Author: Momo Chan

1 On my birthday, my best friend Brody gifted me a tabby cat. In the middle of the night, the little thing actually looked at me, shook its head, and sighed. “He looks decent, but how can someone be this clueless? He has no idea his best friend and his girl are stabbing him in the back.” I froze, wondering if I was hallucinating. I was holding a resignation letter I had just pulled from my drawer, planning to quit my job alongside Brody so we could travel the world together. “While he is busy drafting his resignation, Brody is pulling strings behind the scenes to take over his promotion as General Manager of Marketing.” “I have to hand it to his girlfriend, Daisy. Her scheme is viciously brilliant.” “What a shame. The other cats around the block say this firm is about to lock in a massive ten-billion-dollar funding round. The future here is golden.” The voice in my head sounded again. It was coming from the cat. My hand stopped. The pen hovered over the paper, and then I slowly tore the resignation letter into pieces. I had barely tossed the scraps into the trash can when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Brody. Hey bro, let’s set our final day for next Monday! He even attached a photo of his own signed resignation letter. A second later, a message from Daisy popped up: Did you submit your resignation yet? I stared at the screen, my mind racing. I could not bring myself to accept the reality of their betrayal. The three of us had grown up together. Brody had followed me around since we were kids, and I had always protected him like a younger brother. When he struggled to find a decent job, I brought him into my company, mentored him, and even handed him some of my best clients. He used to praise me to everyone we met. And Daisy had been promising to marry me since we were teenagers. She confessed her feelings to me when she turned eighteen, and we had been together for almost seven years. “That luxury watch Daisy gave him for his birthday? It is just Brody’s discarded secondhand piece. There is a tiny scratch at the bottom. You would need a magnifying glass to see it.” “She has been lusting after Brody since they were kids.” The tabby cat’s voice echoed in my head again. I rushed to the closet, pulled out the watch box, and inspected the back of the case under a bright light. Sure enough, etched into the metal was a tiny, faint scratch forming two letters: B.T. Brody Taylor. At that moment, the final shred of hope in my heart shattered. The love and friendship I had cherished for years were nothing but a lie. “But that watch holds a secret three-million-dollar jackpot.” The cat’s inner voice chimed in once more. I whipped my head around to look at it. The tabby hopped onto the windowsill, casually licking its paw as it continued its silent monologue. “According to the fat white Persian cat at the pet store, the watch brand ran a limited-edition serial-number sweepstakes. The winning number matches the code on this exact watch.” “Daisy did not leave her contact details at the store when she got it.” “The deadline to claim the prize is in three days!” I forced myself to snap out of my shock. I quickly scrolled through my chat history with Daisy, found the address of the luxury boutique, and made a mental note to claim the prize after work tomorrow. A few days ago, Daisy had insisted that I put down a million dollars for a house and add her name to the title. Only an idiot would do that now. I was going to buy a penthouse in cash, entirely under my own name. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Daisy. “Lucas, are you asleep? Why aren’t you replying to me and Brody?” “Did you finish writing your resignation letter? Brody says Hawaii is amazing this time of year. I already booked the flights for next week. You can’t back out.” Always Brody. She used to explain it away by saying, “We are a couple, Lucas. Brody is all alone, so we need to look out for him and make sure he feels included.” I had trusted her completely, never questioning her motives. “I just finished it. I was in the shower,” I replied smoothly. “Awesome! We are finally going to live our childhood dream of traveling the world!” Daisy laughed, her voice as sweet and gentle as ever. “Go to sleep, babe. I love you to the moon and back.” If this were yesterday, those sweet late-night words would have warmed my heart. Now, they made my stomach turn. From this moment on, I would not waste another second on a rotting relationship or a fake friendship. The next morning, I arrived at the office half an hour earlier than usual. As I parked my car, I spotted two familiar figures nearby. Daisy and Brody were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing for a solid three minutes before separating. Brody gave her a lazy, satisfied smile. “You were amazing last night.” “Oh, stop it. I am always exhausted because of you. You are like a wild animal in bed,” Daisy giggled, swatting his arm playfully. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. They had been sleeping together behind my back. “By the way, do you think tricking Lucas into quitting is a bit much?” Brody asked, though there was no real guilt in his voice. “Every man for himself, Brody. Besides, Lucas is resilient. He will find another job easily. He is too sentimental to ever suspect you anyway,” Daisy smiled, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “And once we get married, I will use his money to support you.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was the woman who had promised to love me forever. She was more toxic than a viper. Fortunately, the tabby cat had warned me. It was not too late. I did not storm out to confront them. Instead, I quietly recorded a video of them on my phone, waited in the car for another ten minutes, and then headed up to the office. “Hey, Lucas!” Brody was already waiting outside my office door, a bright smile on his face as he grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go hand in our resignations to the boss.” “Sure,” I nodded, playing along with his little game. As we reached the executive suite, Brody suddenly slapped his forehead. “Oh, shoot! I think I left my resignation letter at my desk. You go in first, Lucas. I will run back and grab it.” “Alright.” I walked into the president’s office. I could practically hear the sigh of relief Brody let out behind me. He thought his trap had sprung. Mr. Kane looked up from his desk and gestured for me to sit. “I heard rumors going around that you are planning to leave us. Don’t tell me you are here to hand in a resignation?” It seemed Brody had already started spreading rumors to pave the way for his own promotion. “Of course not, Mr. Kane,” I said, shaking my head. I handed him a sleek folder. Inside was not a resignation letter, but a comprehensive, highly innovative marketing proposal for our upcoming product launch. Mr. Kane scanned the pages, nodding slowly. A broad smile spread across his face, and he gave me a thumbs-up. “This is brilliant, Lucas! Absolutely outstanding!” “To be honest, the General Manager position has been vacant for a while. The board has discussed it, and we want you to take over the department. The official announcement goes out next Monday.” “If this campaign succeeds, the executive vice president position is yours, along with a significant share of company stock.” I stood up and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Kane. I won’t let you down.” As I stepped out of the office, my heart was pounding with a mix of excitement and lingering dread. If I had not heard the cat’s thoughts, I would have walked away from a stellar career. Brody and Daisy would have stepped on my back to climb to the top, laughing at my stupidity the whole way. I returned to my desk. Brody walked in a moment later under the pretense of handing me some files. “How did it go, Lucas? What did Mr. Kane say?” “Not much,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Wow, he didn’t even try to convince you to stay?” Brody scoffed, though a gleam of triumph flashed in his eyes. I chose not to expose him just yet. By the time the workday ended, Daisy was already waiting for me in the parking lot. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Brody’s car, her legs crossed high, showing off a lot of skin without a care in the world. Brody slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes lingering shamelessly on her legs with a smirk. I used to think their closeness was just the innocent bond of childhood friends. I had been incredibly naive. “Lucas!” Daisy leaned out the window, offering a sweet smile. “Brody found this incredible new steakhouse downtown. I sent you the address. Let’s go grab dinner.” “You two go ahead. I have some things to take care of,” I replied calmly. Daisy frowned. “Come on, whatever it is can wait. Dinner with Brody is way more important.” “Yeah, bro, don’t be a party pooper!” Brody added, trying to guilt-trip me. In the past, I would have yielded to keep the peace. Now, their manipulation just felt pathetic. “No, really. Something came up at home.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to my car, started the engine, and drove straight to the luxury watch boutique. “Hello, sir,” I told the sales associate, handing over the watch. “Could you please verify if the serial number on this watch won the sweepstakes?” The associate took the watch, typed the code into the system, and gasped. “Yes, indeed! Congratulations, sir! You have won the three-million-dollar jackpot. Please follow me to process the claim.” The entire process took less than half an hour. Shortly after, a notification chimed on my phone. After tax, a cool two point seven million dollars had been deposited into my bank account. I knew Brody and Daisy would find out about this soon because the boutique was going to put up a huge promotional banner outside the store next week. I immediately contacted a real estate agent and bought a luxury riverfront condo I had been eyeing for months. I paid for it in full, cash upfront. After securing the deed, I went home and discussed the situation with my parents. When they learned about Daisy and Brody’s betrayal, they were shocked but stood by my decision completely. Just as we finished dinner, my phone buzzed. I had been added to a group chat with Daisy and Brody. Brody sent a voice note, chuckling: Lucas, since you ditched us for dinner tonight, you are paying the bill! Daisy immediately chimed in: It is only three thousand eight hundred dollars, babe. Just Venmo us. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about sending the money. This time, I put my phone on silent, went to take a shower, and ignored them completely. By the time I got out, there were dozens of missed notifications. Brody: Bro, why aren’t you replying? Daisy: It has been twenty minutes, Lucas. The waiter is standing right here waiting for the card. Brody: Man, I guess our friendship doesn’t mean much to you anymore. Finally, Daisy wrote: Fine, Lucas. If you are going to be this petty, we will just pay for it ourselves! Only then did I reply: Just got out of the shower. Neither of them replied. In the past, I would have sent them each a grand to smooth things over. Looking back, I had been an absolute fool. I didn’t bother trying to appease them tonight. I gave the tabby cat a handful of freeze-dried treats and sat down at my computer to polish my marketing campaign for Monday. The cat jumped onto my desk, staring intently at the glowing screen. “The neighborhood cats say the CEO absolutely loves pets, but he keeps up a cold, professional front to protect his image. He has been complaining that none of his employees have pitched a pet-friendly marketing campaign.” Inspiration struck me like a bolt of lightning. I immediately began integrating pet-centric elements into the launch strategy. I worked through the night. Just as the sun began to rise, my phone rang. It was Daisy. “Lucas, you were way too selfish last night. Refusing to pay the bill really hurt Brody’s feelings.” “He was almost in tears. He saw a designer gold chain at the mall the other day. Why don’t you buy it for him to make up for it?” I almost laughed out loud. She really was dedicated to using my money to pamper her secret lover. “It is for the sake of our trio, Lucas. A little compromise won’t kill you,” Daisy continued. “If you cover the cost, Brody will forgive you, and I won’t be mad at you anymore.” If I were still in the dark, I would have done anything to save our relationship. Too bad for them, I knew the truth. “I stayed up all night working. I don’t have the energy to go to the mall. Why don’t you go pick it up?” I said, keeping my voice flat. “Perfect!” Daisy squealed, assuming I had agreed to pay, and hung up happily. A moment later, Brody sent a text: You are the best, bro! I am not mad at you anymore. Love ya! I ignored the message, tossed my phone onto the nightstand, and went to sleep. When I woke up in the evening, my phone was flooded with texts from Brody. I found a better one! It is eighteen thousand eight hundred dollars. Buy this one for me! Daisy: Since you didn’t reply, we assumed you agreed. Brody bought it on an installment plan. You can pay off the balance later. Brody: If we pay it off within a month, there is zero interest! Don’t forget, bro! He had already posted a picture of the bracelet on social media, conveniently leaving out who was supposed to pay for it. The comments were full of people envious of his luxury lifestyle. Someone asked if he had gotten a massive raise. He replied: Oh, it is nothing special! Daisy commented: Brody is just incredibly successful. Anyone reading would think Brody was a self-made millionaire, when in reality, he was just a parasite feeding on my hard work. My own watch had cost barely a thousand dollars, yet he had the nerve to demand an eighteen-thousand-dollar bracelet. They certainly loved spending money when it wasn’t theirs. I didn’t say a word. I wanted to see how Brody, who lived paycheck to paycheck, would handle the payments once I refused to pay a single dime. On Monday, Brody strutted into the office flaunting his new bracelet. He made a point of walking over to my desk and talking loudly. “Hey, Lucas! What do you think? Looks pretty slick, right?” “Very nice,” I smiled. Several coworkers gathered around, admiring the flashy jewelry. “Wow, Brody! How much did that set you back?” “Eighteen thousand eight hundred,” Brody bragged, while subtly nudging my arm, signaling me to keep quiet and play along to save his face. In the past, I would have kept his secret to protect his pride. Now, I let him have his moment. After all, I wasn’t the one paying for it. “Oh my gosh, eighteen grand?! Brody, I had no idea you were rolling in cash like this.” “I wish I were as successful as you.” “Lucas, look at your little protégé. He is doing way better than you are.” “Seriously, Lucas brought him into the company, but Brody is the one wearing an eighteen-thousand-dollar piece. Lucas has nothing.” The coworkers gossiped, praising Brody while putting me down. Brody didn’t say a single word to defend me. Instead, he bathed in their admiration, his chest puffed out with pride. I just stood there and smiled. “Alright, everyone! Quiet down!” Mr. Kane walked into the department, holding a folder. “I have an announcement regarding the promotion for the General Manager of Marketing.” Brody’s smile widened. His eyes practically sparked with anticipation as he prepared to step forward, fully expecting his name to be called. The rest of the office turned to look at him, assuming the promotion was his. After all, the rumors of my resignation had been circulating for days, and with my help, Brody’s sales figures were the second highest in the department. But in the next second, Mr. Kane turned his eyes toward me. “Starting today, Lucas is officially promoted to General Manager of Marketing.” The smile on Brody’s face instantly froze. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter shock.

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1 My ex-husband Henry talks to birds. On our divorce reality show, he spent ten hours venting to a sparrow about my suffocating possessiveness and the horror of me constantly wiring him money. Overnight, he became the pampered canary, cashing in on viral fame with streams and brand deals. Jealous, I tried to ride his coattails, only to be mocked by his co-host on air. Can the ex-wife stop clout-chasing? she smirked. Henry came home crying over her. His rabid fan base tore me apart online until I was afraid to check my phone. That night, drunk by my open window, I slurred my misery into the dark, unaware a bird was listening. It flew straight to Henry to report my breakdown. The next day, as his co-host started her stream, a passing flock bombed her perfectly styled hair with droppings. Henry appeared on camera, a smug finch perched on his shoulder. Rumors are trash, he declared, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. We are not a couple. I didn’t even go home last night, but apparently, my ex-wife spent the evening crying her heart out to my birds. … It all started on the show when Henry told the cameras, “My ex-wife is emotionally constipated. She is like a motorcycle; one twist of the throttle, and she zooms right out of your life.” I was so incredibly furious that I chased him out of the interview room, screaming. Our shouting match was captured live on camera as we dragged each other from the set to the backstage corridors. Naturally, the footage of our explosive toxic dynamic spread across the internet like wildfire. To the public, we were the couple most guaranteed to fail the show’s marriage counseling phase. Honestly, I agreed with them. That night, feeling defeated, I went to the director’s office to officially withdraw from the production. But the director looked at me with a strange, amused expression. “Your ex-husband predicted this. He knew you would try to quit tonight, and he asked me to deliver a message.” Before I could ask what it was, the director stood up, placed one foot on his office chair, raised his middle finger at me, and squeaked in a high-pitched, mocking voice: “Ex-wife, you are pathetic! If you want to admit defeat, do it to my face instead of sneaking away like a coward!” After finishing his theatrical performance, the director coughed into his hand, cleared his throat, and offered me a sheepish smile, returning to his usual polite self. My chest rose and fell with hot anger. I turned on my heel, ready to hunt Henry down and rip his hair out. But as my foot crossed the threshold, a sudden realization hit me. If I confronted him now, my pride would be completely ruined. Henry would think I was crawling back to admit defeat. To protect my sky-high dignity, I swallowed my anger, gritted my teeth, and went back to my room. The next morning, filming resumed as scheduled. The producers arranged for the couples to sit face-to-face in a quiet, neutral room to have an honest conversation. A highly perceptive relationship counselor sat between us, tasked with translating our passive-aggressive remarks and untangling our deep-seated emotional knots. Because of our violent history, Henry and I were securely strapped to our chairs with heavy ropes before the cameras started rolling. The crew was terrified we would tear each other apart if left unrestrained. I stared coldly at the faint red mark my palm had left on Henry’s cheek the day before, letting out a sharp, dismissive scoff. Henry ran his tongue over his inner cheek, his dark eyes radiating pure annoyance. We clearly detested the very sight of each other. Even the veteran counselor looked intimidated, struggling to find a way to break the icy silence. Following the script, we were asked to answer the opening question: “What made you choose your partner in the beginning?” I hesitated for a fraction of a second. Henry, however, didn’t hesitate at all. “Because she is filthy rich,” he blurted out. The veins on my forehead throbbed. He had literally treated me like a sugar mama. The counselor cleared his throat awkwardly, turning his gaze toward me. “And you, Kathryn?” I glared at Henry, my voice dripping with venom. “Because he was the cheapest option on the market!” Henry’s eyes flared with anger. He began thrashing against the ropes, practically dragging his heavy wooden chair across the floor. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Kathryn?!” Seeing him lose his cool brought a sudden rush of satisfaction. I leaned back, let out a slow, appreciative whistle as my eyes scanned his tense, well-toned torso, and added, “Well, his body isn’t half bad. Excellent value for my money.” Henry froze. He slumped back into his chair, suddenly quiet, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. “If the love is gone, is it really necessary to humiliate him like this?” An indignant female voice broke the silence. We both looked over to see Hailey, the personal assistant Henry had hired for the show. Her fists were clenched, her eyes burning with fury as she glared at me. The smirk vanished from my face. Henry, seeing my mood drop, crossed his legs triumphantly, clearly thrilled that someone from his camp had come to defend his honor. A wave of discomfort washed over me, but I couldn’t put it into words. Revealing my jealousy would make me feel inferior, so I chose to shut down completely, staring blankly at the floor. As I retreated into my usual silence, Henry’s triumphant smirk faded. He leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed. “Hey, say something.” “Giving me the silent treatment again?” “If you are upset, just say it. Playing the silent martyr won’t make me feel sorry for you.” His gaze was intense, searching my face as he tried to coax a response out of me. “Why are you mad, Kathryn?” My lips parted slightly, my defenses starting to crumble under his persistent gaze. But before I could speak, Hailey stepped forward, cutting off the cameras. She placed her hands protectively on Henry’s shoulders. “Henry, you don’t need to grovel to her!” I closed my eyes, turning to the counselor. “Are we finished here?” Due to the interruption, the shoot had to be paused. The crew rushed over to untie us. I rubbed my sore wrists, stood up without a word, and walked back to my room. I skipped dinner entirely, lock keying myself inside as a heavy cloud of misery settled over me. Had agreeing to come on this show been a massive mistake? I didn’t expect the production team to edit that exact argument and post it online. A clip of me walking away from the table was turned into a viral GIF with the caption: The runaway motorcycle zooms out of your life! In an instant, relationship bloggers and meme accounts flooded the internet with commentary. The producers, realizing our toxic chemistry was a gold mine for ratings, poured more resources into capturing our drama. To protect my pride and avoid admitting defeat, I endured the daily torment of filming. Besides, Henry didn’t have the money to pay the contract termination fee. If I walked away, I would have to cover his fine as well, which was a financial loss I refused to accept. So, I spent the remaining days of filming with a scowl on my face, refusing to engage with anyone. I didn’t say a single word to Henry, mimicking the agonizing silence of our court-mandated divorce waiting period. We were like two strangers occupying the same space. Despite the crew’s best efforts to force a reconciliation, our icy wall remained unbroken. This silent war persisted until the very last day of the show, the final decision ceremony. Henry and I were placed in two separate cars, driving from opposite ends of a long, sun-drenched highway. If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we had to step out of our cars and embrace in the middle of the road. If not, we would stay in our vehicles, driving past each other into separate lives. As the car began to move, my heart hammered against my ribs. We had been through this cycle so many times. We were like oil and water, constantly clashing, entering cold wars, separating, and then, driven by some inexplicable magnetic pull, passionately reconciling, only to remarry and start the cycle all over again. Our safe held a stack of marriage and divorce certificates, yet we could never seem to end this chaotic dance. This time, I wanted to end it for real. As the car approached the middle of the highway, the host beside me asked, “Kathryn, what is your choice going to be? The viewers are dying to know if this is truly the end.” I ordered the driver to stop. I stepped out of the vehicle, standing on the asphalt under the blazing sun. The heat radiated through the soles of my shoes, making my eyes water. The host beside me gasped in pure shock. “Unbelievable! We honestly thought you would be the last person to get out of the car.” Yes, even I thought I wouldn’t. I was the runaway motorcycle. If I could easily walk away, we would have ended years ago. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this show. I could scream, I could ignore him, but when faced with the absolute end, I simply couldn’t let him go. Just as I prepared myself to spend the rest of my life tangled up with this idiot, Henry’s car slowly rolled past me. The window was rolled down. Henry was resting his chin on his hand, staring blankly at the passing landscape. When his eyes met mine, flushed red from the heat and the sun, his eyes widened in sheer horror. The car didn’t stop. It carried him away, his shocked face vanishing as the vehicle sped down the highway. A dull, heavy ache bloomed in my chest. My pride and dignity lay shattered on the hot asphalt, baking under the merciless sun. I stared at the disappearing car, my throat tight with confusion. How could he not get out? Did he really want to let me go? My voice was dry as I turned to the crew. “Can I go home now?” The host remained dazed for several seconds before quickly calling for a production car to take me back to the hotel. I packed my bags immediately, called a private car, and fled back to my empty house. I shut off my phone, disconnected my computer, and hid from the world. When I finally stepped back into the public eye, it was for the show’s post-finale reunion interview. I showed up disguised in a large face mask and dark sunglasses, looking incredibly ridiculous on camera. Henry arrived a moment later, looking relaxed, with a long-tailed finch perched happily on his shoulder. The sight of him looking so carefree made my blood boil. How could he be in such a good mood while I was drowning in misery? “Look at her,” Henry whispered to the bird on his shoulder. “She is brooding again.” The bird let out a series of cheerful chirps as if agreeing with him. Our usual host cleared his throat, trying to suppress a chuckle as he pointed the microphone at me. “Kathryn, did you… pfft… did you not watch the final episode after you left?” Seeing them laugh at me made me want to rip my mic off and leave, but the crew quickly held me back. “Wait! Don’t go! We aren’t laughing at you. There is a piece of footage you missed after you drove away.” They played the clip on the monitor. The video showed that the moment I had gotten into the production car and driven away, Henry had leaped out of his moving vehicle, sprinting down the highway in a desperate attempt to catch me. When he couldn’t keep up, he stopped, panting heavily as he glared at the camera crew. “She is unbelievable! She is going to be furious with me now. I am officially on death row!” “Why does she have to be so stubborn? She had a resting bitch face for days, so I honestly thought she wouldn’t step out of the car. I figured it was too hot anyway, so I didn’t bother getting out to prove my devotion, but of course she actually got out!” Henry had paced back and forth, muttering a laundry list of nicknames for me: “her royal highness, the drama queen, the runaway motorcycle, the queen of emotional suppression, the unpleasable dictator.” Since the show was over and no one wanted to listen to his rants, he had sat under a tree and complained about me to a flock of sparrows for ten hours straight. His assistant, Hailey, had recorded the entire thing and posted it online, which was how Henry had become a viral sensation. Looking closely, I realized his clothes and watch were significantly more expensive than before. Along with his fame, the internet had started shipping Henry and Hailey, calling them a match made in heaven. Knowing that he was doing well, the heavy knot in my chest loosened. If leaving me allowed him to thrive, then our separation actually had a purpose. After a few brief questions, the crew let me go, keeping Henry and Hailey behind to film more promotional content. Soon, my company was preparing to launch a new product line. The marketing department asked if I could leverage my connection with Henry to secure a brand collaboration, hoping to ride his viral wave. Remembering how much money I had spent on him over the years, I agreed without any guilt, sending a team to pitch the proposal to his agency. Instead of a business response, I was met with a massive wave of online hate. Hailey had started a live stream, displaying our business proposal to the camera while mocking me. “The ex-wife needs to stop clout-chasing,” she sneered. “Henry came home last night and cried in my arms because of her constant harassment.” The internet tore me apart, and the brand’s reputation plummeted. Our public relations department told me that only a direct statement from Henry could save our launch. But since they were working together, I assumed Henry had authorized her stream. Unable to sleep, I sat by my open window, drinking wine and cursing Henry’s ancestors to the sky. I didn’t know his avian spy was listening. The next day, as soon as Hailey began her live stream, a flock of birds descended from the sky, pooping repeatedly on her head. Shortly after, Henry launched a stream of his own, holding up a termination contract. “Rumors are trash, and we are not a couple!” Henry announced. “My former assistant violated our contract by publicly humiliating a business partner for personal clout. She has been fired.” He then held up the familiar finch, offering a helpless smile. “I haven’t even been home yet, but apparently, my ex-wife was crying to my birds last night.” The tide turned instantly. Our product launch was a massive success, and the shipping community went wild over our toxic, chaotic dynamic. I love this messy, obsessive, dysfunctional couple! They are perfect for each other! Healthy relationships are great, but toxic drama is peak entertainment! The runaway motorcycle and her pampered canary, I am begging you to get back together! Eventually, Henry invited me to his studio. It was small, cluttered with samples, and barely had any space to walk. I frowned, looking around. “I have a much larger studio space in my building…” Henry cut me off with a lazy grin. “I am a pampered canary now, Kathryn. If you keep feeding me sugar-mama cash, how am I ever supposed to stand on my own two feet?” He handed me a beautifully crafted birdcage with a bird inside. “After failing a thousand times, I finally found the root of our problem,” he said, his voice softening. “It is not that I am bad, or that you are bad. We just suck at communicating. Communication is key, Kathryn.” I stared at him, startled, as his slender finger gently tapped my lips. “If you can’t bring yourself to say the truth to me, say it to the bird. Nobody else can understand bird language anyway. That way, only I will ever hear your secrets.” When an emotionally suppressed girl meets a man who can literally speak to birds, she really has no escape.

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1 Fairness was the golden rule in our house. My twin older siblings, Austin and Katherine, would throw absolute tantrums if they suspected Mom and Dad favored one over the other even a little bit. To keep the peace, everything in our home was divided into two equal shares. One for Austin, one for Katherine. Once, when I was little, I asked Mom a simple question. “What about mine?” Mom snapped at me. “Do you really think we don’t have enough drama with your brother and sister? Why can’t you just be quiet for once?” Then came the day we got a new car. It was a six-seater SUV. There were five of us in the family. On the morning of our big family road trip, I stood outside in the pouring rain, watching them load up. The two extra seats in the back were occupied. One held Katherine’s cat carrier. The other held Austin’s golden retriever. I stood by the open door, shivering and squeezed out. Austin protectively shielded his dog. Katherine rolled her eyes and shrugged. “We agreed on absolute fairness. No one touches my cat’s space.” Dad looked at me with deep irritation as the rain soaked through my jacket. “Don’t you have anything else to do?” Shivering from the biting cold, I forced a small smile. “Actually, I do. I am not going.” I turned around and walked away, immediately pulling up my phone to submit my study abroad application to my college advisor. If the fairness I had waited twenty years for was never going to come, there was no reason for me to keep standing in the rain. By the time I walked back to our empty house, I was soaked to the bone. As soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. Mom had tagged me in the family group chat, asking how I planned to feed myself while they were away for the weekend. For a fleeting second, a warm ache bloomed in my chest, and my eyes welled with tears. I thought she cared. But before I could type a response, her next message flashed on the screen. “Do not touch anything in the fridge. It is fully stocked for Austin and Katherine, split perfectly down the middle. If you eat any of it, you will ruin the balance.” The tiny spark of warmth vanished instantly. I stared at the screen, desperately wanting to reply with a simple question: “What about me?” In the end, my fingers merely tapped out two words. “Got it.” I had asked that question a thousand times growing up. No one ever cared. It was as if everyone, including myself, had accepted that nothing in this house would ever belong to me. I pocketed my phone and searched the pantry, eventually finding a forgotten, stale loaf of bread at the very back. I ate a few dry bites, curled under my thin blanket, and finally drifted off to sleep, cold and exhausted. In the middle of the night, I was violently jolted awake by a heavy, wet bundle slammed onto my face. I gasped, pulling the cold fabric off my head. The hallway lights were blazing, and the living room was a chaotic mess of muddy boots and loud voices. Mom and Dad were grumbling about a sudden storm that had flooded the highway, forcing them to turn back. Katherine stood at my doorway, her arms crossed, glaring down at me. “What are you staring at? Are you deaf? Get up and wash my jacket.” Her designer coat was caked in thick, wet mud. The dirty water had soaked through my hair, leaving a sticky, disgusting residue on my forehead. Blinking away the heavy sleep, I whispered, “Katherine, please. I am exhausted. Can I do it first thing in the morning?” Katherine’s voice instantly spiked. “If you don’t want to help, just say so. Don’t make pathetic excuses!” Austin walked up behind her, tossing his mud-covered sneakers onto my floor with a dull thud. “If you are doing hers, you are doing mine too. Get moving.” Mom walked past the door carrying a basket of laundry, casting a brief, uncaring glance at my disheveled state. She frowned and immediately scolded me. “There are three kids in this house, and we believe in equal contribution. Your brother and sister have been traveling all day while you sat at home relaxing. The least you can do is help with some laundry.” Looking at their demanding faces, I wanted to laugh. It turned out their precious fairness was highly selective. When it came to dividing resources, only the twins got a share. But when it came to burdens, I was suddenly a full member of the family. Without another word, I quietly knelt on the floor, gathered the pile of muddy clothes and shoes, and walked to the laundry room. It took me nearly four hours to scrub the mud out of their clothes. By the time I finished, my vision was blurring, a warning sign of low blood sugar from hunger. I leaned against the wall and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as I poured it, Dad walked in through the front door, carrying a bag of hot takeout. The moment he saw me, he instinctively hid the bag behind his back. A fleeting, awkward smile crossed his face. “The portions were perfect for four, so I didn’t get you anything. If we tried to split it five ways, Austin and Katherine would have started fighting again. Oh, but the place gave us some complimentary roasted peanuts. The twins don’t like them.” I forced a polite smile and gently pushed his hand away. “Thanks, Dad, but I am severely allergic to peanuts.” Dad froze for a fraction of a second, but the realization barely registered. Before he could say anything, Katherine called out for him from the living room. He quickly turned his back on me and walked away. As he walked away, I clutched the kitchen counter, my fingers digging into the wood. A sharp, physical pain stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t even have the energy to cry. After choking down some water to settle my stomach, I walked back to the utility room to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my heart sank. The small space was crowded with the suitcases they hadn’t bothered to unpack. 2 There was so much luggage that they had run out of floor space. To my horror, Katherine’s dirty plastic litter box had been tossed right onto my bed. My head throbbed with a sudden, sharp ache. I turned around and looked at the bright, laughter-filled living room. Mom happened to glance over. For a split second, our eyes met. I knew she saw my humiliation and distress, but she merely shifted her gaze back to the TV as if I were invisible. This was nothing new. I used to have my own bedroom. But when we were twelve, Katherine cried for weeks because her room was a tiny fraction smaller than Austin’s. To resolve the dispute, Mom and Dad sliced my bedroom in half, turning one side into Katherine’s walk-in closet. Austin had stormed out of the house in a rage when he heard the news. When he returned, the remaining half of my room was converted into his private gaming den. That was how I was relegated to the drafty, cramped utility room, freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the window, water pooling on the cracked sill. It occurred to me then that I was just like that puddle, something inconvenient, pushed aside, and left to dry up. They had taken my room first, and now they were taking the last square inch of my sanity. I quietly pulled the door shut, locking out the warmth and laughter that would never belong to me. I didn’t sleep at all that night. There was simply nowhere to lie down. Early the next morning, my academic advisor, Mrs. Gable, called me to her office. She had wonderful news. My study abroad application to Australia had been approved. But there was a catch. “Since you are going overseas, the university requires a signed parental consent form,” she said, looking at me gently. “Have you discussed this with your parents?” I squeezed the hem of my shirt, my knuckles turning white. Then, I managed a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gable. I will get it taken care of.” As I walked out of the administration building, I ran straight into Mom. Beside her was Katherine, whose eyes were red and swollen from crying. She was clinging to Mom’s arm, whining loudly. “Mom, it is not fair! Austin got the MVP trophy for his basketball tournament, and I have absolutely nothing. Everyone is going to laugh at me!” Seeing them like this used to make me ache with jealousy. Now, I merely glanced at them and tried to walk past. But Mom suddenly grabbed my wrist, her grip tight and demanding. “Gemma, didn’t you win that national design competition last month? Give the medal to Katherine.” She spoke as if it were the most natural request in the world. “You know how competitive she is with her brother. She will be miserable for weeks if she doesn’t get something to show off.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Mom,” I whispered, my throat tight and dry. “I worked on that project for six months…” Mom cut me off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I know you studied hard, but what good is that medal doing you anyway? It means more to your sister. If you keep holding onto it, are you just trying to ruin the peace in this family?” My eyes widened. A torrent of suppressed anger and grief rushed up my throat. Why was the peace of this family always built on my sacrifice? What about me? What about my hard work? But then, my fingers brushed against the parental consent form in my bag. The anger instantly crystallized into cold resolve. “Fine,” I said, my voice flatter and colder than it had ever been. “I will hand over the medal. But only if you sign this document right now.” Mom didn’t even hesitate. She grabbed the paper from my hand, hastily scribbled her signature on the line, and turned back to Katherine with a triumphant smile. She didn’t even look at the words “Study Abroad Program” printed in bold letters at the top of the page. Katherine stopped crying and beamed, deliberately bumping her shoulder against mine as they walked away. She cast a smug look over her shoulder. “You should have just agreed in the first place instead of making me cry.” She spoke with absolute certainty, secure in the knowledge that half of everything in this world belonged to her by default. I didn’t say a word. I simply clutched the signed consent form close to my chest like a lifeline. 3 The moment Katherine got her hands on my design medal, she posted a picture of it on Instagram. Naturally, Austin couldn’t let her have the spotlight. He demanded a party to celebrate his MVP trophy, so Mom and Dad decided to throw a joint celebration for both of them. They scheduled the party for the exact day of my twentieth birthday. It was a milestone birthday, and I had been looking forward to it for months. I had confirmed weeks in advance that everyone would be free. But all my quiet hopes felt utterly pathetic now. In the private dining room of the upscale restaurant, Mom and Dad offered me a hurried, dismissive explanation. “We can always celebrate your birthday next week, Gemma. If we don’t do this joint party now, your brother and sister will start fighting again. They are just competitive. Try to be the bigger person.” I forced the corners of my mouth up in a stiff nod. The words “This is likely the last birthday I will ever spend with you” remained locked behind my teeth. The waiters wheeled in a massive, elaborate cake. Austin and Katherine stood side by side behind it, their faces glowing with pride. The room was filled with relatives cheering and laughing. A distant aunt spoke up. “Wait, isn’t today Gemma’s twentieth birthday too? One cake might not be enough for three of them.” Hearing this, Dad immediately stepped up and sliced the cake cleanly down the middle, dividing it into two giant portions. He gave me an apologetic, strained smile. “Splitting a cake into three equal parts is too complicated, Gemma. We will get you your own next time.” I had heard some variation of that excuse my entire life. I should have realized long ago that my parents’ love was a finite resource, strictly reserved for two. There was never going to be a share left over for me. Mom, still worried that I might throw a tantrum and ruin the atmosphere, pulled me aside and told me to help the staff with the dirty dishes and serving. For the rest of the evening, I ran around the room like an unpaid waitress, clearing glasses and wiping tables. During a brief moment of rest, I overheard Mom chatting with my Aunt Sarah near the buffet. “You know, you two really hit the jackpot with the twins,” Aunt Sarah said, sipping her wine. “They are gorgeous and full of life. But Gemma is such a sweet, quiet girl too. It isn’t right to always leave her out.” Despite telling myself I didn’t care, my body tensed. I held my breath, waiting for Mom’s response. A long pause followed before Mom sighed. “You don’t understand, Sarah. Of course she is my daughter, but the twins brought so much joy into our lives. Gemma is just different. She is always so gloomy, never smiling. It is hard to feel close to her.” My hand trembled, and the heavy metal pitcher of boiling water slipped from my grip. Searing hot water splashed across the back of my hand, but the burning pain on my skin was nothing compared to the sudden, suffocating ache in my chest. Before I could make a sound, a pair of warm, frail hands gently took mine. It was Nana. She smiled softly, slipping a delicate silver bracelet onto my wrist. “Gemma, happy twentieth birthday, my sweet girl. I didn’t forget. This is old and not worth much, but I have worn it for twenty years. I want you to have it.” The silver was slightly tarnished, worth perhaps fifty dollars at best, but I knew it was the most precious thing Nana owned. The dam inside me broke, and tears flooded my eyes. I tried to say thank you, but only a choked sob came out. Looking around, I saw several relatives staring, and I felt Mom’s sharp, disapproving gaze land on me. I couldn’t even cry in peace. I hugged Nana tightly, then hurried to the restroom to wash my face and compose myself. It took me a long time to stop shaking. When I finally walked back into the banquet hall, I reached into my purse to check on the bracelet. It was gone. Panic seized me. I rushed back to our table, my eyes frantically searching the floor. Then, my gaze drifted toward the stage, and my heart stopped. There was a familiar glint of silver resting against Katherine’s wrist.

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1 On our wedding night, Luke dragged my best friend Stella into the suite, scowling. “She’s a total Princess and the Pea—flew in from Europe, and you put her in a hotel with a lumpy bed? Let her sleep on our premium mattress. You take the guest room.” I frowned. “And you?” He pinched Stella’s cheek. “I’ll stay here with this troublemaker. One crumb on that bed, I’ll spot it—spares her bugging you.” We grew up as a trio. Luke always complained Stella was high-maintenance, yet wiped her chair with a microfiber cloth before she sat, inspected her clothes seam by seam, and tested every bed for stray hairs. When I protested, he’d brush it off: “Stella’s delicate. It’s our job to care for her.” Earlier, mid-ceremony, he’d abandoned me and the officiant to check Stella’s chair. Once, I asked why he married me, not her. He laughed: I was financially independent and domestic—better wife material. Now the truth hit: he craved our triangle; I was just the sensible, wealthy backdrop to their romance. He forgot I never keep what isn’t mine. I texted my assistant: list this penthouse, sell within two hours. Then called the man who’d waited ten years. “Wedding’s off. Pick me up.” The sound of Vincent’s breathing hitched instantly on the other end of the line. I could feel his overwhelming surge of emotion, though his voice remained wrapped in his usual icy restraint. “Wait right there.” I hung up. Through the heavy mahogany door of the master bedroom, muffled giggles and playful wrestling echoed in the hallway. A few minutes later, Luke opened the door. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and fresh purple love bites dotted his neck. His eyes, however, held a cold, distant annoyance when he saw me standing there. “Haven’t you had a busy enough day? Why are you just standing there like a statue? Don’t you trust me to take care of your own best friend?” Before I could answer, Stella stepped out from behind him. The neckline of her dress was torn, exposing half of her chest. She playfully punched his shoulder. “I told you Val is the jealous type. Why did you have to provoke her?” She then reached out and tapped my nose affectionately, exactly like she used to do when we were kids. “Alright, don’t be such a grouch. It’s your big day, so I won’t ruin the mood. Don’t worry, I’ll just go back to the hotel. Worst case scenario, I just won’t sleep for the next few days until my flight back!” As she turned to grab her coat with practiced efficiency, Luke’s eyes flooded with absolute heartbreak. When he snapped his gaze back to me, he spat out his words through gritted teeth. “Are you leaving or not?” In that split second, I actually heard murderous intent in his voice. Growing up, Stella was the bubbly, adorable darling of the neighborhood. I was the quiet, violently stubborn girl who often became the target of petty bullies. Whenever I was cornered, Luke would step in front of me like a shield, while Stella ran away to fetch the adults. Once, while protecting me, a neighborhood bully smashed a brick over Luke’s head. It took five stitches to close the wound. Ever since then, every time I looked at that pale scar hiding in his hairline, I made a silent vow. As long as he and Stella didn’t end up together, I would marry him and make him the happiest man on earth. Stella had seen right through my teenage crush. She used to laugh at my terrible taste in boys. Maybe that was why she moved to Europe right after college, finally leaving Luke with no one to look at but me. I had been entirely grateful to her for that. That was until late last night, the eve of my wedding. I overheard Luke calling her, his voice trembling with sheer desperation. “Please. Just come back for the wedding. I really miss you so much.” I was known as a ruthless corporate shark. I had the nerve to reject the romantic pursuits of Vincent Cross, the notoriously cold-blooded billionaire. Yet last night, I was so utterly pathetic that I could only hide under my blankets and muffle my own sobs. I had fought too hard for this wedding, and I refused to watch it burn to the ground. I foolishly convinced myself that once she attended the ceremony and flew back, his eyes would belong to me again. I turned a blind eye when he placed her at the head table just so he could peel her shrimp. I forced a smile during the garden photoshoot when my gown was caught in a patch of thorns, tearing into my skin, while he was entirely focused on plucking a stray piece of lint off Stella’s bridesmaid dress. I was willing to play deaf and dumb. I thought I just needed to grit my teeth until she left. But his death glare right now shattered every last pathetic illusion I had been clinging to. The custom floral wedding wreath hanging on the bedroom door behind him suddenly looked like a sick joke. This time, I refused to swallow my pride like a scolded child. I walked into the hall closet, grabbed a handful of his designer clothes, threw them into a suitcase, and shoved it hard into his chest. “Stella is right. She is just a guest, and guests belong in hotels. Since you are so desperate to take care of her, you can go pack your bags and join her.” It was the very first time I had ever defied him. Luke froze, his brows knotting in confusion. He was about to lash out, but when he caught the faint glimmer of tears in my eyes, he let out a heavy sigh instead. “Throwing a tantrum again, Val? You know how she is. She can’t sleep if there’s even the slightest bump on a mattress. You used to help her make her bed all the time. I was just trying to spare you the exhaustion today, and now you’re being utterly unreasonable.” Thinking of that midnight phone call, a freezing smile crept onto my face. “Are you sparing me the exhaustion, or are you just fulfilling your own twisted fantasies? You know exactly what you’re doing.” His fragile patience completely snapped. He kicked the heavy door with brute force. “She is leaving the day after tomorrow! Can you stop wasting everyone’s time?” The impact sent the beautiful wedding wreath crashing to the hardwood floor. His shoe landed squarely on it, crushing the delicate white roses into an ugly, ruined mess. It was the perfect reflection of this rotting relationship. Sensing the suffocating tension, Stella immediately stepped between us, glaring at Luke defensively. “You promised me you would treat Val well. What kind of attitude is this? You know she’s always been stubborn. Why can’t you just let it go?” She turned and gently cupped my cheek. “Be a good girl, Val. Don’t stoop to his level. I told him I shouldn’t have come. I could have just sent a massive wedding gift and called it a day. He refused to listen and bought my flight anyway. I’m leaving right now. Enjoy your wedding night, you two!” She shot me a playful, innocent wink and turned to leave. But Luke grabbed her wrist, his knuckles turning stark white from the force. They locked eyes in a silent, agonizing tug-of-war for several seconds. Finally, Luke turned his chilling gaze back to me. “This is my house, and Stella is a guest I personally invited. You spent a fortune on the best mattress in the country, and she is the only one delicate enough to deserve the first night on it. You live rough anyway. What is a few nights in the guest room going to do to you? Since you are being so incredibly petty and vicious toward your own best friend, you are the one who needs to go to a hotel and reflect on your behavior. When you’ve figured it out by tomorrow, I’ll consider bringing you back.” His absolute arrogance made it sound like he was disciplining a disobedient puppy. I lived rough? I lived rough because I had an entire corporate empire to carry on my back. I busted my ass to make millions, only to fund his endless shipments of custom-made, hypoallergenic luxury goods to Europe for her. Even his shoelaces and dental floss had to be top-tier handcrafted garbage. I used to love him down to my marrow. I was willing to play the blind fool to his blatant boundary-crossing. But tonight, he had personally taken a scalpel and carved that love straight out of my chest. I wiped the stray tears from my cheeks and pulled out the legal documents I had prepared just minutes ago. “This penthouse is my premarital asset. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. If you don’t like my rules, sign this annulment, and you can take her wherever the hell you want.” Luke’s pupils dilated in pure shock. He stared at me like I had grown a second head. After all, the ruthless female CEO that the business world feared had only ever been a docile, obedient shadow in his presence. Seeing the standoff, Stella’s eyes flushed red. She lunged forward to snatch the documents, acting as if she were going to rip them to shreds. “What are you two doing? I came here to celebrate your love! If I’m really that unwelcome, I’ll just leave!” Luke panicked. He desperately pried her fingers open, slapped the annulment papers onto the floor, and pressed her soft, manicured hands against his chest in sheer terror. “You idiot! Your skin is too fragile. You used to get paper cuts just from turning the pages of a textbook. Why would you hurt yourself over this meaningless garbage?” When he looked back up at me, his eyes were dripping with absolute disgust. “You know how delicate her hands are, and you intentionally brought out this thick stack of paper to hurt her! You just want to drive her away so you can monopolize me, don’t you? We used to be so happy when the three of us hung out. Why did you have to turn into such a toxic, vicious snake?” I laughed out loud, pointing at the massive, framed wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The bright, blinding smile I wore in that photo now felt like a brutal slap to the face. “If you decided to marry me, why the hell should I share my husband with another woman?” Stella stared at me in stunned silence as a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. She immediately grabbed my hand and started slapping her own face with it. “It’s all my fault, Val! I shouldn’t have shamelessly followed him into your home. I really thought we were still those three carefree kids from back then. I guess I was just being delusional! You two need to stay together. If you’re really that angry, just hit me!” In the next fraction of a second, Luke shoved me violently. I crashed onto the hardwood floor. He cradled Stella’s face, his eyes welling up with frantic heartbreak. “Are you insane? Her hands are practically made of sandpaper! Look at this massive red mark on your cheek!” He spun around and delivered a stinging backhand right across my face. “She traveled thousands of miles for us, and I wouldn’t even let her carry her own purse! How dare you lay a finger on her? You keep throwing this wedding in my face, but let me remind you, we haven’t even signed the legal certificate yet! Apologize to her right now, or get the hell out of my house!” His house? A chilling smile spread across my lips. I remembered the day I handed him the keys to the most expensive real estate in the city. He had cried tears of pure joy. Growing up, he used to point at the brochures for this exact luxury development, his eyes shining with hope as he showed them to Stella and me. “When I get married, I’m going to buy a unit here for my wife!” I had pretended not to notice how his gaze lingered on Stella when he said it. Instead, I quietly memorized his dream. When I finally bought the penthouse, he pulled me into a tight embrace, overwhelmed with emotion. “You worked so hard for this, Val. I don’t deserve it. But I swear, I will treat you like an absolute queen after we’re married. I will never let you suffer.” For a brief, pathetic moment, I had actually fantasized that he would shower me with the same obsessive care he gave to Stella. I never imagined he would summon his goddess back on our wedding night just to use my property to fulfill his childhood promise to her. He had even planned an escape route, agreeing to the ceremony but conveniently delaying the legal paperwork. Just yesterday, when I heard he had booked an expedited appointment at the registry office for tonight, I thought it was a romantic surprise for me. Now I realized the truth. He was just waiting to see if his goddess would change her mind. If she did, he could instantly erase our ceremony and drag her to the courthouse instead. I couldn’t help but laugh at my own stupidity. He really was devoted. Just not to me. But the dream was over, and I was done being a pawn. I stood up, walked to the front entrance, and opened the door. My assistant and a wealthy female client were already waiting in the hallway. I ushered them in and shot Luke a deadpan look. “The property is officially sold, and that mattress now belongs to its new owner. You can both get the hell out now.” The two of them froze, completely blindsided by my ruthlessness. Luke’s voice cracked as he yelled. “Valerie Monroe, have you lost your damn mind? This is our home! We just had our ceremony today. How could you sell it off just like that?” I shook my head in utter disbelief. “If you knew it was our wedding night, why were you rolling around in our bed with another woman?” My assistant and the buyer exchanged looks of utter disgust. “No wonder Miss Monroe wanted this place gone so fast. It’s infested,” the client sneered, immediately pulling out her phone to record the drama for her massive social media following. “Miss Monroe bought this place with her own blood, sweat, and tears. You two are repulsive.” Seeing a camera pointed directly at her, Stella’s face drained of color. She covered her face and began to sob uncontrollably. “I treated you like my own sister, Val! How could you let a stranger record me and spread rumors about me? You just know I’m too soft to fight back, so you abuse me over and over again!” Seeing the love of his life weeping in terror, Luke flew into a blind rage. He lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar. “Apologize to her right now! You know damn well nothing happened between us. Why are you publicly humiliating her? Do you have any idea that her tears cause severe chemical burns to her sensitive skin? She is as fragile as glass, and you just keep shattering her!” Looking at his agonizing concern for her, a hollow, tragic laugh escaped my throat. I forcefully shoved him off and yanked up my sleeves, exposing the faint, scattered scars on my arms. “Since we were kids, she was too delicate, too allergic to everything. Every time there was a new food, you forced me to taste-test it like a royal poison taster. You wrecked my immune system so badly that I break out in hives from stress. Right after high school, she threw a tantrum about wanting to take pictures in a rose garden. When she tripped, you were so terrified the thorns would scratch her that you shoved me to the ground to act as her human cushion. I bled through my clothes. On her farewell trip before moving to Europe, you spent three hours inspecting her mattress. When you found a bug, you tricked me into switching rooms with her. I woke up the next morning covered in severe, swollen bites.” I took a step forward, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You both convinced me that because you protected me from a bully once, I owed you my life. Well, consider the debt paid in full. From this second forward, we are nothing to each other. Get out.” A flicker of genuine guilt flashed through Luke’s eyes. But the moment he glanced back at Stella’s flushed, tear-stained face, his brows knitted together in that familiar, condescending glare. He looked at me like I was an unruly teenager throwing a fit in public. “Are you quite finished? Even a tantrum has limits. Since we have an audience, I’ll save your reputation as a CEO for now. Stella’s skin is inflamed because of you, and I need to get her an ice pack. Take your people and get out of my sight.” Without another word, he dragged Stella by the wrist straight back into the master bedroom. Moments later, hushed, intimate whispers drifted through the cracked door. My assistant and the client stood in stunned silence. No one could fathom that a groom would blatantly drag another woman into his marital bed right in front of an audience. On the client’s live stream, tens of thousands of viewers were already tearing me to shreds. “If she can’t even keep her own man on a leash, how the hell does she run a corporation? What a joke!” “Everyone knows Valerie Monroe is just a desperate sugar mommy. Pathetic.” “I heard those three grew up together. Seeing how hard the other girl is crying, I bet the CEO is just staging this drama to get free PR for her company!” In a matter of minutes, my reputation was dragged through the mud. The stock prices I had sacrificed countless sleepless nights to elevate began to plummet in after-hours trading. My assistant’s face went sheet white. “Miss Monroe, what do we do?” I simply bent down, picked up the torn pieces of the annulment, and smiled coldly. “I was going to leave him a fraction of the assets just to be done with it. Since he wants to play the victim, he can leave with the clothes on his back.” I walked straight out the door, took the elevator down to the private garage, and slipped into Vincent’s waiting luxury sedan. Ten minutes later, heavily armed police officers stormed the penthouse, kicking the master bedroom door wide open. They flashed their badges at the two naked figures scrambling for the blankets. “This property has legally changed hands. If you do not vacate the premises immediately, you will be arrested for criminal trespassing.” Luke nearly jumped out of his skin. Once the shock faded, he let out a smug, condescending sneer. “That psychotic woman. She is so desperate for my attention she actually called the cops to fake an eviction.” Stella clutched the blanket tightly to her chest, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t be so mean to Val. We did get a little carried away just now. It’s only natural she’s jealous. Give her a few hours to cool down, and we’ll buy her favorite takeout to apologize. Once I fly back to Paris, you two can block my number. I just don’t want her to be sad anymore.” They truly believed I was playing my usual role. They thought I would throw a fit, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his affection. It wasn’t until Luke realized his number had been blocked across every single platform that panic finally set in. He angrily threw on his clothes, stormed into the hallway, and grabbed my assistant by the collar. “Where the hell is Val? Tell her to get out here and face me! How dare she humiliate Stella like this?” My assistant simply scoffed. She pulled out her phone and held up a crystal-clear photo. It was a shot of me and Vincent Cross, holding our freshly stamped marriage certificate at the VIP registry office. “Who the hell do you think you are,” she whispered venomously, “to bark orders at the billionaire’s wife?”

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1 After I was discharged from the hospital, I gave my motorized wheelchair to my elderly parents. That very night, Jordan looked up the official retail price of that exact model. “Eight hundred dollars.” His tone was so flat it bordered on clinical. “If your folks like it so much, they can just give us six hundred. Consider it a second-hand discount.” My father was still in the kitchen fixing a leaky faucet. My mother, her posture hunched from years of hard work, immediately fumbled in her pockets for her phone. “Sure, sure thing.” I grabbed her wrist in absolute shock. “Jordan, these are my parents.” Jordan stared at me, genuinely bewildered. “Didn’t you say that since we’re prepping for IVF, every single dollar counts?” The words lodged in my throat, choking me. I could do nothing but watch helplessly as my mother transferred her entire social security check for the month into his account. She even dug into my father’s worn wallet to scrounge up another forty dollars in crumpled bills to make up the difference. After we dropped my parents off at their run-down apartment complex across town, I overheard Jordan making a phone call to Savannah, his childhood friend. “Savannah, your parents are getting older, and getting around isn’t as easy as it used to be. I ordered them an imported mobility scooter.” “Don’t worry about the cost. Five grand is a small price to pay for peace of mind, and the quality is guaranteed.” My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer. “Start drafting my divorce papers.” Jordan kept his voice incredibly soft and patient for another ten minutes. When he finally hung up, he turned around and noticed me standing in the hallway. He froze for a fraction of a second before asking in a completely casual tone, “You didn’t secretly wire that money back to your parents, did you?” I curled my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms. It took a long time before I could find my voice. Jordan didn’t let it go. “Good fences make good neighbors, even with family. I’m doing this for your own good, Nat. You don’t want them getting greedy and taking advantage of us.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I screamed his name. “Jordan Hall! If you are so obsessed with saving money, why did you just drop five grand on a luxury imported scooter for Savannah’s parents?” He looked at me like I was being entirely unreasonable. “Savannah has a hard time taking care of two elderly folks all by herself.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “And you think it’s easy for me to take care of mine?” Jordan didn’t even blink. “How can you possibly compare yourself to Savannah?” A gaping hole ripped open in my chest. I could almost feel the freezing wind howling through it, creeping into my veins and turning my blood to ice. “Fine. Since we are drawing boundaries with family, cancel that scooter order right now. If you don’t, I have every legal right to sue and recover it as a misuse of our marital assets.” Jordan frowned heavily. “Natalie, are you seriously throwing a tantrum over six hundred bucks?” I stared at his perfectly handsome, usually gentle face. The very last shred of hope I had for this marriage dissolved into the cold air. My phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Savannah. I hit accept. Savannah appeared on the screen wearing a flimsy, silk slip dress. “Nat, thank you so much for the reminder! If it weren’t for you, Jordan and I wouldn’t have even thought about how much my parents needed a mobility scooter.” I stared at the screen, watching her blatant, sickly-sweet provocation. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “And?” Savannah covered her mouth, giggling softly. “My parents were so touched! They actually bought bus tickets to come all the way down here just to thank him in person.” Jordan instantly snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Savannah, they are traveling a long way. How can they sit on a cramped bus? Cancel those tickets right now. I’ll book them two first-class flights so they don’t have to suffer.” My mind flashed back to the day Jordan opened his own law firm. My parents had brought all their neighbors down to support his grand opening. I had asked him to send a car service to pick them up. Jordan had scoffed at the idea. He told me that hiring cars would just look like we were buying fake popularity. I had to sneak into the restroom to secretly order them Ubers on my own dime. It turned out he wasn’t completely clueless about how to treat elders. He just reserved all of his generosity and care for someone else’s parents. The two of them completely ignored me, chatting passionately on my phone. They planned the airport pickup. They planned a weekend getaway. Jordan even promised to book an appointment with a top-tier specialist for her father’s arthritis. I snatched my phone back and ended the call. “Jordan, I’ll be sending you a document shortly. Make sure you check your inbox.” He let out a condescending scoff. “What kind of game are you playing now, Natalie?” My phone chimed. My lawyer had just sent over the finalized divorce agreement. A hollow, tragic smile crept onto my lips. I turned around, walked into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind me. I forwarded the PDF to him. Message attached: Find some time this week. We are going to the courthouse to sign this. A few seconds later, Jordan started pounding on the bedroom door. “Natalie, open this door!” “I am a literal attorney! Do you really think a fake divorce agreement is going to scare me?” “You have three hours to unsend that file. I am giving you one last chance to stop this childish nonsense.” I flipped my phone to silent and tossed it onto the bed. Two hours later, he knocked again. “Which discount lawyer did you hire? You even got them to format it properly. You really are willing to waste money on this little performance, aren’t you? I’m counting to three.” The next morning, I washed my face, threw on a blazer, and opened the door to leave for work. Jordan was already gone. By noon, Savannah posted a new update on her social media. “My parents are in town! My amazing boss gave me three days of paid leave to spend time with them.” The photo background was the lobby of Jordan’s law firm. I immediately called his administrative assistant. “How long has Savannah been working at the firm?” The assistant stammered, awkwardly trying to change the subject. I completely understood. Savannah had indeed been hired at his firm right under my nose. “Do I need to take the afternoon off and come down there to check the employment records myself?” The assistant finally caved. “Over a year, Mrs. Hall. She’s already past her probationary period.” I hung up the phone. I opened Jordan’s chat and sent a single text. “If you don’t want this to get incredibly ugly, sign the papers as soon as possible.” He didn’t reply. That evening, he sent me a demanding checklist. “Savannah’s parents are coming over for dinner tonight. Get everything ready.” “Her dad has bad joints, so make sure the menu is high in calcium.” “Her mom is allergic to shellfish. Absolutely no seafood on the table.” “Buy organic blueberries and imported cherries for dessert.” “And don’t forget to set the thermostat to 72 degrees. Savannah gets cold easily.” I stared at the messages. This meticulously attentive man felt like a complete stranger. I remembered when I needed him to draft a simple commercial lease for my small business. He had brushed me off with total annoyance. “My firm only handles million-dollar cases, Nat. Can’t you just download a free template off the internet?” That night, I unlocked the front door of our house. I froze. My own parents were sitting in the living room. I whipped my head toward Jordan. “What is the meaning of this?” He smiled smoothly and wrapped an arm around my waist. “You said you were swamped with work and might have to work late. I couldn’t just leave our guests hungry, so I invited your parents over to help out.” I subtly stepped out of his grip. “I’ve never heard of an employer forcing his own family to cook and serve when an employee’s relatives come to visit. Did your firm go bankrupt, Jordan? You can’t even afford to take them to a restaurant?” Savannah’s face turned completely pale. “I’m so sorry, Nat. Jordan told me it would be too impersonal to leave my parents at a hotel. I thought… I thought you two had already agreed on this.” Jordan ignored me. He leaned over and lit a cigarette for Savannah’s father. “Why would they stay at a hotel? We are practically family.” Those words sucked the oxygen right out of the room. My mother stood awkwardly near the kitchen island, wiping her hands nervously on a floral apron. “Well, I should get back to the stove.” She turned to hurry back into the kitchen. I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Mom. Whoever invited the guests can cook the meal.” She shook her head gently and whispered. “Don’t make a scene, sweetie. They traveled a long way. We can’t just let them go hungry.” She pulled her arm from my grasp and went back to the cutting board. My father quietly rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll go help your mother.” The two of them stood side by side in my kitchen. One washing vegetables, the other chopping meat. The rhythmic clatter of pots and pans echoed through the house. Meanwhile, Savannah’s father sat spread-eagle on my expensive leather sofa, puffing away on his cigarette. Her mother sat next to him, popping organic cherries into her mouth one by one. Jordan sat across from them, patiently telling them stories about his firm’s success. He refilled her father’s teacup. He cracked open macadamia nuts and handed them to her mother. Looking at them, anyone would think they were the true masters of this house. I stood in the kitchen doorway. I watched my mother hunch over the sizzling wok. Her graying hair was plastered to her forehead by the greasy smoke. My father was carefully lifting a heavy, boiling cast-iron pot onto the counter. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Watching them, my heart felt like it was being shredded through a meat grinder. Just then, Savannah’s mother called out toward the kitchen with a sweet, patronizing smile. “Thank you so much for your hard work, Maggie! It smells absolutely delicious!” My mother quickly poked her head out and offered a nervous, accommodating smile. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all! I just hope it suits your taste.” My eyes instantly burned with tears. This was my home. Yet my own parents were tiptoeing around, breaking their backs to serve strangers like hired help. When the food was finally brought to the table, Jordan scanned the spread and nodded approvingly. “Maggie. Next time Savannah’s parents visit, just stick to this exact standard.” My mother paused for a second, but forced a smile anyway. “Of course.” I let out a bitter, furious laugh. I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer. “Send the physical divorce papers to Jordan’s law firm first thing tomorrow morning. And file the motion for the emergency asset freeze immediately.” The next morning, I had barely sat down at my desk when my phone rang. It was my father. “Nat, it’s bad. Your mother collapsed. I just called an ambulance.” I dropped everything and sprinted to the hospital. The cardiologist’s expression was incredibly grim. “The patient already had an underlying heart condition. The severe physical exhaustion and lack of rest triggered an acute myocardial infarction. She needs to be admitted to the ICU immediately. We also need to schedule an emergency bypass surgery.” My legs gave out. My father leaned against the sterile white wall, his entire body violently trembling. “Doctor… how much will it cost?” The doctor kept his eyes on his clipboard, scribbling rapidly. “Between the pre-op prep, the bypass, and the ICU stay, you need to put down a deposit of at least thirty thousand dollars.” Thirty thousand. I immediately opened my mobile banking app. Available Balance: $45.60. I stood there, paralyzed. For the entirety of our marriage, my salary, my bonuses, and my savings were all transferred into a joint account managed exclusively by Jordan. He always told me that as an attorney, he had insider knowledge on the best investment portfolios to grow our money. And now, I didn’t even have the money to save my own mother’s life. My fingers shook as I dialed Jordan’s number. The phone rang for an agonizingly long time before he finally picked up. “What is it?” I gripped the phone tight enough to crack the screen. “Jordan, my mom had a massive heart attack. She needs emergency surgery right now. Transfer the funds to my checking account. That is our money.” Dead silence fell over the line. Two seconds later, Jordan’s voice came through, completely calm. “Natalie. The liquid capital in our joint account has already been allocated.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. “What the hell does that mean?” “Savannah’s parents have ongoing medical treatments. I already prepaid their medical bills for the year. Plus the imported scooter and the out-of-network specialist consultations. Everything is already paid for. There really isn’t much cash left in the account right now.” A deafening ringing filled my ears. The money I had earned. The money meant to save my mother’s life. He had drained it to fund luxury medical care for Savannah’s parents. My eyes were bloodshot. I spoke through gritted teeth, emphasizing every single syllable. “Jordan Hall. You would rather drain our accounts to pamper someone else’s parents… than pay to save your own mother-in-law’s life. Is that it?” His reply was practically robotic in its coldness. “Calm down, Natalie. Savannah’s parents have life-threatening conditions too.” My nails dug so deeply into my palm that I drew blood. “Jordan, the woman lying outside the operating room is my mother! She is literally dying right now!” He stayed silent. Just as I thought he might finally relent, he let out an annoyed sigh. “Stop pushing me, Nat. The treatment plan for Savannah’s parents is already locked in. I cannot touch that money. You’ll just have to figure something else out.” Click. He hung up. I stood completely frozen in the middle of the hallway, the dial tone buzzing mockingly against my ear. My father was crouched in the corner. In a single night, he looked like he had aged ten years. “Nat…” Tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot and stinging. “Dad, Mom is going to be fine. I promise.” I turned and bolted toward the billing department. “Please, is there any way you can start the surgery now? I swear I will get the money today.” The billing clerk shook her head sympathetically. “I am so sorry, ma’am. Without the deposit, the surgical wing won’t clear the procedure.” Just then, the elevator doors down the hall slid open with a soft chime. I looked up on instinct. It was Jordan. For a split second, a desperate spark of hope ignited in my chest. But then I saw it. Jordan was pushing a brand-new, sleek motorized wheelchair. Savannah’s father was sitting in it, beaming. Savannah was linking arms with her mother. The four of them were laughing and chatting like a picture-perfect family. “Jordan, this scooter is incredibly comfortable.” “I’m glad you like it, sir.” Jordan crouched down onto one knee, patiently adjusting the footrest. “Let’s raise this up a bit so it doesn’t put pressure on your calves. It’ll make traveling much easier.” He was so sickeningly gentle. And less than sixty feet behind him, my mother was lying in a critical care bay, waiting for the money to afford a chance at life. I walked toward them, one heavy step at a time. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Jordan.” He finally turned his head. When he saw my bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face, a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. “What are you doing here?” I stared at the five-thousand-dollar scooter. I started to laugh. “Do you know something? Last night, my mother stood in our kitchen for four agonizing hours just to cook a feast for your guests. This morning, she woke up at five A.M. to make them breakfast. Now she is lying in that room, and the doctors say if she doesn’t get surgery immediately, she is going to die.” I raised a trembling finger and pointed straight at the resuscitation bay. “Jordan. Return the scooter. Give my mother her money back.” The air in the hallway went completely dead. Jordan’s brows locked together in deep annoyance. “I already gave it to them as a gift. How can I possibly return it? Besides, Savannah’s parents have a lot of follow-up appointments. How are they supposed to get around without it?” Those two sentences finally broke the last fragile thread holding me together. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a solution. He simply believed that the comfort of Savannah’s parents was vastly more important than my mother’s heartbeat. I slowly nodded. I didn’t beg him anymore. I walked straight out of the hospital, hailed a cab, and went to the largest diamond exchange in the city. I pulled the platinum wedding band off my left hand. “I need an appraisal. Right now.” The jeweler took the ring, inspecting it closely before looking up at me with a soft, cautious expression. “Ma’am, are you absolutely certain you want to sell this?” I looked at the intricate engraving on the inside of the band. It felt like a sick, twisted joke. “Sell it. I have no use for it anymore.” After selling the ring, I rushed to my company’s headquarters and begged my CEO for an emergency advance on my salary. Finally, I managed to scrape together the thirty thousand dollars. Once my mother was wheeled into the operating room, I collapsed against the freezing tile wall. My entire body felt like it had been hollowed out. My father sat on a bench at the end of the hall, burying his face in his hands. I looked down at my phone. My lawyer had just sent an update. Message: Mrs. Hall, the court has officially approved your emergency motion for a pre-litigation asset freeze. The injunction will be served to his banks and his firm this afternoon. I stared at those words for a very long time. I typed back two words. “Thank you.”

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1 During the final week of summer break, I stayed at home, waiting for my parents to keep their promise of a graduation trip. They had promised to take me to the coast to make up for the family portrait they missed on my eighteenth birthday. But I waited until eight in the evening, only to see my sister’s social media update. In the photo, Dad was holding up the camera, Mom was adjusting her sunhat, and my brother Tyler was kneeling in the sand, building a sandcastle for her. Nolan, my childhood sweetheart, stood right behind her, shielding her from the ocean breeze with his jacket. The caption read: A little family escape to the coast. Family. I stared at those words, my hand trembling as the frame in my grip slipped. Inside was a family portrait I had drawn as a little girl. Five of us, holding hands. Back then, I foolishly believed that if I drew it carefully enough, I wouldn’t be left behind. When I called them, Mom’s voice sounded flustered for a second. “Nora, Zoe has been under so much pressure lately, so we took her out on a whim to clear her head.” Tyler snatched the phone, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Can you stop being such a buzzkill? It’s just a trip, it’s not like we’re abandoning you.” Nolan chimed in too. “Be good, babe. I’ll take you out by ourselves next time.” Next time. They always traded my this time for a promised next time. I looked down at the old drawing. The girl in the middle, me, was smiling like an idiot. But in reality, I didn’t even deserve to know their location. The frame shattered against the floor, glass scattering everywhere. In that moment, I finally understood. There was never any room for me in that picture anyway. … “Nora, what exactly is your problem?” On the other end of the line, Nolan’s voice carried a hint of annoyance at being interrupted. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was clear in the background, mixed with Zoe’s giggling. I squatted in front of the shattered glass, watching a bead of blood seep from my fingertip. “Nolan, what about my graduation trip?” The phone went quiet for a second. Then, my brother Tyler’s voice cut in. “Nora, can you stop being such a wet blanket every single time?” “Zoe did terribly on her high school placement exams. She’s been crying under her covers for days. What’s wrong with Mom and Dad bringing her to the beach to relax?” “You’re eighteen now. You’ve just finished high school and have nothing but free time. Can’t you show a little empathy for your sister’s stress?” I stared at the drawing sliced by the broken glass. The girl in the middle, smiling so happily, had her face completely split open. “I have free time because you told me we were going to the coast this week.” “I’ve been packing since the beginning of the month. I bought sunscreen, motion sickness pills, even Zoe’s favorite snacks.” “But when you guys left, you didn’t even knock on my door.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if I were stating a fact that had nothing to do with me. Tyler choked on his words, his tone turning even more irritated. “We left in a rush. We were afraid of waking you up, okay?” “Besides, why did you have to come anyway?” “If you came, Zoe would feel like we were playing favorites, and she wouldn’t be able to relax.” Playing favorites with me. I let out a dry laugh. During my senior year of high school, to create a quiet study environment for Zoe’s exams, I was kicked out of my room and forced to sleep in the drafty, unconditioned storage room for a whole year. When I was in middle school, to drop off and pick up Zoe from elementary school, I had to wake up an hour earlier than everyone else, riding my bike across half the city. Now, they were worried she’d think they favored me. “Mom, is Nora mad at me?” Zoe’s timid voice drifted through the receiver. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said I wanted to see the ocean. I’ll buy a ticket back right now.” The other end of the phone instantly erupted into chaos. Mom coaxed her gently. “Zoe, sweetie, your sister isn’t mad. She’s the sensible one.” Nolan’s voice came back on the line. “Nora, did you hear that?” “Zoe is sensitive. Don’t trigger her right now.” “When we get back, I’ll bring you that seashell necklace you wanted, okay?” He was always like this, assuming that tossing me some cheap scrap of affection would make me swallow all my grievances. “No need,” I said softly. “What do you mean, no need?” Nolan frowned. “I don’t want the necklace.” Using my uninjured hand, I picked up the glass shards one by one and tossed them into the trash bin. “Have fun.” Before he could speak, I hung up. The living room fell back into a suffocating silence. The wall clock ticked away, pointing to nine in the evening. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap. Cold water washed over the cut on my finger, rinsing the faint red blood down the drain. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes weren’t red, and there were no tears. It turned out that when your heart completely dies, you can’t even cry. My phone buzzed on the sink. It was a notification from our family group chat, named “The Happy Family.” Mom had shared a video. In the video, Nolan was carrying Zoe on his back through the shallow water while Tyler splashed them from behind. Dad held the camera, laughing heartily. Mom sent a voice note. “Our Zoe is finally smiling. This trip was worth every penny.” No one asked if I had eaten dinner. No one remembered that today was supposed to be my college celebration dinner. I dried my hands and tapped the group settings. My finger hovered over the red button that read “Leave Group” for a brief second. Then, I pressed it. The next morning, I was awakened by a courier knocking on the door. I opened it to find a massive cardboard box. The recipient was Zoe. I dragged the box into the living room and saw the label. It was the latest model of a high-end digital piano. Zoe had wanted it for a long time, but our parents had always delayed buying it, saying it was too expensive. Looking at the box, I recalled how my three-year-old laptop had broken right before my final exams. I had begged Mom for a new one to do my research. Mom had said: “Nora, our expenses have been high lately. Just use your brother’s old hand-me-down laptop for now.” Now, a two-thousand-dollar digital piano was sitting in our living room. My phone lit up with a text from Nolan. “Nora, did Zoe’s piano arrive?” “Your parents bought it as a congratulatory gift. Unpack it and set it up in her bedroom.” “She’ll be thrilled when she gets back.” I stared at the words, my fingers turning cold. Nolan knew how badly I had wanted a new laptop. He also knew that to save up for one, I had stayed up late all through senior year helping other students compile study guides. Yet, he took it for granted that I should assemble this expensive gift for Zoe. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone onto the sofa. I walked into my room and pulled out a twenty-four-inch suitcase. I began clearing out my room. In the closet, most of the clothes were faded from washing or cheap clearance items Mom had bought. I pulled them all out and stuffed them into heavy-duty black trash bags. In my desk drawer, there was a crafted wooden keepsake box. It was filled with things Nolan had given me over the years: the first plush toy he won for me, the study notes he stayed up all night writing for me in middle school, and a note he wrote in high school. “When Nora turns eighteen, I’ll take her to see the ocean.” I pulled out that note, staring at the slightly faded ink. Then, gripping the edges, I tore it to shreds. Along with the wooden box, I threw it all into the trash. Around noon, Nolan called. I answered and put it on speakerphone, continuing to clear my bookshelf. “Nora, did you check your phone?” His tone carried a hint of irritation. “Is the piano set up?” “No.” I tied a stack of old textbooks with some twine. “Why not?” Nolan’s voice dropped. “Are you still throwing a tantrum over yesterday?” “Nora, can you not be so petty? Zoe is your sister. You can’t even do this small thing for her?” I stood up, looking at the half-empty bookshelf. “It’s too heavy. I can’t lift it.” The other end went quiet. Nolan didn’t seem to expect such a flat, indifferent response. He let out a sigh, softening his voice slightly. “If it’s too heavy, why didn’t you ask the neighbors for help?” “By the way, go to my room, open the left drawer of my desk, and take a photo of the blue folder inside. I need it for an assignment.” He was always like this, completely used to ordering me around. “I’m not home,” I said calmly. “Where did you go?” His voice grew guarded. “Out.” “Nora!” He lost his patience entirely. “Why are you acting so selfish lately? You hesitate over every little favor.” “Do you think because you got into Silverlake University, you can suddenly walk all over everyone in this house?” Silverlake University. That was the college my parents forced me to apply to. Because it was close to home, making it convenient for me to continue taking care of Zoe while she was in high school. I looked down at the college admission guide in my hand. “I don’t think that.” “Then go home and take the photo!” Nolan ordered. “I’m hanging up. Zoe is calling me for seafood.” The line went dead again. I slipped my phone into my pocket, grabbed the trash bags, and walked out. The sun outside was blinding. I threw the trash into the bin downstairs and walked straight out of the neighborhood to a local secondhand shop. I sold my old tablet and several cherished art books. I got a hundred and fifty dollars. That money, combined with what I had saved up, was just enough for a train ticket three thousand miles away. For the next three days, my family was still enjoying their getaway. They seemed to have forgotten I existed entirely. My name never appeared in the family group chat, and I enjoyed the peace. I cleared my room of everything that belonged to me. What could be sold was sold, and what couldn’t was thrown away. In the end, only a single suitcase and a backpack remained. The room was completely bare. Even the sheets were washed, folded, and stacked neatly at the foot of the bed. It looked as if a girl named Nora had never lived there. On the afternoon of the fourth day, my college acceptance letter arrived. After signing for the package, I sat on the bare mattress and opened the envelope. On the deep blue cover, gold letters gleamed: Cascade University. This was the college I had secretly changed my application to, behind everyone’s back. Cascade was in the far north, three thousand miles away. No familiar faces, no biased parents. And no Nolan. I ran my fingers over my name on the letter, and for the first time in days, a smile touched my lips. Suddenly, my phone rang. My mother’s name flashed on the screen. I let it ring almost to the end before answering. “Nora, why did it take you so long to pick up?” Mom’s voice sounded cheerful. “I was sleeping.” “Sleeping in the middle of the day?” Mom grumbled before getting straight to the point. “By the way, didn’t you say you saved up three hundred dollars from your part-time job?” “Transfer it to my account.” My grip on the acceptance letter tightened. “Why do you need my money?” “Zoe wants a pearl necklace. It’s over five hundred dollars, and your dad and I didn’t bring enough cash.” “You’re starting at Silverlake soon anyway. You’ll be living and eating at home, so you won’t need money.” “Give it to us as a gift for your sister’s placement exams.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, leaving absolutely no room for discussion. I looked out the window at the blazing southern sun. “I spent it,” I said flatly. “Spent it?” Mom’s voice shrieked. “You stay at home all day, what could you possibly spend it on? Are you doing this on purpose?” “Nora, how did I raise such an ungrateful child?” “Your sister calls you ‘sis’ all day long, and you can’t even spare this bit of money for her?” My brother Tyler piped up in the background. “Mom, why bother arguing with her? She’s just jealous of Zoe.” “When we get back, cut off her college allowance. Let’s see if she still dares to hide money from us.” Listening to their accusations, I felt absolutely nothing. If this had been before, my eyes would have welled with tears as I tried to prove I wasn’t jealous, that I was their daughter too. But now, I just found it noisy. “I bought something,” I interrupted Mom’s tirade. “Bought what?” “A ticket.” Mom paused. “A ticket? What ticket?” “Nothing,” I replied, having no intention of explaining. Nolan’s voice came from nearby, as he took the phone from her. “Nora, cut it out.” “Your mom is only asking for a little cash. Who are you being passive-aggressive with?” “If you’re really that broke, I’ll give you the three hundred dollars back when we return, okay?” “Stop acting like the whole family is ganging up on you.” Ganging up. In their eyes, stripping me of everything to feed Zoe wasn’t bullying. My refusal to cooperate was the actual tantrum. “Okay,” I murmured. Nolan didn’t seem to expect me to agree so quickly, and his tone softened. “That’s more like it. We’re flying back tomorrow afternoon.” “Clean up the house. Zoe is exhausted and needs to rest when she gets back.” “And remember to set up the piano.” I looked at my empty bedroom. “Okay.” I hung up. I carefully packed the Cascade University acceptance letter into my backpack. Then, I raised the handle of my suitcase. The day of my departure was overcast. I dragged my suitcase to the door and took one last look at the home where I had lived for eighteen years. On the coffee table lay the last thing I had left behind. The torn family portrait, taped back together with clear tape. Beside it lay my house keys. I pulled the door shut, listening to the solid click of the lock. Without looking back, I walked toward the elevator. … At five in the afternoon, a taxi pulled up outside the building. Tyler was carrying bags of local souvenirs, while Mom held Zoe’s hand. Nolan walked behind them, holding a shopping bag containing a bracelet he had lazily picked up from the airport duty-free shop. “That ungrateful girl. She knew we were coming back today and didn’t even come down to help,” Mom complained as they walked. “Mom, you know how Nora is,” Zoe said, clinging to Mom’s arm. “She’s definitely still mad at us.” “She wouldn’t dare!” Tyler scoffed. “If she gives us attitude today, I’ll throw her out myself.” Nolan remained silent, but his brow was furrowed. For some reason, he had felt uneasy all day. At the door, Tyler pulled out his keys. “Nora, we’re back! Come grab these bags!” Tyler yelled into the apartment out of habit. The apartment was dead silent. There was no response. “Is she hiding in her room pretending to be deaf again?” Mom slipped off her shoes and angrily marched to my room, pushing the door open. “Nora, you—” Her voice cut off. Mom froze, her shopping bag slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor. “Mom, what is it?” Tyler walked over, following her gaze into the room. He froze too. The room was completely bare. No clothes, no books, no laptop. Even the sheets had been stripped, leaving only a blank mattress. There wasn’t even a trace of life in the air. Nolan shoved Tyler aside and ran into the room. He pulled open the closet. Empty. He yanked open the drawers. Empty. He spun around and ran to the living room, his eyes scanning the coffee table. There lay a set of keys and the taped-up family portrait. Nolan’s breathing turned shallow and rapid. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed my number. It rang for a long time before it was picked up. In the background, the noisy PA system of a train station echoed: “Attention passengers, train K128 bound for Cascade is now boarding…”

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1 On the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, my husband, Marcus, and our seven-year-old son, Toby, were huddled in the emergency room, staring anxiously at Serena. She had cut her finger slicing fruit, requiring a mere two stitches, but the son I had carried for ten months was crying in heartbreak for her. I held my pathology report, standing in the freezing draft of the hallway, waiting in vain for Marcus to ask about my biopsy. Serena whimpered in pain, and Marcus immediately rushed to arrange a VIP private room. Our son shoved me away with irritation: “Mom, are you faking a stomach ache again to get attention?” “Just take a cab home. Don’t stand here blocking Aunt Serena’s rest!” Marcus caught sight of the paper in my hand and frowned in disgust. “It’s just a stomach bug. Was it really necessary to get a prescription?” But that was a surgical consent form for tumor removal, waiting for a family member’s signature. Watching them carefully guide Serena between them, a metallic taste rose in my throat. It wasn’t that they didn’t see my pale, pain-ridden face; they just found me redundant. If so, I would let them have their way. … Watching the three of them walk toward the elevator, I never ended up shouting that I had cancer. The gripping pain forced me to hunch over as I made my way to the oncology clinic. Dr. Reynolds looked at my pale face, his voice heavy with sympathy: “Mrs. Ward, you need to schedule a total gastrectomy immediately. Otherwise, you might have less than three months to live.” “Have your husband sign the papers. For a major surgery like this, the post-op chemo and care will require full-time family support.” I looked down at the words “poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma” on my pathology report. “No need, doctor. Please cancel the surgery.” The doctor gasped, trying to stop me: “You’re still so young. Even if not for yourself, think of your child!” At the mention of “child,” a bitter smile cracked on my face. My child had just pushed me out of the room because of a tiny, one-centimeter cut on another woman’s finger. I knew exactly what this disease meant. It was genetic; my grandmother and my father both withered away under this torture, taking their last painful breaths in hospital beds. Fighting cancer was a long, draining war of love and money. But I had no love left. In a home where my stomach cramps were mocked as a desperate cry for attention, who would ever care for me on my deathbed? As I walked out of the clinic, a couple of young nurses were gossiping excitedly near the desk. “That woman in the ER is so lucky!” “Just a tiny scratch on her finger, and her husband paid for the penthouse suite upstairs!” “I know, right? He even had his assistant deliver a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace to cheer her up.” “Handsome, rich, and so devoted. It’s like a romance novel come to life.” I stood around the corner, my fingers tightening around the paper. A fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace just to soothe the shock of two stitches. Meanwhile, the paper in my hand that decided my life and death didn’t even deserve a second glance from him. When I stepped out of the hospital lobby, the rain had started to pour. The pain in my stomach grew sharper. I saw Marcus’s Maybach parked near the entrance. Tolerating the agony, I walked over, wanting to slip inside to escape the downpour. But Joe, the driver, stepped in front of the door with an awkward expression: “Mrs. Ward, you can’t get in.” I froze: “Why?” Joe avoided my gaze, stammering: “Mr. Ward ordered… Miss Serena wants some space, so he told you to find your own way back.” A luxury Maybach with a backseat spacious enough for two people to lie down, yet he was worried I would crowd Serena. Joe pulled a black umbrella from the trunk and offered it to me: “Mrs. Ward, please take this and find a cab down the street.” I stared at the umbrella, leaving it untouched. By the time I made it back to the suburban villa, my lips were blue from the cold, and my wet clothes clung to my shivering frame. Because of the late-stage cancer, I hadn’t been able to eat anything greasy for a long time. My stomach was completely empty, burning with acid. I forced myself to change into dry clothes, then went to the kitchen to cook a small pot of plain oatmeal. Just as I sat down at the table, the front door clicked open. Marcus walked in holding Toby’s hand, followed by Serena, whose hand was neatly wrapped in white gauze. They were laughing and talking. Marcus carried several elegant takeout containers bearing the logo of the city’s most exclusive private kitchen. “Serena, I had them slow-cook their premium bird’s nest and bone broth. You need to finish all of it to restore your strength,” Marcus said, his voice incredibly tender. Toby tugged at Serena’s hand dutifully: “Aunt Serena, I’ll make sure you drink every drop!” But when they walked into the dining area and saw me sitting there with my bowl of plain oatmeal, the smiles vanished from their faces. Marcus frowned at my simple meal, irritation flitting through his eyes. He didn’t ask how I had returned in the storm, nor did he ask if I had been caught in the rain. He simply pulled out a chair for Serena, helping her sit down. Then, he carefully opened the containers, gently blowing on a spoonful of hot broth to cool it for her. Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from the hospital: [Mrs. Ward, your condition must not be delayed. Please bring a family member to confirm the surgical plan as soon as possible. Do not lose hope!] I stared at the word “hope,” then slowly raised my eyes to Marcus. He was leaning over, gently wiping a drop of soup from the corner of Serena’s mouth. His movements were incredibly soft. I gripped my porcelain spoon, testing the waters: “Marcus, my stomach is really hurting. Tomorrow, could you find some time to go to the hospital with me?” Perhaps some foolish, desperate hope still lingered in my heart. Even if it was one in ten thousand, I wanted to know if he would feel a single shred of pain if he knew I was dying. But before I could even finish my sentence, Marcus slammed the spoon against the bowl. “Diana, haven’t you played this game enough? If your stomach hurts, go drink some hot water!” “I have to take Serena to get her dressing changed tomorrow. I don’t have time for your childish tantrums.” Toby glared at me, chiming in: “Mom is the worst! She always lies to get attention!” Looking at their united front, my throat felt as though it were stuffed with wet cotton. I couldn’t make a sound. I quietly lowered my head, swallowing a spoonful of tasteless oatmeal. I didn’t speak again, because I already had my answer. That night, the temperature plummeted. I lay in bed, feeling the icy chill seeping straight into my bones. Unable to bear the cold, I got up and raised the central heating by two degrees. Just as I sat on the living room sofa to catch my breath, Serena walked out of her room holding an empty glass, complaining loudly: “Gosh, why is it suddenly so hot in here? I can barely breathe.” The master bedroom door opened instantly. Marcus walked straight to the thermostat, shut off the heat, and switched on the cool ventilation. Having done that, he turned around and glared at me. “Diana, you’re bundled up in a thick coat, so why are you turning up the heat? Don’t you know Serena can’t stand stuffy rooms?” Toby ran out in his little pajamas, standing beside Marcus like a loyal guard: “Mom did it on purpose! She wants to suffocate Aunt Serena!” My body trembled uncontrollably beneath my heavy coat. Seeing this, Serena immediately adopted a sweet, understanding tone: “Marcus, don’t blame Diana. Maybe she really is cold.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll just go back to my room. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.” Marcus took her hand, his tone icy: “She’s doing it on purpose. Ignore her.” With that, they went back to their respective rooms. Serena didn’t forget to cast a smug glance in my direction before she closed her door. The next morning, I took a cab to the hospital alone to sign the non-treatment form. The doctor frowned when he saw me alone: “Mrs. Ward, a major decision like this requires a family member’s signature. Where is your husband?” I turned my head, looking through the glass doors of the lobby. Outside, Marcus and my son were squatting on the ground. Serena stood between them, holding her medical slip. Because her finger was bandaged, Marcus was patiently tying her left sneaker. And my son was clumsily but carefully tying her right shoe. Passersby watched them with admiration, whispering: “Look at how much her husband and son dote on her. She must be the luckiest woman alive.” During our four years in college, I had eaten cheap street food with him and lived in damp basements. When I was seven months pregnant, his company went through a severe cash flow crisis. I dragged my heavy belly to client dinners, taking the blows to keep his business afloat, and all he had said back then was a casual “thanks for the hard work.” It turned out he wasn’t blind, nor was he heartless; he just didn’t love me. I withdrew my gaze, my voice calmer than I expected. “I don’t have any family left.” I signed my name on the waiver form. Then, I picked up two bottles of prescription painkillers and left. After leaving the hospital, I went to Ward Enterprises. The company wouldn’t exist today without the effort I had put in alongside Marcus. I was a co-founder and the lead director of our core projects. Over the past few years, to care for Toby, I had gradually stepped back. The moment I walked into the office, several project managers rushed over. “Diana, thank goodness you’re here! Marcus hasn’t been in for two days, and we can’t reach him.” “The pricing for the Southside project must be finalized today. We have no idea what to do!” “Yes, Diana, the clients are pushing us. We need your direction!” They looked at me with hope, assuming I was there to save the day. But I simply unzipped my bag, pulled out my resignation letter, and handed it to the HR director who had hurried over. The entire office fell dead silent. The HR director stammered: “Diana… what is this? Does Marcus know?” “He doesn’t need to.” I scanned the faces of the employees who had fought alongside me for years, having no intention of hiding the truth. “I’m resigning. I have terminal stomach cancer, and there is no cure.” “From now on, direct all company matters to Marcus.” Without waiting for the gasps and shocked murmurs behind me, I walked out of the building that had consumed ten years of my life. The next day, before dawn, the villa was silent. I placed the divorce papers and the waiver of custody neatly on the center of the coffee table. Finally, I slid my wedding ring off my finger. After eight years of wearing it, a deep indentation remained on my skin, looking like a permanent shackle. I placed the ring right in the middle of the documents. Swallowing my third painkiller of the day, I pushed open the front door and walked into the morning mist without looking back. I took a cab to the airport and bought an expensive ticket to my quiet hometown. I wanted to spend my remaining days closer to where I came from. Sitting in the departure terminal, I pulled out my phone and blocked Marcus and everyone associated with him. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Before boarding, a gate agent walked up with a warm smile, handing me a pink carnation. “It’s your birthday today. This is a special gift from our airline. Happy birthday, and safe travels.” I stared at the pink flower, my throat tightening. Today was my birthday. I had completely forgotten. Marcus had forgotten, Toby had forgotten, and I had forgotten too. Carnations were my late mother’s favorite flowers. I looked down at the blooming petals, and tears splashed onto them without warning. I had been fighting so hard to remain strong. I had imagined, countless times, that if Marcus found out about my cancer, he would hold me and weep, and Toby would hold my hand, begging me not to leave. But the reality was that they simply didn’t care. Holding the flower close, I finally broke down in the crowded airport, weeping for my hollow marriage and for my own looming end. … Meanwhile, back at the villa. Marcus slept in late. When he finally walked down to the living room, he didn’t notice the papers on the table. Toby saw the messy sheets of paper blocking his way and shouted toward the kitchen: “Martha, throw these papers away! They’re getting in the way of my Legos!” The housekeeper walked over and swept the papers, along with the ring, straight into the trash. A week passed. It was as if I had vanished from the earth, but no one in the household noticed. With my absence, Serena had completely taken over as the lady of the house. On the eighth day, Ward Enterprises faced a sudden tax audit. Because I was listed as a co-founder and legal representative during the early days of registration, several critical tax documents required my signature. Sitting in his office, Marcus picked up his phone with irritation and dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” Marcus frowned, assuming I had changed my number, and sent a harsh voice note over social media: “Diana, stop throwing tantrums and get back to the office to sign these papers!” The moment he pressed send, a red exclamation mark popped up. Marcus’s face darkened. Only then did he realize that I had been gone for an entire week. My clothes were still in the closet, but I was nowhere to be found. “What is she planning this time?” Furious, Marcus used his connections to track my whereabouts over the past week. Two hours later, his assistant placed the search results on his desk, trembling. “Mr. Ward… the credit cards haven’t been used, and there are no hotel bookings.” “We checked the security footage. The last place she visited before disappearing… was the city hospital.” “The hospital?” Marcus froze, then let out a cold laugh. He immediately drove to the hospital, marching straight into the clinic of my primary oncologist. “Where is Diana? She’s faking an illness to dodge her responsibilities. Does she think hiding here will save her from signing the documents?” The elderly doctor was writing a report and was startled by his intrusion. Once the doctor verified Marcus’s identity, his expression turned into one of deep disgust. “You’re looking for Diana? She has terminal stomach cancer. She refused surgery and could die at any moment!” “You’re her husband, and you had absolutely no idea?”

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1 Eight years as Strategy Director, demoted to front desk overnight. The entire company was waiting to see me break down, but honestly, leaving at six sharp was pure bliss. Until my brother got back from his business trip and caught me serving tea in the lobby. The files in his hand scattered all over the floor, and his wife’s face turned ghost white on the spot. … The day I was transferred to the front desk, the whole floor was sneaking glances as I packed my things. Eight years. I had spent eight whole years at this company, rising from a low-level marketing specialist to Strategy Director, step by grueling step. I managed over thirty people and brought in over a billion dollars in project value. And then, a single reassignment order shoved me down to the lobby. I recognized the signature on that paper: Vivian, the Chairman’s wife. When Gwen, the HR Manager, slammed the notice onto my desk, she couldn’t hide the smug triumph in her eyes. “Director Brooks… oh, my mistake. I guess it’s just Harper now,” she corrected herself with a fake smile. “Report to the lobby tomorrow morning. Pick up your receptionist uniform from HR.” I looked at the document and said nothing. The office went dead silent for a second. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for my meltdown. Waiting for me to cry? To scream? To smash things? I folded the paper neatly and slipped it into my pocket. “Who do I see for the uniform?” Gwen blinked, thrown off. “…Toby in HR.” “Got it.” I stood up, picked up my favorite mug and succulent, and tossed a casual nod at the gossiping coworkers. “Show’s over, folks. Back to work.” As I stepped into the elevator, the room behind me exploded into whispers. “Is she serious? Demoted from Strategy Director to front desk?” “Who did she piss off?” “I heard the Chairman’s wife signed it herself…” “She’s completely finished.” Standing inside the elevator, I let out a genuine laugh. Not a bitter chuckle, but a real, amused laugh. Vivian had been married to my brother for three years, yet she still had no idea I was her sister-in-law. When I joined the company, I used my mother’s surname, Brooks. My brother, Gavin, was constantly traveling overseas for business, so no one ever connected Director Brooks with Chairman Ross. I never wanted to rely on my brother anyway. For eight years, every promotion was earned through my own sweat and late nights. But Vivian didn’t know that. All she saw was a young female director who seemed suspiciously close to her husband. When Gavin sent me a holiday bonus, she thought it was romantic. When Gavin looked over at me a second longer during the annual gala, she suspected an affair. Last month, before Gavin left for his business trip, he spent ten minutes in my office. To Vivian, that was the final straw. What did we actually talk about during those ten minutes? My brother was nagging me to eat on time and stop working late, sounding exactly like our mother. I almost kicked him out because he was being so annoying. In Vivian’s eyes, though, those ten minutes were hard proof of an affair. So, taking advantage of Gavin’s month-long trip to Scandinavia, she struck. With one signature, she dragged her husband’s alleged mistress down to the absolute bottom. I adjusted my collar in the elevator glass. Fine by me. Front desk it is. No unpaid overtime, no endless board meetings, no insane performance quotas. Out the door at six sharp. To be completely honest? After grinding my life away for eight years, I was more than ready to slack off. The next morning, when I walked into the lobby wearing the receptionist uniform, I could feel everyone’s eyes pinned on me. Some pitied me, some gloated, and others were just enjoying the free drama. The other receptionist, Ellie, a twenty-three-year-old fresh graduate, stared at me like she had just seen a ghost. “Are you… really Director Brooks?” “Not anymore,” I said, setting my potted succulent on the front desk. “Just call me Harper. We’re partners now.” Ellie stammered, “But… you were a director…” “Former director,” I corrected her, sinking into the receptionist chair. It was surprisingly plush, with perfect lumbar support. I leaned back, almost groaning in satisfaction. This chair was way better than the one in my old corner office. Ellie was still looking at me with deep sympathy. I pointed at the computer screen. “Is this visitor system complicated? Mind showing me the ropes?” Ten minutes later, I mastered the guest log. Twenty minutes later, I had conference room scheduling down. Thirty minutes later, I brewed a cup of my premium green tea, propped my phone on a stand, and booted up a TV show. Ellie watched the whole sequence with her jaw on the floor. At nine-thirty, Gwen walked downstairs holding a cup of coffee, casually slowing her pace as she passed the desk. She was doing it on purpose. “Oh, Harper. Settling in okay?” Her voice dripped with condescension. I didn’t even look up. “Great, actually. This chair is much comfier than my old one.” Gwen’s fake smile stiffened. She had been expecting tears or suppressed rage, not genuine, unbothered relaxation. “That’s good,” she said, her voice tight. “Feel free to ask Ellie if you get confused. After all, front desk work is… quite different from being a director.” Translation: No matter how hot stuff you used to be, now you’re just a glorified coffee gopher. I gave a lazy hum and kept watching my show. Gwen hovered for a few awkward seconds, realized she wasn’t getting a reaction, and strutted off. Ellie leaned over, whispering, “Harper… aren’t you even a little mad?” I pulled out an earbud. “Mad about what? I leave at six, I don’t have to stay up all night writing proposals, and I don’t have to drink with clients anymore. This is a hundred times better than being a director.” Ellie stared at me as if I had completely lost my mind. I didn’t bother explaining. My brother would be back next month. When he did, this circus would end on its own. Until then, I fully intended to enjoy my paid vacation. 2 Life at the front desk was even lazier than I imagined. My heaviest daily tasks consisted of logging visitors, routing phone calls, and stocking water bottles in meeting rooms. Back when I was director, I wished there were forty-eight hours in a day. Now? My daily routine looked like this: 9:00 AM: Clock in, brew tea. 9:30 AM: Watch an episode of my drama. 10:00 AM: Log a random visitor. 10:30 AM: Back to my drama. 12:00 PM: Lunch, followed by a cozy desk nap. 2:00 PM: Wake up, watch more TV. 6:00 PM: Clock out, head home to cook dinner. Perfection. Except this perfection shattered on the third day. Not because anyone came to bully me, but because way too many people came looking for help. At ten on Wednesday morning, Toby from admin skittered over to the front desk, nervously looking over both shoulders. “Harper…” I pulled off my headphones. “Yeah?” “Um… about that Crestview Properties proposal you handled last week? The new director, Derek, says he doesn’t understand the pitch strategy. He told me to ask you what the logic behind it was.” I raised an eyebrow. Derek, my replacement. Vivian’s personal hire. Word was he was poached from a competitor with an impressive resume, but three days in, his total incompetence was already showing. “The Crestview deal?” I thought for a moment. “Mr. Dalton prefers data presentation first, structural framework second, and execution details last. Step by step. Tell Derek to just stick to the PowerPoint template I left in the shared drive.” Toby looked like he had just found gold. “Thanks, Harper!” He scurried off. At two in the afternoon, Mark from marketing stopped by. “Harper, Beacon Group is pressing us for the Q3 co-branding strategy. Director Derek told us to figure it out ourselves, but Mr. Bennett from Beacon explicitly said he’ll only approve a plan written by you…” “Have Mr. Bennett add me on messaging. I’ll drop him an outline when I get a moment.” “Awesome!” At four in the afternoon, Laura from accounting showed up. “Harper, how did you negotiate the payment structure for Crestview? The terms Derek proposed were instantly rejected.” “It’s a milestone payout: thirty percent upfront, forty percent on approval, thirty percent final balance. They care about the payment window, not the percentages. Tell Derek to cut the term from sixty days to forty-five, and they’ll sign immediately.” Laura’s eyes lit up. “You really are a lifesaver.” By the fifth day, the front desk had transformed into an unofficial executive consulting clinic. A constant stream of people came by to grab water. Some genuinely needed business advice, while others just wanted to see how I was holding up, checking if I was truly broken. Ellie watched the whole scene in utter disbelief. “Harper, you’re busier down here than you were upstairs!” I sighed, taking a sip of tea, only to realize it had gone cold. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this either.” By the sixth day, things took a turn. At eleven in the morning, the elevator doors dinged open, and Gwen marched out with two admin assistants straight toward the front desk. The schadenfreude from earlier was gone, replaced by a deep, offended rage. “Harper.” She slammed a folder onto the counter. “Do you even know what your current job title is?” I looked at her calmly. “Receptionist.” “Right, receptionist!” She raised her voice, making sure every employee walking through the lobby could hear her. “And what are your responsibilities? Logging guests, answering phones, directing traffic. Who gave you permission to meddle in operational affairs?” Ellie shrank back in her seat. I leaned against my chair, watching Gwen. “I’m not meddling. They came to me with questions, and I offered a few quick answers.” “Quick answers?” Gwen sneered. “Director Derek already reported you. You’re pulling strings behind the scenes, rallying your old followers, and undermining his authority. Harper, do you really not understand your place here?” Several employees nearby slowed their steps. I saw someone pull out a phone, pretending to check messages while straining to listen. I didn’t budge. “Gwen, I’ve been sitting right here at this desk the whole time. Your people came down to ask me. If you think that’s my fault, go ahead and issue a company-wide memo banning everyone from talking to the front desk.” Gwen choked on her words. She took a sharp breath and slapped a sheet of paper in front of me. “Per Mrs. Ross’s instructions, your duties now include cleaning the executive lounge pantry on the twenty-sixth floor and restocking supplies daily.” Ellie gasped, covering her mouth. The twenty-sixth floor. The executive suite. Making a former Strategy Director scrub counters and serve tea to top executives. This wasn’t just a demotion. This was deliberate public humiliation. Gwen watched my face, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. She was waiting for me to break. I picked up the paper and glanced at it. There was Vivian’s signature at the bottom, extravagant and messy, identical to the demotion order. I folded the paper neatly and put it in my pocket. “What time?” Gwen blinked. “What?” “The lounge. What time do I restock? Is there a schedule?” “…Ten in the morning, three in the afternoon.” “Got it.” Gwen stood there, her smug expression slowly turning into confusion. She couldn’t fathom why I was so calm. What she didn’t know was very simple. My brother’s flight was landing next Tuesday. Six days left. I might as well treat those six days as a full-paid work environment study. After Gwen left, Ellie looked at me with reddened eyes. “Harper…” “Don’t cry,” I said, standing up to stretch my shoulders. “I’ve been to the twenty-sixth-floor lounge before. The snack cabinet is full of imported luxury chocolates. Back when I was director, I used to sneak them during meetings all the time.” Ellie was speechless. The way she looked at me had officially upgraded from viewing a chill lunatic to viewing a complete saint who had totally lost her mind. 3 The twenty-sixth-floor pantry was even more entertaining than I anticipated. Not because there was a lot of work, but because executives never censor themselves around service staff. They didn’t view the person cleaning the kitchen as a real human being. Or more accurately, they didn’t think service staff had ears. On my first day refilling tea supplies, I was pouring coffee beans into the machine when the VP’s office door slipped open an inch. Two voices floated out loud and clear. “…Derek can’t handle the load. Crestview just rejected his pitch for the third time. Mr. Dalton explicitly stated he won’t negotiate unless Harper is at the table.” “So what do we do? Mrs. Ross will never let Harper back up here.” “Should we report it to Mr. Ross?” “Are you insane? Mrs. Ross did this behind his back. If you blow the whistle now, how is the Chairman’s wife going to save face?” My hand paused on the sponge. So… people in management knew this whole demotion was sketchy. They were just too terrified of offending the Chairman’s wife to speak up. Makes sense. With my brother away, Vivian held the power. Who dared cross her? I silently finished wiping the counters, filled the hot water urns, and stocked the snack cabinet. Before leaving, I slipped two imported chocolates into my pocket. Perks of the job, funded by the very budget I had approved as director. On my way down, I ran into Derek in the elevator. The new Strategy Director. Mid-thirties, sharp suit, slicked-back hair, looking every bit the high-powered executive. When he saw me, his expression turned complicated. A mix of guilt and forced superiority. “Harper,” he nodded stiffly. “Director Derek,” I offered a polite smile. Three seconds of silence filled the elevator. He cleared his throat. “About the Crestview account… Mr. Dalton, the client you managed… what is his personality like?” I looked at him. The guy was asking me for work advice without a single “please” or hint of humility, acting as if I owed him an explanation. “Mr. Dalton likes rock tea,” I said. Derek frowned. “I asked about…” “Invite him for tea. Bring Rougui, not Dahongpao. He thinks Dahongpao is cliché. By the third steep, he will bring up business himself.” The elevator dinged on the ground floor. I walked out without looking back. Behind me, Derek stood frozen in the elevator car. He would never get it. Eight years of client trust, industry network, and hands-on experience couldn’t be transferred by a piece of paper. Vivian thought she could crush me and drop in a random replacement? How naive. By the third day, Derek’s situation was no longer looking bad. It was a total catastrophe. Crestview sent an official notice stating that if proper leadership wasn’t restored to the project within a week, they would terminate the partnership. How big was this deal? An annual strategic contract worth thirty million dollars. Fifteen percent of the company’s total annual revenue. The moment the letter arrived, the twenty-sixth floor called three emergency meetings. I knew this because every time a meeting ended, the pantry trash cans overflowed with crumpled draft papers and empty paper cups. They were panicking, yet not a single person came to talk to me. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they didn’t dare. Vivian had issued a strict warning: anyone caught consulting Harper would join her at the front desk. So everyone sat by, watching a thirty-million-dollar deal slip through their fingers. Whenever I passed the glass conference rooms to restock tea, I could feel their eyes burning into my back. It was a messy cocktail of guilt, desperation, and silent pleading: Please, just step up and offer to help! I acted completely blind. Why would I step up? I was humiliated, demoted, and publicly shamed, yet not one of them had spoken up for me. Now that everything was falling apart, they wanted me to clean up their mess? I held my water kettle, refilled the pots, wiped the counters, and clocked out at six sharp to cook pork rib soup at home.

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1 Bobby clawed his way from indie scraps to Best Actor. Onstage, spotlight blazing, the host asked what fueled his grind. He locked onto the camera, eyes heavy with practiced melancholy. “I wanted the girl I grew up with to see me,” he whispered. “To finally remember her way home.” The live chat erupted. Millions swooned over the tragic romance between the new screen king and his mysterious childhood sweetheart. Backstage in the shadows, I stood frozen. My blood turned to ice. I wasn’t that girl. We hadn’t grown up together. Yet here he was, spinning a grand televised lie—while I, his real girlfriend, had starved in a damp basement so he could eat, split three-dollar fried rice when we were broke, and choked down cold instant noodles just to keep him going. Soon, his childhood ballerina princess would return in triumph under his protection. And I would walk away, wrapped in the arms of a rising young star, never looking back. But it would be him on his knees then, bloodshot eyes pleading for me to stay. … #BobbyColeConfession #BobbyAndBallerinaGiselleAtPalaisGarnier #ChildhoodSweetheartsFairyTale #EmilyFontaineGetOut #TheRealQueenHasArrivedEmilyCantClingToOurKingAnymore I stared at the trending topics climbing the social media charts, a quiet, stinging ache spreading through my chest. He and Giselle were a fairy tale, a match made in heaven. So what did that make me? Oh, right. To the internet, I was just Emily Fontaine, the desperate, clout-chasing parasite who wouldn’t stop clinging to Bobby. I was the laughable, pathetic villain in their beautiful love story. My chest tightened as a wave of sharp pain washed over me. For years, I had kept my mouth shut to protect Bobby’s image as the eligible, single heartthrob. I had willingly shouldered every ounce of hate, vitriol, and mockery the internet could throw. Even though I was his legal, long-term partner, the public branded me a manipulative social climber who wouldn’t leave him alone. There were times when the cyberbullying became too cruel to bear, and I would break down crying in our quiet apartment. Bobby had seen me like that, curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. But he had never offered a public word of defense. He hadn’t even offered a simple hug. He never protected me. He only told me to be strong, leaving me to drown in the toxic sea of online hatred. And now, because of his grand, public declaration, that other woman had become the nation’s beloved muse. She was praised as his perfect match, his ultimate destiny. I scrolled through the endless flood of comments telling me to quit the industry, to crawl into a hole and die, and demanding that Bobby and Giselle get married on the spot. With trembling fingers, I dialed Bobby’s number. The call connected, but before I could draw a breath to speak, the line went dead. In those brief, hollow seconds before he hung up, the distinct, booming echo of an opera performance played in the background. I closed my eyes. I remembered the trending photos of them together at the Palais Garnier in Paris, enjoying a private box. So, it was true. They really were together. No wonder he had vanished into thin air the second the award ceremony ended. He had been in a hurry to fly across the world to her. Something warm and wet slipped down my cheek. I touched my face, surprised to find myself crying. What was I still hoping for? The man simply did not love me. He never had. 2 I ended up in the hospital. I was driven there by a panic attack, courtesy of Bobby and Giselle’s extreme shippers. Ever since his grand confession, the online harassment had reached a fever pitch. Gossip accounts had spliced an unedited, bare-faced paparazzi photo of me together with a highly polished, ethereal modeling poster of Giselle. The captions mocked me mercilessly, calling me a common toad trying to swallow a swan. Now that the real swan had returned, they said, I needed to clear the path and disappear. Then, some unhinged fan sent a box of dead, rotting frogs to my agency. The shock sent my system into a tailspin, and I collapsed. I stayed in the hospital for five days. During that entire time, I didn’t receive a single text or call from Bobby. I did, however, receive a bouquet of calla lilies. They were my favorite flowers. On the day I was discharged, the entertainment news announced that Bobby had finally landed back in the country. I looked at the calla lilies sitting on the bedside table and decided to give him one last chance. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. Trying to keep my voice light and steady, I said, “Bobby, I’m getting discharged today. Can you come pick me up?” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. “Emily, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice flat and distant. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You’ll have to find your own way back.” I stared at the schedule his assistant had secretly forwarded to me earlier. He didn’t have a single event scheduled for today. Nothing at all. I plucked a petal from a calla lily, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper. “What are you so busy with, Bobby?” The pause this time was even longer. He was probably surprised. I had never been this demanding before. For five years, I had been the perfect, understanding partner, never wanting to make things difficult for him, always putting his career first. Finally, he let out an irritated sigh. “Don’t start acting up, Emily.” And with that, he cut the line. He couldn’t even spare me another second. 3 The truth is, when a person stops loving you, it becomes glaringly obvious. During our first year together, when we were both nobodies, I had practically lived at networking events, drinking myself to the point of stomach bleeding just to pitch him to directors and secure him decent auditions. When he heard I had been hospitalized for internal bleeding, Bobby had practically lost his mind. He ran into the ward, pale and shaking. Seeing my weak state, tears had poured down his face. I had teased him back then. “Why are you crying? I’m not dead.” He wiped his eyes, his voice cracking with anger and worry. “Do you not care about your own body? Why did you drink so much?” I had smiled weakly. “But it worked, didn’t it? The supporting role in Director Miller’s film is yours.” Hearing that, he had cried even harder, clutching my hand to his face. “Emily, I don’t want to be famous anymore. I don’t care about any roles. I just want you safe by my side.” We really did have beautiful moments back then. Once, his eyes held nothing but me. His concern was real. It was nothing like today. I had called to tell him I was leaving the hospital, and his only instinct was to keep his distance. He didn’t even care enough to ask why I was hospitalized in the first place. I squeezed the calla lily petal in my hand until it bruised, watching the green sap stain my skin like the slow, quiet death of my love for him. If he cared so little, why had he bother sending these flowers? Ding. My phone lit up with a text message. It was from Bobby’s assistant. [Hey Emily, did you get the flowers? I made sure they were calla lilies, your favorite!] [I haven’t seen much of Bobby either these past couple of days, but when we head to his shoot tomorrow, I’ll sneakily ask him about his speech. Don’t listen to the gossip blogs, I’m sure he still has you in his heart.] I let out a cold, hollow laugh. So even the flowers weren’t from him. Bobby, oh Bobby. What exactly did you take me for? I loved you, I respected you, and I was willing to sacrifice my own life to build yours. But that didn’t mean you had the right to trample over my heart and drag my dignity through the dirt. We are done. Truly, completely done. 4 Bobby and I started dating during our first year in the industry. We belonged to the same talent agency, Summit Media, and constantly crossed paths at auditions and low-budget promotional events. Back then, we were both struggling actors at the bottom of the food chain, finding solace in each other’s company. One night, after a grueling sixteen-hour shoot in the freezing rain, we were both shivering, huddled in a small, poorly heated dressing room. He took my freezing hands in his, rubbed them warm, and confessed his love. He promised we would climb to the top of the mountain together, hand-in-hand. He was incredibly handsome. When he focused his gaze on someone, his eyes burned with a quiet, intense fire. Looking into those eyes, I had lost my mind and said yes. We spent five years together. I stayed by his side through every step, moving from a damp basement to a high-end luxury apartment, watching him grow from an unnamed extra into a household name and, finally, a Best Actor winner. He had indeed conquered the world. But the woman he wanted to hold hands with at the peak was no longer me. I pulled up the entertainment news, watching the trending topics boast about his perfect chemistry with Giselle. A familiar, icy numbness settled over me. It was hilarious, really. In all our years together, I had never once heard him mention this childhood sweetheart. But my assistant, Daisy, had mentioned Giselle’s name a few times recently. Supposedly, Giselle had spent several years studying ballet in Paris and was now returning to the country to transition into acting. She had signed with our agency, Summit Media. When Daisy first brought it up, she had leaned in and whispered a secret. Giselle wasn’t just joining the agency; she was returning to inherit it. She was the only daughter of Arthur Sinclair, the billionaire founder and owner of Summit Media. When Daisy was sharing this gossip, Bobby had been sitting nearby, pretending to read his script. But I had caught the fleeting, calculative gleam in his eyes. I wondered if his sudden public romantic confession had anything to do with that piece of information. I had a feeling I would find out the answer very soon. 5 I didn’t expect to find Bobby at our apartment when I got back. He was lounging on the sofa, clutching his phone, a soft, unmistakable smile playing on his lips as he messaged someone. How long had it been since I last saw him smile like that? Probably since he started filming the movie that won him his award. After that, his gaze and his smiles rarely landed on me. I stood silently at the entrance, watching him. He was so deeply engrossed in his screen that he didn’t even notice the door open. “Bobby.” I finally spoke, breaking the silence. He jerked, his head snapping toward me. The warmth on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, guarded mask. Sensing my gaze on his phone, he quickly locked the screen and tossed it onto the sofa. “You’re back? That was fast.” He frowned, then tried to smooth his expression with a dry smile. “See? I told you you didn’t need me to pick you up. You’ve always been great at taking care of yourself, Emily.” Even though my heart had already gone numb, hearing those words still sent a sharp, physical ache through my chest. Yes, I was great at taking care of myself. Because I knew that no matter what happened to me, he wouldn’t show up. I only had myself to rely on. Over the past few years, especially after he gained a bit of fame, he had become obsessed with protecting his own reputation. He refused to let any potential scandal touch him, which meant constantly asking me to step back, to hide, to sacrifice my career for his. Peeling back the rose-colored glasses of love, I looked at the man before me with cold clarity. He was terrifyingly, incredibly selfish. But fortunately, I was leaving. This selfish, calculating man was no longer my problem. 6 “Let’s break up,” I said quietly, stating my decision as if discussing the weather. An adult breakup doesn’t require screaming, crying, or throwing dishes. It is merely a calculated exit, a mutual understanding of shifted interests. The moment the words left my mouth, I caught a fleeting glimpse of profound relief on Bobby’s face. He toyed with his phone, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I know I’ve let you down, Emily. You can keep this apartment. Consider it my compensation to you.” I stayed silent. I deserved this apartment. The amount of sweat, tears, and industry connections I had poured into his career over the past five years was worth far more than this piece of real estate. He moved quickly, packing his bags as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. As I watched him roll his suitcase out of the bedroom, I couldn’t help but ask one last question. “Bobby, did your heart change because Giselle is the heiress of Summit Media, or did you genuinely spend all these years pining for your childhood sweetheart?” Bobby paused at the entryway, his back to me. A long silence filled the hallway. I stared at his profile. The youthful, passionate face I had once loved so deeply had gradually been replaced by the calculating, weary lines of a seasoned social climber. The man who had once held my hand and promised to take me to the top had vanished long ago. Finally, Bobby let out a quiet sigh. “Emily, nobody knows better than you how brutal it is to struggle at the bottom of this industry. I’m just tired of struggling. I’m sorry.” A laugh bubbled up from my chest, entirely stripping away the last trace of bitterness. I looked at him and said with absolute sincerity, “I wish you a prosperous career, Bobby. May you fly as high as you want.” He turned to look at me, a brief, faint flicker of melancholy and regret crossing his eyes, only to be instantly replaced by cold resolve. “Emily, I hope you’ll keep our past relationship strictly to yourself. I don’t want Giselle to misunderstand.” With that, he opened the door and walked out without looking back. As the door clicked shut, the very last fragment of regret in my heart evaporated. This was good. This was exactly how it should be. 7 Once the breakup was finalized, Bobby acted as though a heavy shackle had been lifted from his ankles. That very evening, he officially announced his relationship with Giselle on his social media accounts, using the buzz to build massive hype for her return to the country. The internet went wild, congratulating the perfect couple, while taking the opportunity to throw a few more insults my way, telling the “clout-chasing leech” to finally crawl away and die. Daisy was furious on my behalf, pacing around my dressing room. I kept my head down, making notes on my script. “It’s fine. The higher they build their pedestal, the harder they fall. You know how this industry works.” Daisy looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. “But it’s so unfair! You were his actual partner all those years, and now everyone thinks you’re some psycho stalker. I can’t stand it.” “Is being an actor’s secret girlfriend really that prestigious?” I asked, not looking up. “I’d rather be an award-winning actress myself.” Hearing this, Daisy’s face lit up. “Emily, I knew you wouldn’t let this beat you! Yes! Let’s study the script. Once you land the lead role in Director Bennett’s The Divide, we’ll show them what a real star looks like.” She paused, sighing. “To be honest, you sacrificed way too much for Bobby. You handed him all the best scripts and opportunities, even though your acting skills are ten times better than his. It was such a waste.” It was indeed a waste. But at least I was awake now. The online hate was temporary. Now that I had cut off the dead weight of a useless relationship, I was returning to my true passion. I would use my own talent to wash away every drop of mud they had thrown at me. 8 I didn’t expect Giselle to set her sights on the lead role of The Divide as well. The moment I stepped into the agency office the next day, the corridors were buzzing with the news. The ballet princess, fresh off her high-profile return under Bobby’s wing, was auditioning for The Divide. She wanted to use this blockbuster project as her grand debut into the film industry. My manager, Valerie, walked into my dressing room with a grim expression. “Emily, you had a real fighting chance for this role. But now that the owner’s daughter is throwing her hat in the ring, how are we supposed to compete?” She sighed, sitting down across from me. “And with your current reputation… you refuse to release a statement clarifying your past with Bobby, so you’re just taking all the blame. Director Bennett might love your acting, but he has to consider the public backlash of casting you.” “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?” I looked at her calmly. “I still want to fight for it. I’ve read this script front to back five times. I understand this character better than anyone else.” Valerie shook her head helplessly. “You’re an acting purist, Emily. But this industry isn’t just about talent. Do you really think Bobby got the lead in Crescent just because of his audition? He and Giselle were already making deals behind the scenes. That role was handed to him on a silver platter because of her family’s backing.” “You were the only naive one, kept in the dark while you practically built his career for him.” Valerie’s words rang in my ears, sounding utterly ridiculous. So, they all believed Bobby had landed Crescent because of Giselle’s influence. I wondered if Bobby believed that lie too. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. How pathetic. Valerie gave me a few more warnings about not causing trouble before leaving the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 9 I was surprised when Bobby initiated contact and knocked on my dressing room door. I looked up as he strode in, my brow furrowing in irritation. Not tearing his face off in public was the absolute limit of my generosity. I saw no reason for us to have any private conversations. Until he opened his mouth. He looked down at me, his deep eyes heavy with what he clearly thought was concern. “Emily, I expected you to break your contract and leave the agency by now.” His tone was insufferably patronizing, as if he were doing me a favor. “You know Giselle is back. She’s going to be the priority here. She knows about our past, and as long as you stay, the agency won’t throw a single scrap of resource your way.” He glanced at the script in my hand, his lips twisting into a dismissive smirk. “Take The Divide, for instance. You’ve been preparing for months, but that role is already hers. If you stay, you’ll just rot in the background.” “If I were you, I’d pack my bags and preserve whatever dignity I have left.” I stared at him, fully understanding his game. He was entirely convinced I stood no chance against Giselle, and he was trying to pressure me into leaving quietly so I wouldn’t be a thorn in their side. I could tolerate his betrayal. People change, and relationships fade. But I could not tolerate his sheer, unadulterated shamelessness. I looked at him as if looking at a complete stranger. “Bobby,” I said, a cold laugh escaping my lips, “you really are a piece of work.” The conversation ended in a tense, freezing silence. 10 My first face-to-face encounter with Giselle took place at the audition venue for The Divide. Before my car even came to a halt outside the studio, I saw her. She was stepping out of a luxury van, surrounded by a small army of assistants, with Bobby walking close by her side. Giselle wore an exquisite, high-end designer outfit, her beautiful face animated as she chatted happily with Bobby. Bobby kept his eyes fixed entirely on her, a tender, doting smile on his face. Suddenly, Giselle’s heel caught on a crack in the pavement. Almost instantly, Bobby moved with absolute urgency, wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her in a highly protective stance. This version of Bobby was both familiar and entirely foreign. It seemed that after freeing himself from me, he was living a very happy life. Beside me, Daisy let out a disgusted hiss. “Emily, the way that prick flaunts his new relationship makes me want to throw up.” I pulled my gaze back. “It has nothing to do with us. Grab the materials. It’s time to get out.”

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1 I had been in a secret relationship with Victoria Blaiklock, the heiress to the Blaiklock family, for years. We had finally agreed to make it public today. But when the press conference started, she was a no-show. Instead, her childhood best friend posted a cozy selfie with her on social media. The caption read: The ones who love you always find a way to you. Huge thanks to the incredibly busy CEO Victoria Blaiklock for dropping by my set. The comments section instantly filled with adoration and envy. Meanwhile, I stood on that stage under the harsh glare of the flashbulbs, utterly humiliated by the press. “Nate DuPont is just a D-list actor who can’t book a decent gig to save his life. To think he’d try to leach off the Blaiklock family… the audacity.” “He must be desperate for cash. Look at his background. A nobody from the streets trying to claim a Blaiklock heiress? He’s going to get blacklisted. He’ll end up working as a male escort at this rate, haha!” Unable to bear the mockery, I turned to leave. But before I could reach the exit, one of Victoria’s rabid fanboys hurled a heavy rock at me. It struck my temple, and the world went black. When I finally opened my eyes, my recent memories were gone. I only remembered who I truly was: the sole heir to the global DuPont conglomerate. And I remembered that I had an unfulfilled marriage alliance with the daughter of the prestigious Morgan family. My head throbbed with a blinding pain the moment I woke up. Just then, my phone buzzed on the bedside table. I swiped to answer, and my parents’ worried voices flooded the receiver. “Nate, sweetie, are you okay?” “Oh, your father and I have been worried sick over here in Europe! I still don’t understand why you refused to take over the family business and insisted on playing actor over there. Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into…” As my mother rattled on, a heavy fog settled in my brain. I frowned, thoroughly confused. “Mom, what are you talking about? Didn’t we agree that I’d come home and take over the company right after graduation?” There was a sudden, heavy silence on the other end. Then, my mother gasped. “Nate! What on earth are you saying? You’ve been acting for years! You even signed yourself over to that little girlfriend of yours, Victoria Blaiklock. And for what? Your career hasn’t even taken off!” “Girlfriend? But aren’t I betrothed to Audrey Morgan? Why would I have a girlfriend?” Silence fell over the line again, thicker this time. Finally, my mother’s voice trembled. “Nate… did you lose your memory?” I stared at the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room, trying to piece things together. “Yeah. It feels like I’ve forgotten a lot of things.” “Maybe… maybe that’s a blessing in disguise,” my mother whispered softly. “The things you forgot weren’t exactly happy memories.” Unhappy memories? I tried to dig into the blank spaces of my mind, but a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my temples, forcing me to stop. Before hanging up, my parents urged me to rest and recover. They promised to fly back and get me as soon as they wrapped up their business overseas. Until then, they told me to reach out to the Morgans if I needed anything. My late grandfather had been exceptionally close with Old Mr. Morgan. Even though I had previously walked away from the engagement, they wouldn’t turn their backs on me. I picked up my phone to search for my own name online, but the door clicked open. A young woman walked in, her eyes red and rimmed with tears. She looked at me with deep remorse. “I’m so sorry, Nate. I’m so late.” “Excuse me, but do I know you?” I asked, my voice flat as I stared at her. “Nate, what are you talking about? It’s me. Victoria.” She froze, her expression shifting to sheer shock. A man stepped up from behind her and sighed. “Look, Nate, I know you’re mad that Victoria stood you up at the press conference. But she only did it because she was worried the crew on my set would push me around. She went there to back me up. Don’t take it out on her.” Hearing this, Victoria immediately grabbed his hand, offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s not your fault, Roger. I was just too busy and completely lost track of the schedule. I forgot yesterday was supposed to be our big announcement.” Watching them trade sweet, protective glances, a sudden, bitter pang tightened my chest. I hated the feeling. Frowning, I snapped, “I don’t know either of you. Get out of my room. I need to rest.” “Nate, don’t be ridiculous,” Victoria said, her remorse instantly turning into annoyance. “I admitted I made a mistake. But pulling a stunt like amnesia just to hurt me is childish.” I caught the name she had used. Blaiklock. I tested the words on my tongue. “So, you’re the Blaiklock heiress? My supposed girlfriend?” Victoria let out a knowing, soft laugh. “Alright, I get it. You’re giving me an out. Yes, I’m your girlfriend. You remember now, don’t you?” “In that case, let me make this official: we are over. I have an arrangement with the Morgan family. Do not contact me again.” Roger let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “An arrangement with the Morgans? A family of that stature wouldn’t even look at a D-lister like you. Nate DuPont, did that rock scramble your brain?” Victoria shook her head, pitying me. “Seriously, Nate. If you’re trying to make me jealous, at least make the lie believable. Besides me, which elite family would ever look past your working-class roots?” “I am the sole heir of the global DuPont Group,” I growled, my patience wearing thin. “I’d like to see which family in this country dares to look down on me!” “Haha! Victoria, he’s completely lost his mind!” Roger barked with laughter, staring at me like I was a clown. “Just because his last name is DuPont doesn’t mean he has anything to do with the actual DuPont empire!” Victoria rolled her eyes, her face tight with second-hand embarrassment. “Nate, stop talking. You’re making a fool of yourself.” Suddenly, my phone rang. 2 I looked down. It was Director Bennett. He was likely the director of my current project. I hesitated before sliding to answer. The second the call connected, a barrage of spitfire abuse came through the speaker. “Nate DuPont! Are you out of your mind? You were doing fine, so why did you have to go and provoke the Blaiklocks? How the hell am I supposed to shoot my movie now?!” His voice was deafening, clearly audible to the two people standing in my room. I glanced at Victoria, who looked suddenly guilty, and calmly put the phone on speaker. “Director Bennett,” I said slowly. “As far as I know, my relationship with the Blaiklock heiress was very real.” “Real, my foot! Victoria Blaiklock herself just ordered me to replace you as the lead and give the role to her best friend, Roger Cross! If she wanted him in the first place, she should have said so instead of making me waste six months on you! You’re a liability, Nate. Do the industry a favor and get yourself blacklisted!” With a frustrated groan, he hung up. A cold anger flared in my chest. As a DuPont, being berated by a low-level director was beyond insulting. I couldn’t comprehend what my past self had been doing to tolerate this. Suddenly, fractured memories flickered in my mind. Freezing temperatures. Me, shivering, submerged in ice-cold water for hours. The stunt department’s negligence, causing me to throw myself off a galloping horse. I had bled for this film. I had given it everything. And my so-called girlfriend had handed my blood, sweat, and tears directly to another man without a second thought. “Well, Ms. Blaiklock,” I said, a dark smile playing on my lips. “Care to explain this?” Her eyes darted away. “Roger is new to the industry. This project is a perfect launchpad for him. Besides, the internet is ripping you apart right now. The director didn’t want the bad press anyway.” “Is that so? And why exactly is the internet ripping me apart? Oh right, because you stood me up.” I had already seen the footage from the press conference. The pack of reporters surrounding me like vultures, laughing in my face while I stood there defenseless. And while I was being publicly crucified, my “girlfriend” was playing doting guardian angel on another man’s set. The whole relationship was a tragic joke. Sensing my hostility, Roger’s smug demeanor vanished, replaced by an incredibly fragile, wounded look. “Nate, it’s all my fault,” he whimpered. “Please don’t fight with Victoria because of me. Look, I’ll pull out of the movie. I’ll give all my upcoming gigs to you as compensation, okay? Just stop pretending to have amnesia.” Seeing Roger play the victim instantly melted Victoria’s guilt into fierce defensiveness. She glared at me. “Nate, I already apologized. What is wrong with you? Do you have to hold this over our heads just to make us feel miserable?” “Reflect on your attitude. When you’re ready to act like an adult, we can talk.” Throwing those words over her shoulder, she grabbed Roger’s arm and stormed out of the room. I stared at the closed door, feeling a strange wave of relief. Thank god I forgot her. If I had actually loved a woman like that, the betrayal would have cut me to the bone. … A few days later, I was discharged from the hospital. My first order of business was to visit the Morgan estate. I wanted to apologize for calling off the engagement. If possible, I wanted to honor my grandfather’s dying wish and make things right with Audrey Morgan. When I arrived at the grand Morgan manor, I spotted a woman in the garden watering the hydrangeas. It was Audrey. She possessed a quiet, breathtaking elegance that was a world away from Victoria’s loud, demanding presence. Bathed in the soft morning sunlight, she looked so ethereal my chest tightened with a sudden, genuine flutter. “Hello, Ms. Morgan,” I called out. She looked up, her gray eyes widening in utter disbelief. “Nate? What are you doing here?” “I came to pay my respects.” She stared at me as if she’d seen a ghost but quietly ushered me into the house. Old Mr. Morgan was just as stunned to see me. Since I didn’t know the exact details of how I had broken things off before, I decided the best approach was absolute honesty. “You’re saying… you don’t remember anything from the past few years?” Audrey asked, her voice rising in disbelief. I nodded. “Yes. But judging by the state of things, I don’t think I missed out on much. Amnesia might actually be a blessing.” “I didn’t just come to apologize. I want to reinstate our marriage alliance. That is, if you’re still willing to have me.” The room fell into a tense, heavy silence. Old Mr. Morgan cleared his throat, his eyes sharp as flint. “As far as I recall, your relationship with the Blaiklock girl was quite serious. You walked into my home and broke off this engagement specifically for her.” “I will handle that, Mr. Morgan,” I replied steadily. “I may not remember the details of our relationship, but her recent actions have made it very clear that we have no future together.” The old patriarch stared at me, his powerful presence weighing down on the room like a physical force. I clenched my jaw, meeting his gaze head-on without flinching. After a tense minute, the severity in his eyes melted into approval. He turned to Audrey. “And what about you, Audrey? Are you willing to give him another chance?” Audrey studied me, her gaze lingering on my face. After a long pause, she said, “If he can clean up his mess and start fresh, I’m willing to give him a chance.” “After all, a merger between the Morgan and DuPont families is highly beneficial for both of us.” “Thank you, Ms. Morgan,” I said, offering a small, confident smile. “I won’t let you down.” 3 Leaving the Morgan estate, I followed the navigation on my phone back to the apartment I apparently leased. To my surprise, Victoria was already there, sitting on my sofa and sipping a cup of coffee. She looked up at me like a queen inspecting a peasant. “Back already?” “I assume you’ve calmed down now. Good. We can finally talk.” I knew I needed to end things cleanly, so I ignored her condescending tone and sat down opposite her. “Ms. Blaiklock, since you’ve clearly found someone else, let’s just make this clean. We’re over.” “Nate, enough!” Victoria slammed her cup down. “Is this all because of that stupid press conference? Fine! I’ll make it up to you!” “There’s a high-society gala tomorrow night. We can use the event to announce our engagement. That should satisfy your pride, shouldn’t it?” She picked up her cup again, offering a smug smile. Engagement? Had my past self really been that close to marrying her? “I’ll pass on the engagement, Ms. Blaiklock. As I said, my commitment lies with the Morgan family.” “Why do you keep bringing up the Morgans? If you offend a dynasty like that with your delusions, even I won’t be able to protect you!” “And stop trying to pass yourself off as the DuPont heir just because you share a last name. Their family operates overseas, which is why your records don’t show much, but if the real DuPonts find out you’re using their name, they will ruin you.” Hearing the Blaiklock heiress warn the actual DuPont heir about the wrath of his own family was almost comedy gold. Before I could speak, Victoria’s tone softened. “Look, once we announce our engagement, I’ll have my agency clean up your reputation. I’ll even get you a lead role in a massive new drama, okay?” It made no sense. If she cared about me, why hadn’t she put out a single PR statement to defend me? Why did she have to wait until we were engaged to clear my name? Or was I just a chess piece she was using to pave the way for Roger Cross? She didn’t love me. Not even a little. Why on earth had my past self stayed with her? I tried to dig into the memory, but a familiar ache started behind my eyes. I pushed it down and frowned. “No thanks. I’m leaving the entertainment industry anyway.” “Nate, quit throwing tantrums. You signed a lifetime contract with my agency. The termination fee is astronomical. With your bank account, you couldn’t afford to pay it off in three lifetimes.” “A lifetime contract?” I looked at her, stunned. “So I essentially sold myself to you?” Victoria’s face softened into a nostalgic smile. “Yes. You said I was your entire world, and that you’d gladly sign your life away for me.” “If you hadn’t helped me secure that wager with my family back then, I wouldn’t have gotten my shares in the Blaiklock Group. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, Nate.” “And what about Roger?” I asked, cutting right through her sweet words. “Roger is just my childhood friend. He returned from abroad a few years ago, and his family asked me to look out for him. I know I’ve neglected you lately because of him, but I promise he won’t be a distraction anymore.” Just as the words left her mouth, her phone lit up on the table. My eyes caught the caller ID: Roger Babe. She answered it right in front of me. Her face instantly pale, she cooed into the receiver, “Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you!” Hanging up, she grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door. “Come to the office with me. We have urgent business to discuss.” I pulled my arm back, staring at her coldly. “If Roger is the one calling you, what does that have to do with me?” “It’s work-related, Nate! Just come on, we don’t have time to waste!” For some inexplicable reason, I let her drag me to the agency headquarters.

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