it!” My breath caught. He hadn’t been asking me. He was talking to her. It felt like a physical blow, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I sat there, wondering what I was doing in the backseat of this car. It was humiliating. “Seriously, Candice, you have the worst sense of direction. How do you get lost in a mall with only three exits?” “It’s not my fault! That place is a maze!” Jackie’s laugh was loud, easy. “Okay, okay, I won’t tease. But really, what are you going to do in the future with a sense of direction like that?” Candice’s voice dropped to a soft, teasing murmur. “Well… I have you, don’t I?” They kept talking, trading inside jokes and references I didn’t understand. The back of my throat burned. To hide how completely out of place I was, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold glass, pretending to sleep. Once we dropped Candice off, the car plunged into silence. “Chelsea,” Jackie said quietly, “how long are you going to pretend to be asleep?” “I’m not pretending.” He smirked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. “Come on. I know you too well to fall for that.” When he pulled up to my driveway, he turned around. “Did you say something to my mom? She was giving me looks all through dinner.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Good.” He paused, reaching over to touch my arm. “Chelsea, don’t be jealous. You know we’re getting engaged after college. That’s a given. Everyone knows it.” “Candice just gets so easily turned around, and I worry about her. That’s all.” “Tomorrow, let’s hit the grocery store. I’ll cook you something special. Deal?” I nodded slowly. “Sure.” He smiled, satisfied, and ruffled my hair. “That’s my girl.” I looked away, staring out the window. I had seen it. The matching woven leather bracelet on his wrist—the exact same one Candice was wearing. The next morning, his car was already idling outside my house. When he saw me, his smile was bright. “Ready, Chelsea?” At the grocery store, he pushed the cart, stopping in the produce aisle to pick up a carton of sour plums. “Try these. They’re great for you.” I stared at the carton. I’ve hated sour food since I was a child. But they were Candice’s favorite. Without a word, I picked up a small container of sliced mangoes instead—something I actually liked—and walked toward the register. He frowned. “You want that? The smell is a bit much, isn’t it?” My voice was even. “I’ve always loved mangoes, Jackie.” He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Then, he pulled out his phone and swiped to his notes app. It was a note he’d kept since we were kids—a digital log of everything I liked and disliked, from my favorite coffee roast to my allergies. Except, when I glanced at the screen, I saw the last edit date. Two years ago. Since Candice had entered the picture, the note had sat abandoned, a relic of a past he’d forgotten to keep up with. His face paled slightly. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I’m sorry. I’ll update it later.” “Don’t worry about it.” I dropped the mangoes into the cart. “Let’s go.” After we checked out, he carried the bags to the car. “I’m making roasted lamb chops tonight. You said you wanted them last time, right?” “Last time” was a year ago. But I just smiled. “Sounds great. Just don’t overseason them like last time.” “I know, I know. I’ve got it down,” he said, taking my hand as we walked toward the exit. Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He glanced at me, hesitating before answering. “Hey. What’s wrong?” The voice on the other end was frantic, high-pitched. I couldn’t make out the words, but Jackie’s brow furrowed instantly. “Where are you? What’s around you?” He looked at me, his voice dropping. “Candice’s lost again.” Maybe I wanted to test him. Maybe I wanted to see if there was any part of him left that chose me. For the first time in my life, I didn’t step back. “Call an Uber for her, Jackie,” I said quietly. He shook his head, his hand already slipping from mine. “I can’t. It’s not safe. What if the driver takes the wrong route? She won’t even realize she’s in the wrong place.” I stared at him, feeling the familiar, cold ache settle deep into my chest. It was exactly what I expected. “I’ll drop her home first and come straight back to you. I promise.” And there it was. The moment he finished teaching me how to navigate the world, his very next move was to leave me behind in it. I walked home alone. My throat felt tight, dry. I unscrewed a bottle of water and took a sip, but it tasted salty. I couldn’t tell if it was the water or my tears. I waited from noon until dinner, and then past midnight. He never showed up. I was about to go to bed when I opened Instagram. Candice had posted a photo. It was a shot from behind: Jackie, holding an umbrella, tilting it completely over her shoulder to keep her dry while his own back was soaked. The caption read: “Finally, I know what it feels like to feel safe.” In the comments, classmates had already chimed in: “Oh my god, is that Jackie? Aren’t he and Chelsea practically engaged?” “Out with the old, in with the new, I guess. Looks like Candice won this one!” Candice had replied with a shy monkey emoji: “Don’t say things like that.” I stared at the screen for a long time. Then my phone buzzed. A text from Jackie: “Just got her settled. Sorry for the late reply.” “Those comments on her post are just people joking around. Don’t take them seriously.” “I’ll pick you up for driving school tomorrow morning. Sleep well.” I typed out two letters: “Ok.” He said he was late replying. But the truth was, he was two years late. And some things can’t be fixed. I opened my laptop and stared at the digital acceptance letter from Boston College. Going to BC together had been our pact since we were kids. But since Candice arrived, even our dreams had been crowded out. Without hesitating, I logged into the portal, clicked to decline my spot, and officially accepted the offer from the University of Chicago. If there was no room for me in his life, I would step out of it entirely. The next morning, his car was waiting at the curb. Candice was already in the passenger seat, beaming. “Morning, Chelsea!” Jackie had promised our families he’d help me prep for my driving test. But of course, Candice was here too. By now, I was used to our duo being turned into a trio. I opened the back door and climbed in. Jackie frowned, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Chelsea, why don’t you sit up front? You haven’t sat next to me in forever.” I shook my head. “It’s fine. More legroom back here.” He started the engine, offering a quick explanation. “Candice wanted to start practicing for her license too, so I figured I’d sign her up at the same school.” “I’m working on getting my motorcycle permit, so I can hang out while you guys practice.” “That’s nice,” I said. Though we were in the same graduating class, Jackie was a year older, having taken his test the previous winter. Hearing me agree so easily, he seemed to relax. “You really need to focus, Chelsea. Don’t be as stubborn as you were when we were kids. You were a nightmare to teach.” Candice chuckled. “Was Chelsea really that bad?” “Terrible,” Jackie said, his voice lifting with fond memory. “I had to show her the same turn eight times before it stuck. In the end, I had to walk her through the neighborhood every day for three months just to give her a basic sense of direction.” He was smiling, lost in the warmth of the memory. Candice watched his expression, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before she fell silent. When we arrived at the training lot, the summer sun was brutal. As we got out of the car, Candice gasped, shielding her arms. “Oh, it’s so hot. My skin breaks out in hives when I’m in the sun too long.” Jackie’s brow furrowed. He immediately went to the glove box, rummaged around, and pulled out a pair of UV protective arm sleeves. “Here,” he said, handing them to her. “Put these on.” That glove box was where he kept things specifically for me. I used to burn easily, and he had bought those exact sleeves for me last summer, promising he’d never let me get sunburned. Now, he handed them over to someone else without a second thought. Candice slipped them on, her fingers lightly brushing against his sleeve as she smiled up at him. “Thanks, Jackie.” “Of course. Don’t worry about it.” I watched them, waiting for the familiar pang of jealousy, but nothing came. Maybe I was numb, or maybe I had simply stopped caring. After thirty minutes of driving practice, Jackie brought over two iced lattes from the nearby cafe. “Take a break, girls. Have a drink.” I looked at the cups. Candice’s was lukewarm, no ice. Mine was sweating with condensation, packed with ice cubes. I didn’t say anything. He had memorized Candice’s cycle and knew she shouldn’t have cold drinks during her period. But today was the start of mine, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing my silence. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t drink cold liquids today. But then I saw him reach out to gently wipe a speck of dust from the corner of Candice’s mouth. The words dissolved. “Nothing,” I said quietly. Our instructor, a middle-aged man leaning against the fence, chuckled. “You’re a sweet kid. Real attentive to your girlfriend’s needs, getting her the room-temperature one.” Candice blushed, lowering her eyes. Jackie froze, glancing at me before quickly correcting the man. “Oh, no, sir. Candice isn’t my girlfriend.” The instructor pointed between them, then back at me. “Come on, son. The way you look at her versus the way you look at your sister over there? It’s night and day. Anyone can see Miss Candice is the one.” The air turned heavy, thick with awkwardness. Even a stranger could see it. To Jackie, she was the girl he loved; I was just the sister he was obligated to care for. Candice, wanting to break the tension, quickly changed the subject. “Jackie, did you submit your final college decision yet?” “Yeah. Boston College, like we planned.” Candice’s eyes lit up. “My scores are good enough! I can go there too.” “We can all stay together.” Jackie reached out, affectionately rubbing the top of her head. “Look how excited you are.” He turned to me. “What about you, Chelsea? Did you lock it in?” “I took care of it,” I said. He frowned. “Make sure you do. The portal closes in two days. Don’t leave it to the last minute.” “I know.” He studied my face for a moment, but didn’t press further. On graduation night, our class gathered for an after-party on the football field. Someone in the crowd started chanting: “Jackie! When are you finally going to ask Chelsea out? You two have been acting like a married couple since middle school!” “Yeah, come on, Landry! We’re waiting!” The cheering grew louder, drawing the attention of students from other classes. “Say something, Jackie!” As the eyes of our entire graduating class fell on us, I felt my heart rate spike. With nowhere to hide, Jackie offered a stiff smile and opened his mouth to speak. Beside him, Candice lowered her head. She tugged at his sleeve, her shoulders trembling slightly. “Jackie… I think I want to go home.” Jackie looked at her, his smile vanishing instantly. He turned back to the crowd, his voice cold. “Alright, guys. Stop it.” Hearing those words, a sudden lightness washed over me. There was no bitterness, no crushing disappointment. Just a clean, quiet release. The crowd went quiet, people trading confused glances. I turned and walked away from the field. “Chelsea!” he called, jogging to catch up. I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Why are you leaving? Everyone’s watching,” he said, his breath hitching. “I wanted to leave. Is that a crime?” He went quiet for a second. “She was crying, Chelsea. How was I supposed to answer them?” “She’s fragile. What did you want me to say to her? You have to be understanding.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Understanding?” He grabbed my wrist. “Yes. Our relationship is between the two of us. Do we really need to put on a show for everyone else?” “You’re right,” I said softly, pulling my hand away. So he did understand that relationships were supposed to be between two people. He just chose to ignore it. “In a few days, we’re going to Lake Tahoe to unwind,” he continued, trying to soften his tone. “I booked three tickets. Candice’s coming too. She’s never seen the lake.” When we were kids, we promised each other we’d spend the summer after graduation in Lake Tahoe. Just the two of us, renting a cabin, doing nothing but walking along the shore. He had promised that even if I got lost, he would always find me. Now, he was talking about three tickets. “Chelsea?” “Yeah.” “What do you think?” “We’ll see,” I said, and walked away. The next afternoon was the practical portion of our driving school. Candice and I were paired up for a long-distance drive to a test site in the suburbs. Once we cleared the city limits, the roads became a tangled web of highway exits and unmarked turnoffs. I was completely lost. But Candice drove with absolute confidence, navigating the twists and turns without even opening her GPS. I watched her, a small doubt creeping in. Wasn’t she supposed to have no sense of direction? But I kept the question to myself. We took a sharp turn down a secluded, tree-lined service road. Suddenly, the engine sputtered and died. My phone showed zero bars of service. With the sun setting fast, panic began to rise in my chest. But Candice calmly tapped the screen of her smart band. “What’s that?” I asked. “Jackie got it for my birthday,” she said, showing me her wrist. “It has a built-in GPS tracker. He was worried I’d get lost.” I stared at the woven leather band on her wrist—the perfect match to the one Jackie wore. My heart missed a beat. So that was it. A small light on her band flickered, indicating that the signal had been sent and help was on the way. In that moment, the last remaining spark inside me went cold and dark. An hour later, Jackie arrived with a highway patrol car. He sprinted toward us, his face pale with terror. He threw his arms around me, checking my arms and face. “Chelsea, are you okay? Are you hurt?” “I’m fine,” I said. Once he was sure I was intact, he turned to Candice, his voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur as he talked to her. I leaned against the hood of the broken-down car, looking out at the dark trees. I thought I would feel a rush of emotion seeing him run to me first. But the truth was bitter. If it hadn’t been for the tracker he bought her, we would still be sitting in the dark. Jackie, I thought, I am so tired of being an extra in your movie. For once, he didn’t drive Candice home. He arranged for her to ride back with the patrol officer, insisting that he needed to drive me home himself because I must have been shaken up. When we got back to my house, I went straight to my room to change. Jackie sat on the sofa in the living room, waiting. My laptop was open on the coffee table. When I walked back out, he was staring at the screen, his face completely pale. He looked up at me, his voice trembling. “Chelsea… why does your portal say you accepted the offer from UChicago?”

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At the college reunion, I stepped out to run an errand for my girlfriend. By the time I returned, my seat had already been taken by my best friend. My wine glass and plate had been cleared away, replaced by a fresh, untouched setting. It was as if I had never been there at all. Seeing me walk back into the room, Derek made a move to stand up, but Valerie lightly pressed her hand onto his shoulder, keeping him in his seat. “Don’t worry about it,” she said smoothly. “We’re talking about our latest case anyway. He wouldn’t understand a word of it. He’d just be sitting here smiling politely.” The rest of the table fell silent, no one daring to chime in. Everyone in that room knew about the sudden tragedy that had struck my family years ago, forcing me to drop out of law school halfway through. Back in college, Valerie and Derek had been the law school’s “golden pair,” a formidable duo who had cracked countless complex mock trials together. After graduation, they had climbed straight into the ranks of a prestigious Big Law firm, while I became the “paralegal assistant”—a pity hire who only got a foot in the door because of my girlfriend. I stood there, feeling incredibly foolish. Valerie took the pack of cigarettes I had just bought for her, sliding them into her purse before giving me another casual instruction. “Derek wants some wine. Go down to the cellar and pick up a bottle, will you?” She didn’t even look up at me as she spoke, already turning her head back to continue her conversation with him. Standing on the periphery of their shared warmth and lively laughter, a sudden, heavy exhaustion washed over me. The girl I had spent years running after, exhausting every ounce of my energy just to keep in sight—I didn’t want to chase her anymore. … It had been half an hour since I returned with her cigarettes. Aside from her brief command to buy wine, Valerie hadn’t spared me a single glance. She was entirely engrossed in Derek, discussing the high-profile case they had won last week and mapping out the future expansion of their firm. I had lost count of how many times I had been reduced to nothing more than a background prop in their lives. It wasn’t until Derek checked a notification on his phone that Valerie finally seemed to remember my existence. She turned around, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Why are you still here? I thought you went to get the wine.” Since the reunion started, I had already run three separate errands for them. The torrential rain outside had soaked through my clothes, leaving me shivering and wet to the bone. Valerie’s eyes lingered on the damp hair clinging to my forehead and the water dripping down my face. For a fraction of a second, she fell silent. Derek, ever the diplomat, quickly tried to smooth things over. “Oh, come on, I just mentioned the wine in passing. It’s pouring out there, Tyler doesn’t need to go.” As he spoke, he reached into his leather bag and pulled out a soft, monogrammed handkerchief. It was an exact match to the one Valerie kept in her purse. Ever since I returned to the city six months after dropping out of school, the boundaries of our relationship had begun to blur. Initially, the breakfasts Valerie bought in the mornings went from two portions to three. After graduation, it wasn’t just breakfast anymore—even our movie tickets were bought in sets of three. But eventually, that delicate balance shattered. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Valerie stopped buying three portions and started buying only enough for herself and Derek. “Stop smoking, Derek. You know Tyler hates the smell of smoke,” Derek said, gently reaching over to pluck the lit cigarette from Valerie’s fingers and stubbing it out in the ashtray. Valerie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head with a look of helpless indulgence. Having loved her for seven years, I knew that look better than anyone. It was the face she made when she chose to unconditionally spoil someone. Over our years together, I had begged her countless times to quit smoking because of my asthma. But she had always dismissed my concerns, telling me I didn’t understand the immense pressure she was under, accusing me of trying to strip away her only sense of freedom. Yet, for someone who despised being controlled above all else, she had grown incredibly comfortable letting Derek dictate her habits. The chatter at the table resumed, the laughter swelling once more. Without saying a word, I turned and walked out of the private dining room. Stepping into the quiet hallway, I took a deep, steadying breath and called Diane, the head of HR. I told her I wanted to submit my resignation. She was visibly taken awake. “Tyler, you handle almost all the daily operations and logistics for the senior partners. If you leave, the administrative side of the firm is going to fall into complete chaos.” She paused, lowering her voice. “How about I talk to Valerie? Maybe we can transfer you to a different department?” “No, thank you,” I replied quietly. Since my first year at the firm, I had requested a transfer to a legal track multiple times. When I assisted a senior associate in winning a major corporate lawsuit, Valerie had shrugged it off, calling it a stroke of sheer luck. When I applied to be promoted to a full-time associate, she rejected it, claiming my credentials weren’t up to par. During the annual review, she calculated my performance metrics down to six decimal places. She had told me, “You’re my boyfriend, Tyler. I have to be completely impartial so people don’t accuse me of favoritism.” Yet, when Derek was promoted twice in a single year, she praised his “extraordinary talent.” When he swept almost every award at the annual gala, she dismissed it as “just looking out for an old classmate.” Seven years of tireless, quiet dedication, and I was still nothing but a ghost in the hallway. I looked through the glass pane of the dining room door. Neither of them had turned their heads to see where I had gone. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Diane,” I said into the receiver, “please just help me process the paperwork. And… don’t tell Valerie.” Diane didn’t push further. She gave a quiet sigh and agreed to start the process. I was just about to leave the venue when the heavy doors swung open. Valerie stepped out, her eyes searching the hallway until they landed on me. “Who are you not telling?” she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity. “Nothing,” I said, keeping my tone perfectly flat. Valerie didn’t press the issue. Instead, she handed me a heavy, charcoal-gray paper bag. “What do you think of this suit?” It was a tailored Italian piece I had circled in a magazine just last week. I remembered showing it to her, asking if she thought it would look good on me. At the time, she had been too busy replying to a thread of emails to even glance at the page. I hadn’t realized she had actually registered it. A faint, stupid warmth began to bloom in my chest, but before I could speak, she continued: “Do you think Derek will like it?” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the sharp lines of the collar inside the bag, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. It’s definitely his style.” Perhaps sensing my unusual quietness, Valerie offered a rare explanation. “The only reason we won the litigation last week was because of Derek’s closing arguments. I can’t let him walk away empty-handed. As the managing partner, I have to show my appreciation.” She reached out, lightly pinching my cheek in a gesture that felt entirely patronizing. “If you like it that much, you can always borrow it from him once he’s worn it a few times. He hates matching outfits anyway, and since you two are basically brothers, it won’t go to waste.” I was her boyfriend—the man who was supposed to stand by her side—yet I was being asked to wait for another man’s hand-me-downs. When the reunion finally wrapped up, the guests began to disperse to their cars. Naturally, Derek opened the passenger door of Valerie’s sedan and slid inside. Valerie had bought that car with the very first bonus she earned after starting the firm. I remembered the way she had beamed at me, holding up the keys and promising that she would drive me to and from work every single day. But on the very first day she brought it to the office, Derek claimed he had missed the last train and asked if he could hitch a ride. Valerie had looked at me with pleading eyes, asking if I could make space for him just this once. That “just this once” had stretched into five long years. Before I could even reach for the rear door handle, the engine roared to life, and a cloud of exhaust fumes blew into my face. The car pulled out of the parking lot and sped away, disappearing into the curtain of rain. They were so wrapped up in their post-victory debrief that neither of them had realized I hadn’t even gotten into the vehicle. To make matters worse, the storm was worsening. I stood under the awning, trying to hail a ride on my phone, but after thirty minutes of watching the screen search for drivers, no one accepted the fare. Left with no choice, I stepped out into the freezing, relentless downpour. The sidewalk was slick with rain and grease. Halfway down the block, my foot slipped, and I fell hard into a pool of muddy water. I struggled to get up, my palms scraped raw against the wet concrete, the cold mud soaking through my clothes. In that quiet, dark street, a wave of profound bitterness finally broke over me. By the time I dragged myself back to our apartment, shivering and dripping wet, the sound of laughter was already drifting from the living room. Derek was sitting on the sofa, his leg resting comfortably across Valerie’s lap. She was leaning over him, carefully dabbing antiseptic onto a small scrape on his knee. Seeing me stand in the doorway, Valerie’s brow furrowed in immediate annoyance. “Where on earth have you been?” she demanded. “Do you have any idea how worried Derek and I were? We looked everywhere for you. Derek even scraped his knee trying to search the venue.” “Please, Tyler, try to be a little more reliable. If you can’t help us with the workload, the least you can do is not make us worry about you.” She didn’t see that my skin was pale from the cold. She didn’t notice the muddy water dripping onto the hardwood floor. All she cared about was the tiny scrape on Derek’s knee. I slowly looked down at my phone. There wasn’t a single missed call. Not a single text message asking where I was. Had they really searched for me? Derek quickly pulled his leg back, looking incredibly flustered as he tried to explain. “Tyler, please don’t be mad at us. I’m so sorry, really…” Seeing the silent, hollow expression on my face, Derek got up, limping slightly as he made a show of rushing toward the door. Valerie made a move to chase after him, but paused at the threshold, turning back to glare at me. “Derek and I have a business trip out of town tomorrow morning. Pack both of our bags tonight.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed an umbrella and ran out the door to chase him down. There was no apology, no real explanation—just the same old demands, delivered with the easy authority of someone talking to a servant. Over the years, they had slowly chipped away at the ambitious, passionate boy I used to be, turning me into a glorified housekeeper they could order around at their convenience. And even then, they truly believed they were doing me a favor by letting me occupy a desk at their firm. But this time, I didn’t touch her suitcases. Instead, I pulled out my own bags and began packing everything that belonged to me. Under the pretext of “budget cuts,” Valerie had told me to stay behind while she and Derek went on their business trip. But judging by Derek’s social media updates, the trip looked less like business and more like a romantic getaway. He posted photos of them strolling through historic coastal towns, sharing tea in quiet, sunlit cafes, and visiting local artisan shops. Valerie, who had always detested hands-on activities, had spent three hours at a pottery studio with him, molding clay side-by-side. Then, a junior associate traveling with them accidentally sent a message to the main office group chat: “Breaking news! The resort messed up our reservations and they’re completely booked. Valerie and Derek are sharing the master suite tonight!” The message was unsent a few seconds later, and almost immediately, Valerie’s name flashed on my screen. “Tyler, the hotel had a massive system error and gave away our rooms,” she said, her voice tight with defensive exhaustion. “I only agreed to share the suite because I didn’t want you accusing me of neglecting your best friend’s comfort again. It’s strictly professional.” In the background, I could hear Derek’s voice whining playfully. “Valerie, where did you put my face wash?” Before she could answer, Derek took the phone from her hand. “Hey, Tyler! Man, I wish you were here. Traveling with Valerie is so boring, she refuses to talk any gossip. Don’t worry, though—I’ll keep a close eye on her tonight so she doesn’t run off with any handsome locals!” They had crossed so many lines in the name of “friendship” and “looking out for each other.” Valerie had once played the role of Derek’s “girlfriend” at a corporate gala to help him ward off unwanted attention. Derek, supposedly worried about Valerie’s safety, had stayed on the phone with her for eight consecutive hours during a solo business trip—completely blocking the line when I was trying to call her after getting into a minor car accident. And now, under the guise of saving me from worry, they were sharing a room. I pressed my fingernails into my palms, the physical pain grounding me. The words I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head finally slipped past my lips. “Valerie. Let’s break up.” The line went dead silent. A moment later, I heard Valerie let out a cold, irritated laugh. “Tyler, you’re not eighteen anymore. Can you stop being so incredibly childish?” “Derek and I have put up with your insecurities for years. You should be grateful for what you have instead of throwing these pathetic tantrums.” Derek’s voice cut back in, laced with sweet concern. “Tyler, please don’t be mad at us. I’m so sorry, really…” “You don’t owe him an apology!” Valerie snapped, her voice echoing clearly near the receiver. “If you keep coddling him, he’s just going to keep acting like a spoiled brat. It’s not like he’s some high-society prince.” With a sharp click, the line went dead. I remembered when we first started dating in college. During our very first argument, she had spent three months buying me small gifts and writing letters just to make me smile again. Now, she couldn’t even offer a simple, cost-free apology. I stared at the black screen for a long moment, then dialed the real estate broker. I told him I wanted to list the condo for a quick sale, even if it meant taking a loss. There was a long, awkward silence on the other end of the line. “Mr. Evans,” the broker said hesitantly. “I’m looking at the title deed right now. Along with your name, there’s another co-owner registered on the property—a Mr. Derek Shepherd. You can’t legally sell this property without his signature.” The blood drained from my face, leaving me completely cold. A year ago, when Valerie and I were planning our future, we had agreed to save up for a down payment on our dream home. I had worked double shifts at the firm and taken on three freelance document-review gigs at night, pouring every cent of my savings into that deposit. Valerie had handled the legal paperwork, assuring me that she would register it in my name and take care of the notarization. And now, Derek’s name was on the deed of the home I had bled for, without him having contributed a single dollar. The day before I was set to leave the city, I walked into the law firm with my formal resignation letter in hand. As I approached Valerie’s office, I noticed a crowd of colleagues gathered near the glass doors, whispering among themselves. Seeing me approach, they fell silent, parting to let me through while casting looks of deep disdain in my direction. I pushed open the door. Derek was sitting on the leather sofa, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Valerie stood beside him. When she saw me walk in, her face hardened into an expression of sheer disappointment. “How much do you have to hate Derek to do something this malicious?” I stopped in my tracks. “What are you talking about?” Derek lifted his tear-stained face, holding up a thick manila folder so everyone in the hallway could see. “The evidence I spent months gathering for our client… it was all tampered with overnight. The court dismissed our case this morning and ruled against us. They’re talking about launching an ethics investigation… I might lose my license, Tyler.” In our office, my primary responsibility was managing the physical and digital filing systems. I was the only person with unrestricted access to the archives. To everyone else, the culprit was obvious. “I didn’t touch those files,” I said, looking straight into Valerie’s eyes. “Do you honestly think I did this?” Valerie looked at me with an expression of pure disgust. “I was wondering why you were so quiet yesterday—no calls, no complaints. I thought you were finally growing up. It turns out you were just busy planning this?” “You knew how hard Derek worked to pass his bar exam. You wanted to ruin his life.” In that moment, everything became painfully clear. She didn’t care about the truth. She only cared about protecting Derek’s career, and she needed a scapegoat to take the fall so the firm’s reputation wouldn’t be dragged through the mud. Even if it meant ruining me. My chest felt hollow, like a gaping wound letting in the freezing winter wind. Valerie personally drafted the formal complaint against me. She accused me of gross negligence, destroying proprietary evidence, and malicious sabotage that had resulted in millions of dollars in losses for our corporate client. Under the weight of her legal team, I didn’t stand a chance. After a swift administrative hearing, my newly minted law license—the one I had spent three grueling years of sleepless nights studying for—was officially suspended. The profession I had ruined my health to enter had shut its doors on me forever. The day the ruling came down, I walked out of the courthouse alone. Later that evening, I saw Derek’s social media update. To help him “recover from the stress of the trial,” Valerie had taken him on a week-long trip to Paris. Every landmark they tagged, every bistro they visited, were the exact places Valerie and I had once promised to see together. I went back to the office over the weekend to clear out my desk. The building was mostly empty, but the few interns working weekend shifts looked at me like I was a criminal. Only Derek, who had returned early to pick up some files, stood near the breakroom, watching me pack with a quiet, triumphant smirk on his face. Valerie walked into my cubicle, holding my official termination letter. There was a faint flicker of guilt in her eyes as she looked at the cardboard box in my hands. “Maybe it’s for the best, Tyler,” she said softly. “Working at a firm was always too stressful for you anyway.” “If you still want to work, a close friend of mine is looking for a receptionist at his real estate agency. The hours are easy, and with your presentation, I can easily get you the job.” She reached out, intending to help me lift the heavy box. I stepped back, cold and hollow, pulling the box out of her reach. Without saying a word, I turned my back on her and walked out of the office for the last time. In the back of the taxi heading to the airport, my phone vibrated repeatedly with her incoming calls. I let them ring out, one by one. Just as the flight attendant announced that the cabin doors were closing, I sent her one final text message: [Valerie, we are over.] Then, I blocked her number, deleted her social media accounts, and turned off my phone.

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I filed the paperwork to dissolve the gallery I had spent three years building for Alex. My business partner, Mitch, stared at me in sheer disbelief. “The renovations are practically finished,” he said, his hands trembling as he held the drafts. “We’re just waiting on the final walkthrough. You’re not even going to wait for Alex to get back so you can cut the ribbon together?” I calmly pushed the set of keys across the mahogany table. “No. He’s too busy chasing the Northern Lights with his muse.” We had been together for seven years. Every November, without fail, Alex would vanish for two weeks. He always called it his annual pilgrimage to the Arctic—a trip to find his creative spark, to let the frozen wilderness breathe life into his paintings. I believed him. Until yesterday, when I found a hidden folder on his old iPad, the one he had tossed into the study drawer and forgotten. Seven years of photos. Same coordinates. Same snow-swept landscape. And in every single shot, the same woman. She was wearing a custom-tailored polar parka he had personally designed for her, her smile bright and unbothered. Yet, when I asked him—begged him, just once—to come with me to the hospital for my post-op tumor screening, he told me he was too busy. “You’ve always been the strong one, Nancy,” he had said, his voice flat and dismissive. “Don’t start acting like one of those fragile, high-maintenance women now.” I had swallowed my fear and gone alone. I had believed him. But I was done. I didn’t want him anymore. … The ink was barely dry on the dissolution agreement, and Mitch’s hand was still shaking. “Nancy, are you out of your mind?” he pleaded. “You pulled all-nighters for three months straight for this place. You went through twenty drafts of the floor plans. You don’t just walk away from this.” I smiled faintly, capping my pen. “I do.” Mitch stared at me, searching my face for some sign of hysteria, but found only a quiet, chilling resolve. He let out a long, defeated sigh. “Does Alex know?” “He’s in Iceland.” “For inspiration again?” I didn’t answer. I had heard the word “inspiration” for seven years, and frankly, I was exhausted on his behalf. “Did you two fight?” Mitch probed gently. “No.” “Then what is this? This gallery was supposed to be his thirtieth birthday present!” “I just realized,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “he doesn’t deserve it.” Mitch froze, the words dying in his throat. I picked up my coat, stepped out of the conference room, and walked out into the Chicago winter. It was the first snow of the year. I stood on the curb, pulling my collar tight against the wind, and pulled out my phone. My text thread with Alex had been dead for three days. His last message was brief: “Landed. Reception is terrible out here. Don’t blow up my phone.” I had replied with a simple, “Okay.” For three days, he had been completely silent, as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. But his old iPad was very much alive. I had dug it out of the drawer to look up an old design file, plugging it in to charge. When it booted up, the iCloud library had automatically synced, revealing a hidden album. It was titled: “The Lights and Her.” Four hundred and twelve photos. Every single one of them was composed beautifully—the lighting, the shadow, the framing. They looked like cinematic stills. The woman in the photos was Talia. She was Alex’s junior from college, the girl he had always described to me as “a sweet, talentless kid who just tries really hard.” In the photos, Talia was wearing a vibrant red parka, standing on the black sand beach in Vik. Talia was cradling a steaming mug of coffee inside a luxury glass-domed cabin. Talia was closing her eyes, her hands clasped in prayer beneath a brilliant neon-green sky. In the bottom right corner of every single image was Alex’s professional watermark. Seven years. Every November. I had asked him once why he always chose November. He told me the aurora was at its purest then. I asked him when he would finally take me with him. He told me to wait—just until he had his first major solo exhibition. I had poured my soul into making that happen. I worked eighty-hour weeks, drained my personal savings, and pitched to stubborn investors, all to give him his dream gallery. I thought I was building our future. In reality, I was just funding his romantic getaway with another woman. My phone buzzed, shattering the cold silence. It was my best friend, Rachel. “Nancy, tell me Mitch is lying,” she demanded the moment I answered. “Did you really shut down the gallery?” “Yes.” “That was half a million dollars in startup capital and lease penalties! You didn’t even hesitate?” “I paid the termination fees,” I said, watching my breath cloud in the freezing air. “The remaining funds are back in my account.” Rachel was silent for a long moment. “Are you really okay with this?” “There’s nothing to be upset about. It’s just cutting my losses.” “And what about that miserable bastard? Have you confronted him?” “He’s in Iceland with Talia. The signal is bad, remember?” Rachel let out a sharp, venomous curse. “Are you kidding me? He actually took her? She posted an aurora photo on Instagram yesterday with some caption about ‘Our seventh-year promise.’ I thought she’d just stolen a stock photo!” “Our seventh-year promise.” So they had a promise. Meanwhile, my seven years with Alex had yielded nothing but a lecture on how “independent” I was. “Nancy, what are you going to do?” “I quit my job. I listed the condo this morning.” “You’re leaving?” “Yeah. I need a change of scenery.” “Where are you going?” “I don’t know yet. Just somewhere he isn’t.” I hung up and hailed a cab. On the ride back to the apartment, a notification popped up. It was a WhatsApp message from Alex. It was a single photo of an icy Icelandic mountain, beautiful and desolate. Underneath, he wrote: “Freezing to death, but the lights are beautiful.” I pinched the screen to zoom in on the lower-left corner, where the black ice acted like a mirror. There, clearly reflected in the dark surface, was a figure in a bright red parka. Talia. Even his half-hearted attempts to keep me placated carried the shadow of another woman. I didn’t bother to reply. When I got to the apartment, I began to pack. I didn’t own much; everything of value fit into two large suitcases. The closet was suddenly half-empty, and the bathroom counter looked barren without my things, leaving only his expensive cologne and skincare products. As I walked toward the front door, my gaze fell on a pair of red designer heels sitting on the shoe rack. He had given them to me for my birthday last year. They were a size six. I wear a seven. When I had pointed out the mistake, he merely rubbed his temples and said, “I must have mixed it up. I’ll exchange them next time.” There was never a next time. The shoes had sat there for a year, gathering dust. Yet, Talia’s custom parka had been ordered from a high-end technical brand, tailored precisely to her measurements. I picked up the red heels and tossed them directly into the hallway trash chute. Then, I sat on the living room sofa and watched the city lights flicker through the window, waiting for the sun to rise. This was my last night in Chicago. “Alex, enjoy the lights,” I thought. “Enjoy them while they last. Because after today, you don’t have me anymore.” Alex arrived home the following afternoon, bringing a gust of freezing air with him as he pushed the door open. “Nancy, I’m back,” he called out, kick-starting his boots off. He placed a small glossy bag on the entryway table. “Brought you something.” I remained seated on the couch, watching him. He had lost a bit of weight, but his eyes were bright, carrying the residual glow of someone who had just experienced something profound. It was the look he got only when he was deeply satisfied with his work. “What is it?” I asked, my voice flat. “A snow globe.” He pulled it from the bag and set it on the coffee table. Inside was a miniature snow-capped mountain. If you shook it, plastic white flakes drifted lazily to the bottom. It was the kind of cheap, twenty-dollar trinket you buy at a gas station gift shop. “Thanks,” I said, leaving it untouched. He shed his heavy coat and slid onto the sofa beside me, stretching his arms. “God, I’m exhausted. Three layovers.” He leaned in, preparing to rest his head on my shoulder, but I casually shifted away. He blinked, caught off guard. “What’s wrong? Bad day?” “No.” He frowned, sensing the shift in temperature, but shook it off. “How’s the gallery coming along? Mitch told me you haven’t been by the site all week.” “I dissolved the company. I cancelled the lease.” “What?” Alex sat up straight, his face instantly hardening. “What do you mean you dissolved it? What kind of joke is this?” “It’s not a joke. The papers are filed. I paid the penalties.” “Nancy, have you lost your mind?” his voice cracked, rising an octave. “That was my thirtieth birthday present! You spent three years planning it, and you just threw it away?” “Yes. Because I decided I didn’t want to give it to you.” Alex stared at me, his chest heaving. “What is this really about? You’re throwing a tantrum because I went to Iceland? I told you, it was a business trip! I needed inspiration!” “Does finding inspiration require bringing Talia along?” Alex froze. A flicker of sheer panic crossed his eyes, quickly masked by defensive anger. “You’re spying on me?” “I don’t have the time or the energy,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Your old iPad synced to the cloud. Four hundred photos, Alex. You really captured her best angles.” He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Nancy, it’s not what you think. She happened to be traveling in Iceland at the same time. We ran into each other, and since I had my gear, I took a few shots for her. It was professional courtesy.” “For seven years?” I asked, my voice incredibly calm. “You just happened to run into her in the middle of a frozen wasteland every single November?” The lie lay between us, pathetic and shattered. Alex’s expression turned ugly. “Fine! If you already knew, why are you interrogating me?” He threw himself back against the sofa cushions, defensive and petulant. “Talia has severe clinical depression. The only time she feels any peace is when she’s watching the aurora. It’s not safe for her to travel to places like that alone. I’m her mentor, Nancy. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to spiral?” “What was I supposed to do?” I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of his righteousness. “Alex, last year, when my doctor found a mass on my ovary and said there was a strong chance it was malignant, they wanted a family member there for the biopsy. I called you, crying. You told me you were at an art retreat. You told me I was independent, that I shouldn’t be so dramatic.” I looked at him, my eyes dry. The tears had burned away long ago, leaving only a cold, hollow space. “And while I lay on that sterile table alone, terrified I was going to die, you were in Iceland, curing Talia’s depression with the Northern Lights.” “Her illness required your presence under the aurora, but my potential cancer was something I had to face by myself. Do you think that’s fair, Alex?” Alex opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He ran a frantic hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. “But… the mass was benign,” he muttered, defensive to the very end. “Your final biopsy came back clear.” “Yes, it was benign,” I nodded. “I suppose if I had actually died, you would have complained that my funeral interfered with your travel plans.” “Nancy! That’s out of line!” He stood up abruptly, towering over me, his face flushed with anger. “Talia and I are platonically clean. Nothing happened between us! Do you have to make everything so toxic?” “Platonic?” I stood up to meet his gaze. “You custom-order her high-end gear, but you buy me shoes that don’t fit. You’ve been to Iceland with her seven times, but you haven’t sat through a weekend movie with me in three years. She is your muse, and I am your unpaid business manager. You call that platonic?” Alex stepped back, momentarily stunned by the sheer weight of my words. He had never seen me like this. I had always been the quiet supporter, the one who handled the logistics while he played the tortured artist. “Fine,” he spat, grabbing his jacket off the chair. “You’re completely hysterical right now. Cool down. I’m sleeping at the studio tonight.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. I looked around the empty living room and smiled. It was always the same. Whenever he was cornered, he ran. He would stay away for a few days, wait for my anger to cool, and then come back with some cheap token, expecting me to have swept everything under the rug. But he didn’t realize that this time, there was no rug left. I went into the bedroom, zipped up my final suitcase, and felt a profound, beautiful sense of relief. On Saturday, our mutual friend Tyler hosted a welcome-back dinner for Alex at a upscale Italian restaurant downtown. I had planned to skip it, but Rachel dragged me along. “You are not hiding,” she insisted as she did my makeup. “If you’re leaving this city, you’re doing it looking like a queen. We aren’t letting them think you ran away with your tail between your legs.” She was right. I wore a sleek, black velvet slip dress that hugged my curves, did a bold red lip, and slipped into a pair of brand-new, perfectly fitting size-seven heels. When we walked into the private dining room, the atmosphere was loud and warm. Alex was sitting at the head of the table. Talia was seated right next to him. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck, and pinned to her chest was an intricate, custom-designed meteorite brooch. I recognized it instantly. Alex had bid on it at an estate auction a month ago, spending a significant portion of his quarterly art sales. I had assumed it was an early anniversary gift for me. It turned out it was for his muse. “Nancy! You’re here!” Talia squeaked, standing up with a fragile, innocent smile. “Come sit! Alex was just saying he didn’t know if you’d make it.” She called him “Alex” with a quiet, domestic intimacy, as if she were the hostess of the evening. I ignored her completely and took a seat next to Rachel. Alex looked at me, his eyes dark and conflicted, but he didn’t say a word. After a few rounds of drinks, Tyler started raising his glass. “So, Alex, did you bring back anything good from the frozen north?” Alex smiled faintly. “Just a few keepsakes.” “Like that gorgeous brooch on Talia?” another friend chimed in. “That doesn’t look like a standard souvenir.” Talia touched the metal delicately, her cheeks flushing. “It’s a birthday gift from Alex. It’s actual meteorite. He said the cosmic energy helps ground my anxiety.” The table went quiet. Everyone in our social circle knew Alex and I were engaged. Watching him present another woman with a piece of jewelry that cost thousands of dollars was a bridge too far, even for them. Tyler, sensing the thick tension, scrambled to save the night. “Hey, let’s play a game to liven things up. A classic couple’s trivia. Alex, you’re up. What is Nancy’s absolute favorite meal?” Alex hesitated, his brow furrowing. “She… well, she’s not picky. She’ll eat anything.” “Wrong!” Tyler laughed nervously. “She’s obsessed with sweet and sour ribs. She orders them every time we go out. Come on, man.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Okay, next one,” Tyler continued. “What is Nancy allergic to?” This time, Alex answered instantly. “Seafood.” “Really?” Rachel let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Nancy is severely allergic to peanuts, Alex. She nearly went into anaphylactic shock last year because of a peanut sauce. Did that slip your mind?” Alex’s face drained of color. He had forgotten. Because the afternoon she was in the emergency room, he had been rushing to O’Hare to pick up Talia, leaving his phone on silent. “Well, what about Talia?” Rachel pressed, her voice dripping with venom. “What is she allergic to?” Without a second thought, Alex blurted out, “Mangoes. It triggers her hives.” A suffocating silence descended upon the room. He couldn’t remember his fiancée’s life-threatening allergy, but his junior’s dietary restrictions were permanently etched into his brain. Talia kept her head down, but I saw the faint, triumphant curve of her lips. “Oh, Alex just has a terrible memory for these things,” Talia said softly, raising her glass of water. “Nancy, please don’t be upset. I wanted to toast you, actually. Thank you for taking care of Alex all these years so he could focus entirely on his masterpiece.” The sheer condescension of it was breathtaking. She was speaking to me as if she were the wife and I were the hired help. I looked at her glass, then met her eyes. “Talia, in what capacity are you toasting me?” Talia’s hand froze mid-air. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Nancy, I… did I say something wrong? Alex and I are just friends…” “Friends?” I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. “Do friends require a man to abandon his fiancée every single winter? Do friends accept jewelry that costs half his yearly income? Do friends make him memorize their minor allergies while his fiancée almost dies in an ER alone?” With every word, Talia shrank back, her face turning pale. Alex slammed his hand on the table and stood up, pulling Talia behind his shoulder. “Nancy, that is enough! If you have an issue, deal with me. Don’t take your insecurities out on her!” “Bullying her?” I looked at him, at the protective stance he took over her, and felt the final, lingering thread of my affection snap. “Alex, look at yourselves. You’re the ones who have been humiliating me for years.” I reached down, picked up my glass of Cabernet, and threw it directly into his face. The dark red liquid dripped down his nose, staining his crisp white shirt like fresh blood. “We are done, Alex.” I turned on my heel and walked out. “Nancy!” he yelled, but I didn’t stop. The moment I hit the street, the Chicago rain began to pour. Rachel ran out after me, holding a large umbrella over my head. “That was spectacular,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “The look on his face was worth every penny.” I took a deep breath, letting the icy air fill my lungs. I had never felt lighter. “Rachel, I’m leaving tomorrow.” “I’ll help you load the car.” The last seven years had been a beautiful, foolish dream. But the fever had finally broken. On Sunday morning, I made a quiet breakfast in the apartment. Two pour-over coffees, two plates of toast. When Alex walked out of the bedroom, his hair was a mess and his eyes were heavily bloodshot. He had crept in very late the night before, and we hadn’t exchanged a single word. He looked at the breakfast, surprised, and slowly took a seat across from me. “Nancy, about last night…” “Let’s just eat,” I interrupted gently. He watched me, cautious, and took a sip of his coffee. “Do you have plans today?” I asked. “No. Why?” “Can you just stay here and spend the day with me?” Alex looked down, his eyes shifting away. “Today… today isn’t great.” “Why?” “There’s something urgent at the studio. A few collectors are coming by to view the new series.” It was a clumsy lie. He didn’t even have the energy to make it believable. Right then, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with the name: “Talia.” He grabbed it immediately, turning his shoulder to hide the screen as he answered. “Hey. What’s wrong? Don’t cry, tell me.” “What? He’s throwing up? Okay, okay, calm down. I’m coming right now.” He hung up and turned to me, his face frantic. “Nancy, Talia’s cat is severely sick. She’s having a panic attack and can’t drive him to the clinic. I have to go.” “If a cat is sick, she can call an animal ambulance,” I said, my voice entirely level. “She has depression, Nancy! That cat is her entire support system. If anything happens to him, she’ll spiral! I have to go.” He grabbed his coat, rushing toward the door. He was already slipping on his boots, not even bothering to look back at me. “Alex.” My voice stopped him. He turned, his face tight with impatience. “What now, Nancy? I’m in a hurry.” “If you walk out of that door today, we are completely over.” Alex stared at me. He seemed to be weighing whether I was bluffing. Then, he let out a harsh, irritated laugh. “Don’t do this. Don’t use ultimatums to control me. Talia actually needs me right now. You’ve always been so cold, Nancy. Do you really have no empathy for a living thing?” With that, he pushed the door open and left. The moment the lock clicked, I took my cold coffee and poured it down the drain. “Cold.” Yes, I was cold. I was the one who kept him warm when he had nothing, who cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and managed his career so he could remain a pure artist. I had given him the best seven years of my life. And my reward was being called cold-blooded. I walked into the bedroom and rolled my two suitcases into the living room. I slipped my engagement ring off my finger and set it on the glass coffee table. Beside it, I lined up the seven cheap snow globes he had brought back from Iceland over the years. Seven years of thoughtless, low-effort guilt offerings. I pulled out a sticky note and wrote: “Alex, the gallery is gone. The ring is yours, along with seven years of your guilt. Go be Talia’s savior. You are no longer mine.” I pressed the note under the heavy platinum band. I took one last look around the apartment. Every corner held my touch. I had chosen the mid-century sofa, selected the linen curtains, and planted the succulents on the balcony. But none of it mattered anymore. I grabbed my suitcases and walked out. Downstairs, Rachel’s SUV was idling at the curb. “All packed?” she asked, helping me lift the bags into the trunk. “Yes.” “No looking back?” “There’s nothing left to look at.” I climbed into the passenger seat and watched the brick townhomes of our neighborhood fade into the distance. I switched my phone to airplane mode. From this moment on, Alex was dead to me. Two hours later, the plane tore through the gray Chicago clouds. As we reached cruising altitude, I looked out at the endless white expanse below, and the tears finally came. I wasn’t crying because I missed him. I was crying for the girl who had spent seven years believing she was loved.

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