Author: Momo Chan

Everyone knew that Sloan Caldwell had two personalities. My dominant self—the real me—loved the composed and steady Rhys Caldwell. My alternate self, however, loved the wild, reckless Jax Donovan. Two years ago, Jax was in a motorcycle accident at the track, and my usually compliant alternate personality violently seized control of my body. For two long years, I became Jax’s willing doormat. Until the day I overheard him talking to his friends in the VIP lounge. “You bet the guys you could lure out the alternate Sloan, even crashing your bike to do it.” “Now she’s chased you for two years, and you’re going to marry Willow Hart.” “Jax… are you telling me you feel nothing for Sloan?” From inside the private room, I heard Jax’s dismissive, almost amused voice. “I was just curious, trying to mess with her head. How was I supposed to know she’d suffocate the real Sloan for me?” 1 Hearing the noise, Jax immediately stood up and opened the rest area door. Seeing me, he looked momentarily flustered. “You… you heard something?” I suppressed the immediate, sharp anguish inside me, pointing to the helmet on the floor with a strained, fake smile. “Heard what? Didn’t you ask me to bring you your helmet? I ran so fast I tripped and dropped it.” Jax’s tension visibly eased, but in the very next second, his relaxed brow twisted into a deep, angry frown. He picked up the helmet and shouted at me, his eyes red with fury. “Sloan, was that on purpose?! You know that’s the one Willow gave me. Why couldn’t you be more careful!” My gaze dropped to where he was pointing. On the cheap, forty-dollar helmet—the kind you’d buy at a roadside stop—was a scratch thinner than a strand of hair. My heart went ice cold. I managed a soft, hollow, “I’m sorry.” Jax was obsessed with racing, and I knew a quality helmet could save your life. I had custom-ordered over a dozen different, cutting-edge helmets from Germany for him. Totaling over twenty thousand dollars, he never even glanced at them. But the forty-dollar helmet Willow picked up from a flea market? He treated it like a priceless relic. He even insisted on wearing that cheap piece of plastic every single time he competed. “An apology means nothing now, does it? Forget it. Get out of my way.” Jax shoved me aside and strode out the door. On the track, Jax was geared up, his red and white leathers making him look every bit the dashing, arrogant racer. Before the race started, he pushed up the dark visor of his helmet and scanned the spectator stands. The track camera followed his line of sight, sweeping across the audience. One of his buddies in front of me turned back and winked teasingly. “Hey, Sloan, Jax is looking at you!” Sure enough, Jax’s gaze was fixed on my section. I instinctively stood up, waving tentatively toward him. The camera paused on my face for a single second before quickly shifting. Then, cheers erupted from the front row seats, led by Willow Hart. “Go, Jax! You have to take first place, Honey!” She flashed a huge, beaming smile and a heart-sign for the camera. Only then did Jax pull his visor down, focusing on the pre-race routine. The front row was reserved for contestants’ families. Jax had allocated his two spots to Willow and his closest friend. The seat I was in? I’d waited five agonizing hours in line, only to have the tickets sell out just before my turn. I’d then paid a scalper five hundred dollars for a ticket in the back. But he was always like this, wasn’t he? I thought I could wear him down, convince him. Until I heard his words today. Jax, predictably, took first place again. The camera zoomed in as Willow excitedly ran onto the track and kissed him. I felt utterly hollow, standing up and stumbling out of the speedway. Late that night, Jax called me again. “Sloan, Booth 1 at The Apex Club. You have ten minutes to get here.” I heard other voices in the background. “You better hurry, or Jax might belong to someone else!” He hung up without waiting for a response. I hesitated for a few seconds, but the deeply ingrained habit of the alternate self won out, and I put on my coat. Due to the time crunch, I only threw on a simple black trench coat over my pajamas. My home was at least thirty minutes from the club. I arrived with literally one second to spare on his ten-minute ultimatum. I threw open the door to the booth. Jax was locked in a passionate, deep kiss with Willow Hart. The sound of hooting and cheering erupted around them. The moment he saw me, the hazy look in Jax’s eyes vanished. He quickly released Willow. “You came so fast? Don’t get the wrong idea, I just… I lost a round of Truth or Dare, and they dared me to…” 2 “Don’t be mad, Sloan. Come sit and play with us!” one of his buddies, a big guy named ‘Tank,’ coaxed. An expression of displeasure crossed Jax’s face. He glared at Tank. “Stop calling her that!” Tank quickly shut his mouth. “Jax… let’s just go home.” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, stepping forward to gently pull at the hem of his jacket. A wicked, cocky smile spread across Jax’s face. He was all rogue charm. “You came all this way. You’re not going to drink a toast to my win?” Caught in his intense, seductive gaze, I completely forgot I was severely allergic to alcohol. The straight liquor burned its way down my throat, and I doubled over, coughing violently. “That’s not fair, Jax,” another friend chimed in. “Willow didn’t even have to drink!” Jax dropped the playful act. “She’s a girl, why would she drink hard liquor? Juice is fine for her. I’d drink it for her if I had to.” “Ooh-la-la, protective much!” Willow stood up, holding her juice glass, and came over to pat my back. She asked, gently and with false concern, “Sister, are you okay? Would you like some of the juice Jax got me?” “No, thank you.” I weakly pushed the glass away from my face. “Ah! Sister, how could you!” I felt a sudden, cold dampness spread over me. The next thing I knew, a teary, victimized Willow was nestled securely in Jax’s arms. Jax looked at me with open disgust. “If you didn’t want the juice, fine! Why did you have to shove her?” My eyes stung with tears, and I bit my lip hard. “I didn’t shove her!” Hiding in Jax’s embrace, Willow suddenly gasped. “Jax, look what Sister is wearing under her coat! It’s so… gross.” All eyes in the room turned to me. I looked down, confused, only to realize my black coat had fallen open. The orange juice had soaked my silk slip dress. The fabric clung to my skin, clearly outlining the shape of my chest. Jax’s eyes momentarily darkened. Mortified, I clutched the neck of my gown. Several of the men swallowed hard. “Sloan rushing here so fast… does she want to take Jax home and, you know… heh heh heh.” “I can’t believe it, Sloan. You always seemed so reserved, but who knew you were such a tease?” My face burned. I lowered my head, desperate to escape this public execution. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the allergy kicking in, but I felt intensely hot, with an unbearable itching across my arms and thighs. Jax seized my wrist tight. His gaze held a mix of mockery and a hidden, raw lust. “Why leave? You wore this because you wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted me to take you right here?” “Jax!” Willow’s face was a mask of sheer offense. Jax glanced at her, then back at me. “I’ll give you a chance. Go lie down on the sofa.” My body trembled. A tidal wave of shame washed over me. “Jax, I do love you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll sacrifice my dignity for you!” I violently wrenched my wrist free and scrambled out of the club. I drove straight to the pharmacy for allergy medication. When I got home, I saw Willow had posted an update. She was wearing a short, black mini-skirt, straddling Jax’s hundred-thousand-dollar Ducati, and wearing the cat-ear helmet he bought her. “My boyfriend brought me up the mountain road to feel the speed and the wind! Congrats on the first place again!” I remembered Jax had never let me touch his bike. The one time I insisted on riding, he cranked the speed past 120 mph and refused to let me hold his waist. Without a helmet, I nearly flew off the back, clutching the passenger rail for dear life. My mind felt faint, detached. I gripped my chest hard and whispered, “Hold on… just hold on.” The storm of emotions slowly subsided. I scrolled through Willow’s profile. Soon after, she posted again. 3 “Jax says that if you kiss the one you love at sunrise, you’ll be together forever. He just proposed to me!” I instantly recognized the diamond ring on her hand. It was the one Jax had taken me to the boutique to pick out just a few days ago. The salesperson had even congratulated me then, saying how lucky I was to have such a generous future husband. My phone rang again. It was Jax. Wasn’t he supposed to be on the mountain? I wanted to ignore it, but my hand, acting against my will, hit Answer. “I’m outside your building. Get down here.” Jax’s voice was, as always, cold and demanding. Seeing him, a bitter smile pulled at my lips. “Shouldn’t you be on the mountain with Willow? What do you want with me?” Jax’s eyes narrowed, a trace of invisible annoyance flickering within. “So you see me with her, and you’re completely unfazed?” I screamed out in frustration. “What else am I supposed to do?! Follow you around like before, watching the two of you making out?!” Jax’s face froze, and he fell silent. He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes suddenly fixated on my neck. “What’s on your neck?” I gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “Thanks to you, it’s an allergic rash from the liquor.” Jax looked stunned, his lips slightly parted, a flicker of confusion and regret crossing his eyes. I noticed two motorbikes parked near the curb, and a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I looked up, my voice trembling slightly as I asked, “Jax, what exactly do you want from me?” He suddenly moved closer, leaning down slightly, his voice low and mesmerizing. A key was pressed into my palm. “Sloan, ride this bike. Take one lap around Coastal Bay, and I’ll agree to be your boyfriend.” My breath caught. All the color drained from my face. Since that one terrifying high-speed ride with him, I had developed a deep, paralyzing phobia of motorcycles. Just watching him race made me sick with anxiety. Ride a bike? Impossible! But Jax grabbed my hand, electrifying me with his seductive gaze. “Sloan, didn’t you say you’d do anything for me?” Seeing my silence, Jax cupped my face. “Just ride it for a stretch, and I promise, I’ll settle down and dedicate myself to only you.” I involuntarily curled my fingers, and my tightly pressed lips parted. “Okay!” Jax gave a delighted chuckle, his eyes full of wicked triumph. I straddled the motorcycle, my hands shaking as I turned the key. The roar of the engine vibrated through my chest. I dropped the clutch, twisted the throttle, and shot forward like an arrow. Behind me, I faintly heard loud, roaring laughter. The sheer terror made me scream again and again until I finally crashed into a roadside barrier. My face was pale and slick with cold sweat. By the time Jax, Willow, and the others found me, I couldn’t speak a single word. Jax stopped his bike and moved to help me up. I fiercely shoved him away. I ground my teeth, tears streaming down my face. Jax’s throat bobbed. He slowly clenched his fists, and a flash of regret appeared in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I thought…” Willow rushed over, playfully punching Jax’s arm. “Sister, don’t be mad! I tried to stop Jax, but he just had to prove to me that he doesn’t love you!” In that moment, all hope shattered. I used every ounce of my remaining strength to slap Jax across the face. “Get lost!” The apology in Jax’s eyes instantly vanished. He laughed, a cold, hard sound. His voice dropped to a freezing point. “You said it. Don’t ever come crawling back to me.” The roar of his engine faded into the distance. My vision blurred, and something deep inside me rushed to the surface. Drained of all strength, I collapsed into the grass behind me. Jax didn’t know it, but from that moment on, he was no longer worthy of my love. 4 Ten minutes later, I opened my eyes. I looked at the motorcycle beside me and sighed. Then, I got up effortlessly, uprighted the bike, and fired the ignition. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. A short while later, a high-performance BMW S1000RR tore through the street, carving corners with knee-dragging precision that was astonishingly skillful. I rode home and immediately dialed a number in the States. After hanging up, I lay in the bathtub until the water covered my mouth and nose. It was then I truly realized the other me was back. The alternate self, having lost all will to live, chose to fuse. She didn’t disappear; she became a part of my soul. But from now on, I was in control. Three days later, for the championship final, a new name appeared on the roster: Sloan Caldwell. On the track, Jax was exchanging smiles with Willow in the stands. When the announcer called my name, he nearly stalled his bike. Through my reflective visor, I saw his expression—a mixture of confusion and shock—and a flicker of disdain crossed my eyes. Jax scanned the line of racers, his eyes lingering on me for a moment. He finally left, looking disappointed. I was fully encased in my race suit, with chest and back protectors, and thick padding on my knees. My signature long hair was tucked under my helmet, making me look indistinguishable from any of the male racers. It would be impossible for him to recognize me as Sloan Caldwell. With half an hour left before the race, Willow walked onto the track to bring Jax a water bottle. Jax took off his cheap, forty-dollar helmet. Willow looked concerned. “Jax, I heard Sister’s name on the broadcast. Do you think she actually…” Jax tilted his head back, taking a long drink of water, his eyes full of scoffing disbelief. “You saw her ride. Sloan nearly killed herself the other day trying to ride that thing!” “There’s no way she’d race!” “Besides, I scanned the track, there are no women out here. It has to be someone with the same name.” Willow breathed a sigh of relief. Then, she gave him a coy, hopeful look. “You have to do great, Jax. My friends are huge fans, and they all bought tickets just to watch you!” “Don’t forget… what you promised me.” Jax’s eyes darted away. He muttered a deep, “I know.” Willow had been pressuring him to make their relationship public for a long time. He’d always held off because of me. But after that night, he’d finally agreed to her request. Still, why was he so desperately hoping I would show up? If I had just come back to him, just tried to hold onto him, maybe he would have tried to be with me. Jax’s eyes involuntarily drifted toward the spectator stands. But he never saw the familiar figure. He lowered his gaze, his hand instinctively going to his heart. It felt like a piece was missing, an empty void… The race officially began. At the referee’s signal, dozens of bikes took off, moving too fast to be anything but streaks of color. I twisted the throttle and rode with reckless abandon and sublime control, instantly breaking away from the pack. Jax tried to catch up, but through turn after turn, I pulled farther and farther away. My knee was grazing the tarmac on every corner. I could feel a single, anxious gaze fixed on me from the stands. I won first place with a time of 1 minute 25 seconds. Three minutes and three seconds faster than the second-place finisher, Jax Donovan. On the winners’ platform, I removed my helmet. A reporter gasped into his microphone. “It’s her! It really is her!” “The legend of Coastal Bay, the racer Sloan Caldwell, who disappeared for two years! She’s finally returned!!!”

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Five years after I married Grant Ashworth in my sister’s place, Bianca finally decided to come home and claim what she felt was hers. “I’m back now, Gen,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “The Ashworth Group CEO’s wife title? You can hand it over.” My parents, the Fosters, were quick to chime in. “If your sister hadn’t been so kind, how would you ever have gotten to live this good life?” My husband, the man I’d built a life with, frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To be fair, Gen,” Grant said, “you have been occupying Bianca’s place all along.” I simply nodded, picking up the pen to sign the divorce papers that lay on the mahogany coffee table. Day One: I deactivated the Amex Black Card I’d given my parents, shutting down their fifty-thousand-dollar daily spending limit. Day Two: I announced my immediate withdrawal from the corporate project team, bringing multiple multi-billion-dollar deals to a screeching halt. Day Three: I blocked all their numbers, packed a single carry-on, and boarded a flight bound for Palm Beach. Five years. I played the dutiful daughter and the faultless corporate wife, but I was never enough to overcome their preference for her. Let them see how long that preferential treatment could sustain them without me. 1 I walked back into the house and found Bianca in the great room, personally hanging the framed wedding portrait she and Grant had taken years ago. My parents and Grant were sitting nearby, and not a single person had offered a word of protest. In the photo, Grant and Bianca were pressed close, radiating a blinding, genuine joy. Seeing it made my eyes sting, a visceral, burning pain. I suddenly realized—in five years of marriage, aside from the stiff, formal picture on our marriage certificate, Grant and I didn’t have a single photograph together. “Well, hello, little sister.” Bianca raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her eyes alight with smug triumph. “Stolen things always have to be returned.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her expensive champagne. “Do yourself a favor and stop clinging to your sister’s man. It’s tacky.” “My sister’s man?” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. I looked pointedly at Grant, who had been staring at Bianca in silence since I walked in. “Don’t you have anything to say? Or does this proposition sound appealing to you?” I pressed. “Don’t forget, when your company was on the verge of bankruptcy, she decided she didn’t want to be poor with you. How quickly she fled the country to escape the wedding.” My mother’s face instantly twisted in anger. “What nonsense are you spouting?” My father slammed his hand on the armrest of the sofa, trying to assert his authority. “We are not dredging up the past, Gen!” I ignored them both, my gaze locked on Grant, desperate for him to give me an answer, a shred of defense. Grant’s throat worked, and when he finally looked at me, his eyes were full of a weary, profound impatience. “Genevieve Foster,” he said, his voice low but weighted with an undeniable bias. “What’s the point in dragging up old scores?” “Bianca was… young. She made a mistake.” He took his sister-in-law’s side without hesitation. “Now she’s back. Our family is finally together. Just stop causing drama, alright?” My heart felt instantly seized by a cold, invisible hand. The pain was so intense it stole the air from my lungs. “You forced me to marry you in her place, and now you’re helping her steal my husband. How can you call yourselves family?” I choked out. “What was I for these past five years? Was I just a tool to save your reputation? A temp to fill the void until the real bride decided to return?” Grant flinched, avoiding my stare. He exploded with a sudden roar. “Enough! Can you just stop being so dramatic?” Bianca smirked, a cruel, mocking curve to her lips. “Tell me, Gen. Sleeping in my marital bed, wearing my ring, with my man… didn’t it make you feel a little dirty?” “You’re so wicked. You just love stealing your sister’s things, don’t you?” she purred. Her words were poison, delivered with the arrogant confidence of the favored child, twisting the narrative with effortless ease. I was shaking with pure rage. “Bianca Foster, you have no shame!” “Genevieve!” Grant immediately pulled Bianca behind him, his voice a sharp, cutting reprimand. “She is your sister! You can’t speak to her like that.” Bianca nestled into Grant’s embrace, whispering, “Grant, I’m sorry. This is my fault.” “I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. Gen took care of you for five years. She deserves a thank you, even if it was just out of pity…” She finished, her gaze flicking up to mine with a triumphant challenge. Grant only grew angrier. “Genevieve, look at you! Sharp-tongued and petty. You have zero class. You’re no wife for the CEO of the Ashworth Group.” He grabbed Bianca’s hand. “Let’s go. I’m taking you to the charity auction tonight. We’ll buy something you love. Consider it my apology.” He pulled her out the door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind them. My parents immediately produced a crisply folded divorce agreement from a handbag. “You were reluctant before, but signing this now is best for everyone,” my mother insisted. “Grant’s assets have grown substantially, and Bianca is willing to split the equity evenly. She’s being remarkably generous, considering you’re sisters.” Bianca was never “generous.” My parents’ nervous expressions told the real story: Grant knew nothing about this monetary compensation. They were offering me hush money, terrified I would disrupt their precious reunion. I didn’t let them persuade me further. I signed with one swift, decisive motion. “Fine. I agree to the divorce.” The instant the final stroke was complete, their faces relaxed into wide, eager smiles. I couldn’t help the cold, derisive sneer that escaped me. “Forcing your own daughter to sign divorce papers. Does that make you that happy?” My mother’s smile froze. “We thought you were finally showing some maturity, but then you say something like that?” My father frowned, jumping to her defense. “See? This is why you’re not as pleasing as your sister. We can’t be blamed for preferring her.” They snatched the papers from the table, not even sparing a single word of comfort. They turned and hurried out, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence. The front door clicked shut. I sat there, the quiet pressing down on me, completely abandoned. A moment later, my phone vibrated. Amex Notification: Charge of $30,000.00 to Saks Fifth Avenue. Simultaneously, Bianca’s feed updated: a new, limited-edition designer clutch, with the caption: “Thank you, Mom, for the welcome home gift. Heart.” A glacial coldness spread from my chest, freezing me solid. All these years, anything they offered me was either Bianca’s leftovers or what she couldn’t be bothered to want. Any time I showed a hint of unhappiness, they’d immediately snap: “Who are you making faces at? Do we owe you something?” “You are so immature. You’re nothing like your sister!” I spent five years desperately trying to disprove that verdict, exhausting myself to win their affection. But at that moment, I finally understood—some favor, I was never going to be part of. Face expressionless, I picked up my phone. “I need to shut down the two authorized user cards on my family account. Immediately.” That evening, my mother burst through the door, throwing the credit card onto the floor in front of me. “We say two things you don’t like, and you cut off our money? Did we raise you for nothing all these years?” My father followed, pointing a finger at my face, his voice booming with fury. “You knew we were at the counter paying! You did that to deliberately embarrass us!” Then, Bianca strolled in, casually linked arm-in-arm with Grant. “Sister, you are truly going too far. Why couldn’t you wait until you got home? Why did you make Mom and Dad suffer that humiliation in public?” This scenario had played out countless times in my memory. Now, Grant was a part of it. His face was a mask of thunderous anger. He grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Genevieve Foster! Are you ever going to let this go? Apologize to your parents, now!” He leaned closer, his voice a low, hard warning in my ear. “Stop pushing it. Are you trying to tear this family apart?” When I stayed silent, he made the decision for me. “Mom, Dad, Gen was just upset. I’ll make sure her spending limit is raised to one hundred thousand. Just charge whatever you want.” “If you said it,” I interrupted him calmly, “you’ll be the one footing the bill.” “Genevieve Foster!” Grant’s patience snapped. He roared my name. “I’m asking you one last time—apologize or not?” He gripped my wrist, his strength so great I thought my bones would shatter. “Do you even want to be in this family?” “No.” I snatched my hand back. Inside, I was calmer than I had ever been. Grant’s angry expression went blank for a split second, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “What did you say?” I didn’t bother to repeat myself. I turned to walk away. My five years of obedience and devotion had only served as a reason for them to exploit me. As I brushed past Bianca, she suddenly dropped to the floor. “Sister… I know you’re angry, but why would you push me?” she whimpered, clutching her ankle. “What if I broke something? Is that what you want?” Before I could react, a massive force hit me from behind. Grant shoved me out the front door, slamming me hard onto the cold flagstones. A blinding sting of pain shot through my palms and knees. “Get out!” His eyes were icy. “You get out of here right now!” “This house has no room for your drama queen routine!” Through the glass door, I saw Grant spin around and scoop up Bianca, who was still cradling her ankle. His tender, careful movement was in stark contrast to the brutal shove he’d just given me. Bianca settled into his arms, and over his shoulder, she flashed me a look of pure, victorious satisfaction. I smiled back, a small, genuine curve of my mouth. I mouthed two silent words: “You win.” Grant Ashworth, I didn’t want him anymore. My parents—I didn’t want them either. The next morning, I called a project team meeting. Since I’d decided to leave, I owed them a professional transition. Before I could even speak, Grant burst in, Bianca trailing behind him. “Effective immediately, all projects currently managed by Genevieve Foster will be transferred to Bianca,” he announced to the stunned room. He turned to me, his gaze cold. “You injured Bianca yesterday and caused her distress. Letting her take over your projects will be your compensation to her.” I shot to my feet. “I won’t allow this!” “Bianca studied art history. She can’t read a single line of project code, and she has zero experience in finance! You can’t just parachute her in and hand her hundreds of millions in core projects! You’re treating the company like a playground!” I had planned for an amicable departure, ensuring the projects were handed over responsibly. Not for Grant, but for the team members who had poured their blood and sweat into the Ashworth Group alongside me. “Is this just because you’re jealous?” Grant raged. “You’re trying to humiliate Bianca in front of everyone!” “Genevieve,” he hissed, “when did you become so malicious?” He raised his voice for the room to hear. “I run the Ashworth Group now. Accept the new structure, or you can walk out of this project team.” He accused me of tarnishing Bianca’s reputation, yet he was systematically stomping my dignity into the dirt. “Fine,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’m out.” I swept my gaze across the faces of my colleagues—some shocked, some pitying. “Take care, everyone.” I didn’t need to say another word. They knew what a manager relying solely on family connection, and a decision-maker confusing business with personal life, meant for their careers. The news of my departure from Ashworth spread like wildfire. Less than two hours later, my phone rang. “Ms. Foster, if you are confirmed to be resigning, we will have to terminate our corporate partnership with Ashworth as per our contract.” Moments after that, the head of my core technology team texted me: “All key members have collectively tendered their resignation. We’re waiting for your next move.” Near noon, Grant stormed into the luxury boutique hotel suite where I was temporarily staying. “Genevieve Foster!” He ground out my name. “Where have you been? Are you doing this on purpose?” “The entire financial district is talking about Bianca and me! They’re saying you left because of her!” He grabbed my wrist again. “You have to go back and clear her name. Now!” I sharply pulled my hand free. “Even now, all you care about is her reputation?” Grant sneered. “You think losing a few contracts and some employees resigning is going to hurt me? You just want to prove how important you are.” “The important thing right now is Bianca! She’s an unmarried woman with a clean slate. Her reputation matters more than anything, and you are trying to ruin her with these false rumors.” “Are any of those rumors untrue?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Smack! The sharp, fiery sting of a slap erupted across my cheek. My ears were ringing. In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. “Bianca is your sister!” Grant gasped, his chest heaving with fury. “How could you say that?” I slowly lifted my hand to my stinging cheek, my eyes holding only a dead calm. Grant looked momentarily unsettled, but he quickly reasserted himself. “Go apologize to Bianca. We can forget this ever happened.” “And if I refuse?” I suddenly remembered Bianca’s first visit, demanding I “give Grant back.” I had thought she was comically naive. Now, I saw that the person who was naive was me—the one who thought Grant would never leave. “Then I’ll divorce you!” Grant roared. “Genevieve Foster! You’re just not as likeable as your sister! You’re cold and stiff. What other man would want a woman like you besides me?” His phone chimed. Caller ID: Bianca. He quickly hit the power button, the screen going dark. “I’m holding a press conference tomorrow morning. You will be there to support Bianca and clarify everything. If you don’t, our marriage is over.” He left with the threat hanging in the air. The hurried way he spun around to return Bianca’s call spoke volumes about his priorities. Standing there, I slowly raised my phone to my ear. “Mr. Devlin, I have an 18% stake in the Ashworth Group. Are you interested?” I met Rhys Devlin in a private booth that evening. “Eighteen percent, added to my current holdings, is enough for a hostile takeover of Ashworth,” he said, tapping a manicured finger on the table. He looked at me with sharp, dissecting eyes. “Are you sure you want to go this far?” After five years of marriage, Grant and I had shared tender moments. I remembered the night I got rushed to the ER for a bleeding ulcer from endless company dinners. Grant had pulled this same stock transfer agreement from his safe, his hands trembling. “This is the only assurance I can give you,” he’d promised. “Everything I have is yours. I will never fail you.” Now, the promise was hollow, and the man was unrecognizable. I still hesitated. Pathetic, I know. I took a deep breath and stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” On the way, I heard a familiar voice. “Mr. Ashworth, are you sure you want us to run the press release this way?” A strange man asked. “It says your wife, Genevieve, has always been jealous of her sister, Bianca, and that she orchestrated a plot to force her sister out of the country because Bianca was your original fiancée. And now she’s spreading false rumors because she’s afraid of losing you…” The man paused, a hint of doubt in his voice. “That will completely destroy your wife’s reputation.” After a brief, horrifying silence, I heard the voice I knew better than my own, cold and utterly devoid of compassion. “Her reputation doesn’t matter. Bianca’s does.” “But sir, won’t this make her divorce you?” “Divorce? Impossible.” Grant’s tone was full of chilling certainty, a cruel psychological dissection. “Her parents always favored her sister, so she’s desperately needy for affection. If I occasionally toss her a little warmth, she’ll cling to it like a life raft. She’d never dare let go.” The wound that had finally begun to scab over was ripped wide open. I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms. I turned and walked back into the booth. The last vestige of my hesitation evaporated. “Mr. Devlin,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll sell you the shares. We can sign now.” “Congratulations on your upcoming acquisition of the Ashworth Group.” The next morning, I stood alone at the airport in Palm Beach. I was ready to replace everything. At 9:58 AM, I received Grant’s first call. “Genevieve Foster! Where are you?” His voice was a choke of suppressed rage. “Don’t play games with me. The press conference is about to start. Get over here and clarify things for Bianca!” I hung up without a word. Less than three minutes later, the second call. “Why is Rhys Devlin calling a shareholder meeting? What have you been doing behind my back? Did you think you could flirt your way into his favor to pull this stunt?” “I am warning you, if you don’t fix this immediately, I will divorce you!” I heard his self-serving threat and finally spoke, my tone distant and cool. “Grant Ashworth, if you go home right now, you should find the signed divorce agreement I left for you.”

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I was eating the subsidized meal—the $1.99 ‘Financial Aid’ special—in the cafeteria when I scrolled past the livestream. On the screen, my ID tag was clipped to the collar of a golden retriever. Atherton University’s elite “It Girls” were playing a ring toss game. Whoever managed to loop a ring over the dog was declared my “master.” The golden retriever’s neck already had four brightly colored rings stacked on it. Savannah “Savvy” Shaw, the Student Council President, let out a light, dismissive laugh. “How delightful. It looks like we’ll all be playing with the same little puppy, then.” Phoebe Alcott, the financial department’s resident new queen, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A new transfer on an aid package? He’ll be completely obsessed. We’ll have him wrapped around our fingers before the month is out.” Willow Bellweather, the campus’s reigning drama star, leaned forward excitedly. “Why don’t we make a bet? A full month. Let’s see which one of us the puppy becomes most devoted to?” Anya Wells, the medical genius known for her cold precision, didn’t speak, but the look in her eyes was all high-stakes certainty. I closed the app and let a slow, cold smirk crawl across my face. What a coincidence. My father sent me to Atherton precisely to select a fiancée from among these four families. How unfortunate for them. You all just failed the test. 1 In the livestream, the girl on camera laughed and called the dog by my alias. “Lincoln Asher, heel! Come here.” “Good boy!” “A poor transfer student running into four evil villains right at the start of his college life? How unlucky for him!” The surrounding crowd erupted in a roar of laughter. “Isn’t that why poor students come to Atherton? To climb the social ladder? He must be thrilled right now!” “I recall the last few victims you girls had were either physically scarred or forced to drop out. Maybe try something new this time?” “I can’t wait to see the pathetic, lovesick look on his face!” Savannah leaned against a guy—the host, I assumed—with a playful, seductive smile. “It was your idea, Chad. We’re just playing along, and now you’re calling us mean?” Phoebe stood on the guy’s other side, stroking his sculpted bicep with a look of mock helplessness. “Exactly. Last time, we were too easy on him. The guy just cried a little, and you were bored again.” “What exactly do we have to do to satisfy you, Princess?” Willow twirled a strand of her perfectly highlighted hair, confidence radiating off her. “Just weave a beautiful, ‘rags-to-riches’ fantasy for the poor boy. I know that script inside and out.” “Come on, place your bets! I’m putting down a million dollars on myself!” Anya remained impassive, calmly taking a seat. “Fifteen million.” They could shame me all they wanted; I didn’t care. After all, I wasn’t Lincoln Asher. My real name was Asher Lincoln. I had taken on a fake identity as a “poor student” to quietly vet the candidates for my future wife, as per my father’s instructions. But what did anger me was the casual cruelty—the absolute lack of remorse as they humiliated and hurt innocent people. I shook my head in utter disappointment. The four little tagalongs who used to follow me around as children had morphed into this. Zero out of a hundred. They were fundamentally flawed. These people were not fit to be the future mistress of the Lincoln empire. Just as I was about to lock my phone, a few new comments popped up on the stream. [Why are four women revolving around just one guy?! Is he planning to marry them all?] [Duh, that’s Chadwick Riley! The Chad Riley! The future of the Riley Group!] [They’re his childhood friends! They swore even if they didn’t marry Chad, they’d dedicate their lives to him!] Chadwick Riley? The Riley Group? Since when did my parents decide to give me a younger brother I didn’t know about? I was still puzzling over this when a shadow fell over my table. I looked up. Savannah and Phoebe had flanked me, sitting on either side, while Willow and Anya took the opposing seats. The noisy cafeteria instantly fell silent. Every single eye in the room was fixed on my table. Savannah, ever the gracious hostess, reached out naturally to brush a non-existent piece of lint from my shirt. “Why are you eating this garbage, sweetie?” I forced myself to take a few miserable bites of rice. “I’m poor. No money.” A flicker of contempt—quickly masked—passed through all four pairs of eyes. Willow slipped into character instantly, taking my hand. “Someone as handsome as you shouldn’t be eating scraps.” She pulled me straight out of the dining hall, shoved me into a luxury SUV, and we were whisked toward the city’s most famous Michelin five-star restaurant. I had to suppress a tiny moment of confusion. Isn’t this place just my dining room? The head chef at this restaurant was one my parents had personally hired to cook for me whenever I was in town, and they had conveniently opened a restaurant around him. The moment we walked in, the manager spotted me, hurried over, and was about to greet me as “Sir” or “Owner.” I gave him a subtle shake of the head. He immediately understood, his respectful expression flawless. Phoebe pulled out my chair for me. “Order anything you want. It’s just some basic home-style cooking.” In my house, yes, it is, I thought with a silent laugh. They began showing off, describing every exclusive dish in exaggerated detail. But I was already tired of all of it, my appetite nonexistent. I poked listlessly at the food. In their eyes, my lack of enthusiasm was interpreted quite differently. They must have assumed I didn’t even know how to eat such fine cuisine. Anya reached across the table, took a deep-sea blue crab claw, expertly cracked it, and brought the meat right to my mouth. I caught the glint of the small pinhole camera on her chest and was suddenly intrigued. I feigned bashfulness. “Anya, I heard your hands are only used for scalpel work.” A muscle twitched in Anya’s cheek. It took her a long moment to reply. “You’re… special.” So you can be disgusted, but I can’t play along? I leaned in, acting shy and awkward, my face flushed as I took the bite. For the rest of the meal, the four of them took turns doting on me: clipping off greens, peeling shrimp, wiping the corner of my mouth. They didn’t stop for a minute. I played my role dutifully, a convincing, smitten pauper with each of them. I was exhausted and ready to roll my eyes by the time I collapsed back into my dorm room. My roommates’ expressions were… complex. I opened my phone. Sure enough, Chad Riley was streaming again. The footage of Anya feeding me the crab leg was on a loop. The comments were hysterical. Willow slapped her thigh, doubled over in laughter. “I almost lost it! His expression was so genuine! He truly thinks he’s the male lead in a romance drama!” Anya’s face was dark with annoyance. “Funny? I washed my hands three times with medical-grade sanitizer afterward. I still feel contaminated.” Phoebe patted Anya’s shoulder, trying to hold back her own laughter. “The poor student is probably head-over-heels now! Congrats, Anya! Hahaha!” After that event, the four of them only became more attentive. Flowers, gifts, elaborate invitations. I played my role day in and day out, acting as their entertainment for the stream. Even when my classmates snickered as I walked past, I pretended to be blissfully unaware. Until one evening. I was suddenly pulled into a shadowed corner. The person who grabbed me swallowed hard, then spoke in a rush. “Lincoln, you’re being played! Those girls are not good people!” Nearly everyone in the school was aware of my predicament. For a month, most had either watched for entertainment or been too afraid to intervene. She was the only one who had dared to warn me. Before I could say anything, she was roughly shoved away, stumbling and falling to the floor. The Quad Squad stood in front of me. Savannah flashed her Student Council badge like a shield. “Stay away from Asher!” “You’re on an aid package—I suggest you don’t get any ideas about Lincoln, or I’ll make sure you never graduate from Atherton!” She turned to me, her tone instantly softening and testing. “Lincoln, she didn’t say anything weird to you, did she?” I shook my head, my face blank and confused. They finally relaxed. “It’s your birthday at the end of the month, right? We’re taking you to a gala auction to buy you a gift.” I quickly caught up—I had filled in a random date for my fake profile—and slipped into character. “You… you remember my birthday? I’m so touched!” “But I’ve never been to an auction. I’ll embarrass you…” They told me not to worry. Before the event, a bespoke custom suit was delivered to my dorm. I frowned. Wait. My own custom, limited-edition formalwear is currently hanging in my closet. Why is a duplicate in their possession? I had a flash of realization, opened my phone, and searched for Chad Riley’s stream. He was live. “Bringing the poor boy out to see the real world again.” “His suit? I lent it to him. I never wear my formalwear twice.” He covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, showing off the three-hundred-million-dollar timepiece on his wrist. “I bet he doesn’t even know how to tie a bow tie. Think he’ll make a complete fool of himself?” My face went cold. Chad’s suit, his watch, his ring—every single piece of “luxury” he wore—was mine. I walked out as if nothing had happened. The Quad Squad was waiting for me at the venue entrance. Chad was there too, phone held high, ready to live-stream my anticipated disaster. The moment I stepped out, everyone in the ballroom—not just the four women—turned to stare. “Who is that?” “Is he from one of the Singaporean families?” Chad’s face twisted with jealousy as he watched the girls’ eyes practically glue themselves to me. I tossed my hair back nonchalantly. They’re only staring because they know the name of the man who owns this suit. The jewelry auction began. I was bored. Under the four girls’ urging, I casually pointed to a watch. Willow immediately called out a price. “Three hundred thousand!” To my surprise, Anya countered. “Five hundred thousand!” “Sorry, Willow. I’m not letting up this time.” Savannah laughed and joined the fray. “Eight hundred thousand!” Chad watched from the side, practically spitting fire as the four women flung money at me. He tried to interrupt but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. They escalated into a frenzy, driving the price up to three million dollars. Willow and Anya were forced to bow out. Savannah was about to gloat when Phoebe, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. “I’ll raise the stakes.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs lazily, and then leaned her head against my shoulder. “I promised I’d personally win Lincoln’s birthday gift. And I always keep my promises.” The auction ended, and I held the watch—a decent but uninteresting piece—in my hand. I told them I didn’t want it because, ironically, the few items that were actually nice were pieces I had already eliminated from my own collection. Chad timidly shuffled over. “Phoebe, I really like this watch. Can you give it to me?” He then pulled a few hundred dollars out of his pocket and threw it at me. “The watch matches the man. You should go find something on a street corner, little brother.” I turned to Phoebe, my eyes welling up with fake tears, ready to hand the watch back. “I really don’t deserve it. Maybe you should take it back…” I was dressed immaculately, and the look of pathetic devastation on my face broke Phoebe’s resolve instantly. “Who says you don’t deserve it?!” She spun around, her expression hardening, and shot a furious glare at Chad. “You’re trying to steal his birthday gift? Do you think that’s appropriate?” “Lincoln was happy, and you just had to make him cry! Apologize to Lincoln!” She gave Chad no quarter. The eyes of everyone in the room converged on him. Chad’s face went scarlet with shame, and he turned and ran out of the room. The evening livestream was scheduled to start on time. Chad sat between the four girls, his face a picture of tearful self-pity. “You guys actually yelled at me today!” Savannah was quick to wipe his tears. “We had to, baby. It was all for show. To make the poor boy believe we were seriously pursuing him.” Phoebe chimed in with a laugh. “Look how devoted he is now. When we finally dump him, it’s going to be epic!” Willow added, “Don’t be sad, Chad. I’ll buy you the most expensive watch next time, with my next paycheck.” Anya, with a dark look behind her glasses, offered the most brutal suggestion. “Why buy? We’ll make the poor boy pay back everything he’s gotten from us, tenfold, to compensate Chad.” The live chat viewers, watching the footage of me looking utterly besotted with the four girls, filled the screen with mockery. [A few cheap gifts, and look how touched he is!] [He’s going to try to kill himself when he finds out it’s all a lie, LOL!] [You HAVE to live stream the breakup! I can’t wait!] The others finally managed to cheer Chad up. He smiled sweetly at the camera. “Next Monday is the final day.” “Eight p.m. sharp. We’ll be live from the outdoor amphitheater for the ‘Puppy Dump’ stream!” I smiled to myself, a faint, cold expression. Next Monday. That was also the day I had to report my final selection results to my father. During these last few days, the Quad Squad was desperate to confirm my affection. I made sure to look utterly, profoundly in love with each of them. I wouldn’t want their confidence to flag. Sure enough, a few days later, my dorm door was buried under an avalanche of roses. Four bouquets, four personalized cards. Just as the stream promised, they had all set up a meeting with me for Monday at 8 p.m. That night, I made sure to be “dressed for the occasion.” I wore the suit I hadn’t “returned” and the “expensive” watch they had bought me. I gave them all the room they needed for their grand performance. I arrived at the meeting spot. Before I could see the four girls, someone pulled me aside. “Lincoln!” I focused. It was the same girl who had warned me before. “You can’t go! You’ll regret it!” When I didn’t respond, she anxiously yanked out her phone and opened Chad Riley’s stream. “They’ve been playing you this whole time! It’s a joke!” I tilted my head, an amused look on my face. “I know.” “But who’s playing whom? That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Without waiting for her reaction, I brushed past her and continued toward the amphitheater. Waiting for me were the Quad Squad, Chad Riley, and a small mob of students holding up their phones to watch the entertainment. The four girls finally dropped the act. Savannah was the first to speak, her tone dripping with condescension. “You didn’t actually think we were going to confess to you, did you?” Phoebe chuckled softly. “We were just messing with you, babe. Did you actually fall for it?” The laughter from the crowd swelled. Someone in the back yelled, “Did he really think he was good enough for them?” “He was probably already picking out his wedding suit, haha!” My “inner actor” took over. My eyes instantly welled up. “So… you were all lying to me? The flowers, the dates, the auction—all of it was fake?” Willow raised her phone and opened the stream. “Not only were we lying to you, but everyone was in on the joke. The whole school watched.” “You were a funny little dancing monkey.” Anya reached out and snatched the watch from my wrist. “Chad likes this. You don’t deserve to wear it.” Chad slowly walked up to me, looking me up and down. “They say clothes make the man. You’re wearing my suit and my watch—I’ll admit, you almost looked the part.” “But the dream is over.” He moved closer, attempting to yank the blazer off my shoulders. “Take it off. Give it back.” A few crass whistles sounded from the crowd. I didn’t react in anger. I just smiled, a thin, cold smile, and then backhanded Chadwick Riley across the face. The sound was a sharp crack. Chad stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief. The four girls erupted in fury. “You bastard! How dare you hit Chad!” “We played with you for a month, and now you’ve forgotten your place? Did you actually think you were worthy of us?!” “I’m going to strip you naked right here and make you walk back to your dorm!” The words were barely out of their mouths when a figure appeared silently behind me. A heavy, custom-made jacket was draped over my shoulders. In the next instant, the figure—my lead security detail—moved, and all four girls were instantly slammed to the ground. I looked down at them, my expression one of profound disappointment. “The observation is over.” “Unfortunately.” “You are not worthy of me. You are not fit to be my fiancée candidates. And you will never be the future mistress of the Lincoln empire.”

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Whenever Manhattan society talked about “the century’s perfect woman,” Anya Reid, they always laughed. “She’s not just stunning, she has the patience of a saint! She’s raised two children from her husband’s affair, for crying out loud!” So when I finally asked Gavin Wells for a divorce, no one took me seriously. Gavin didn’t even blink. He casually tossed a check at me. “Stop the drama, Anya. Go buy yourself a couple of Birkin bags.” My older stepson, Dean, barely glanced up from his console. “Don’t bother Dad. If you’re going to leave, just go. Stop acting.” The younger, Leo, immediately called his mother. “Mom, the old witch looks like she’s finally leaving! Get ready!” Even the household staff shook their heads, silently warning me to stop playing games. But faced with their collective doubt, I felt no sadness, no anger. I simply dialed the number I could recite backward in my sleep. “Mrs. Wells,” I said, my voice steady. “The ten years are up. My debt for saving my sister’s life is repaid.” 1 Mrs. Eleanor Wells was silent for a few seconds before she finally answered. “You can leave three days from now.” It had, after all, been a decade of our lives intertwined. In the end, her voice was thick with emotion. “Anya, it’s been a hard decade. I know you did your best.” I felt a brief wave of confusion. You did your best. So many people had said those words to me over the years. Some with pity, some with sarcasm, and most with pure, delicious anticipation. But I didn’t regret a thing. Because I had done my best, the only thing left now was relief. I hung up and stepped out, immediately colliding with Dean. Seeing me, a flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by furious indignation. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be hosting Dad’s event! What are you doing taking a break here?” I frowned. Both he and Leo usually went out of their way to avoid me at their father’s business functions. This was strange. I walked toward the main living area. The next second, a massive screen dominating the center of the room flashed to life, displaying lewd, heavily photoshopped images of me from my days as an actress. The pictures were designed to look utterly depraved and scandalous. The parents at the event immediately covered their children’s eyes, their expressions heavy with disgust as they looked my way. They didn’t have to say a word. I knew exactly what they were. Years ago, a rival studio had doctored those images and released them online. The resulting digital mob had been horrific. “Such a slut. Wonder how many guys she slept with for a role.” “Anyone can see she’s trash. All that prim and proper act—her face is probably all fillers anyway!” Dean and Leo were almost hysterical with laughter, pointing at my suddenly pale face. “Look how terrified she is!” Dean crowed. “I bet she cries and ruins her makeup in under three minutes!” Just as the words left his mouth, Gavin burst from his study, saw the screen, and slammed the display off. He grabbed both boys and started yelling at them in a furious, low voice. The noise in my ears was a dull roar. Exhausted, I leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. The nicotine slowly began to bring me back to earth. Before I could take a second drag, a hand snatched the cigarette away. “If you keep smoking, how do you expect to get pregnant?” Gavin irritably crushed the cigarette under his heel, glaring at me with accusation. Pregnant? I gave a hollow, strange laugh. Maybe I’d wanted that once. But did he even remember how we lost our first child? Our son, Robbie, was one year and five months old. While I’d quickly gone to the restroom, Dean had taken him out to the backyard. I only realized Robbie was gone after I came back. I tore through the house looking for him. What I found was his tiny body floating in the backyard pool. My scream tore through the silence of the afternoon. I crawled to the edge and pulled him out. Robbie’s face was shockingly white, his small hand still clutching the little cake I’d baked him that morning. I performed CPR, thousands of times, until Gavin finally had to pull Robbie from my arms. I lunged to get him back. He slapped me across the face, his own expression fractured with grief. “Snap out of it! He’s gone!” I dropped to my knees, my dignity lost in the dust. “Please, just give him back to me! I’ll take him and we’ll leave! We won’t bother you ever again!” But he held my face firmly, forcing me to watch as our son’s body was cremated. I stood there, numb, a wooden doll. As the smoke billowed from the chimney, half of my soul went with it. He died a terrible death. I was afraid to try again. Seeing my distant look, Gavin pulled me into his arms, petting my hair like a small child. “It’s over, Anya. We have to look forward. You said you haven’t had your period in two months, right? Let’s go to the doctor and—” Before he could finish, the door was dramatically flung open. Sierra Lane stood there, her eyes red, the picture of restrained grief and accusation. “How could you hit the children, Gavin?!” Gavin instantly dropped me as if I were scorching hot, his panic making me feel like the mistress he was trying to hide. Dean and Leo rushed to her, clinging to her like fragile nestlings. “Mommy, Mommy, please don’t leave! He was going to kill us!” Sierra held them tight, her voice a heartbreaking plea. “Gavin, you promised me you would never let them suffer! How could you break your word?” Even in her early thirties, Sierra looked fresh-faced and innocent. They were the city’s romantic legend: the wealthy scion and the fiery, headstrong race car queen. Everyone rooted for them, but Sierra had broken up with him to pursue her career. That’s when Gavin married me. When he knelt to propose, his eyes had been filled with a galaxy of stars. “Anya, you taught me what it means to have a home.” I believed him. But years later, when we attended a gala and a gunman raised a weapon toward our table, his instinct was to dive across the room and shield Sierra, who was standing nearby. I fell into a pool of my own blood. Through the crimson haze, I saw him: the lonely, fervent figure of a man protecting his beloved. I lost a lot of blood that day. But I lost even more tears. Gavin was silent for a long moment. When he turned to me, I knew my fate was sealed. “Anya, just apologize.” In the past, I would have fought, argued my case. Now, I just wanted peace and a way out. Without hesitation, I looked at Sierra and spoke calmly. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. And because it is, I’m giving you your house back.” A heavy silence dropped over the room. Even the notoriously stoic Gavin went pale for the first time. Before he could speak, Sierra’s eyes welled up. “Anya Reid! Are you trying to shame me? I already gave you this life! What is with this pitiful act? Are you trying to punish me?!” Leo, seeing her tears, shoved me viciously. Wearing six-inch heels, my ankle twisted, and I crashed to the marble floor. A bolt of blinding pain shot up my leg. Leo froze for a second, then scoffed. “Stop faking it.” Dean only looked at me for two seconds before rushing to comfort Sierra. “Don’t cry, Mommy. We got back at her for you.” My heart twisted as if pierced by needles. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but remember seven years ago. Sierra had barely glanced at them before speeding off with her lover. The two boys had chased the car, crying hysterically. “Mommy! Mommy! Don’t go! Please don’t go!” My heart broke watching them. I ran after them, my slippers falling off, my bare feet soon bloody and cut. Finally, I collapsed, out of breath. The two boys crawled onto me, sobbing uncontrollably. “Mommy, we won’t chase her anymore. We don’t want her. You’re our mother now.” I’d wept then, believing I had finally earned their genuine love. But three years later, Sierra’s career failed spectacularly, and she came back. One excuse, one tearful explanation about “hard times,” and the two boys instantly accepted her, treating me like the enemy. Ten years of effort, undone by one word: plight. I suddenly felt myself being lifted. Gavin was applying an ice pack to my throbbing ankle. “Anya, why do you have to be so difficult? Couldn’t you just swallow your pride and let it go?” My fingers trembled. I thought, for a fleeting second, that he was concerned about me. The next second, reality crushed that ridiculous hope. “How are we supposed to go to the fundraising gala now? If people see you limping, they’ll think I’m abusing you.” I lowered my eyes and said calmly, “Then I won’t go.” I knew I would only be the object of ridicule there anyway. “Mrs. Wells, you’re so lucky to have two handsome sons!” people would say to my face. And then, behind my back: “Why is that stepmother so proud? She’ll be kicked out eventually.” Sierra, meanwhile, watched me, her secret delight masked by teary eyes. “Is this about me? Anya, I never wanted to replace you. You don’t have to resort to these subtle jabs and hints.” With that, she let go of the boys and turned to walk out. Dean and Leo immediately panicked. The childhood terror of abandonment swept over them again. They rushed to block Sierra, then turned to me, their eyes burning with hatred. “Old witch! You can’t make her leave! She’s our real mom!” Gavin roared at them. “Quiet! Who taught you to speak like that?!” Then he turned to me. “Since you’re hurt, you should rest here at home.” But the look in his eyes wasn’t pity for my pain; it was the naked relief of having an opportunity to spend time with Sierra. I offered no reaction, allowing him to leave. As he walked out, Gavin paused, kissed my cheek as he always did, and whispered in my ear. “I’ll bring you your favorite wontons when I get back, baby.” My eyes suddenly stung. I remembered when the boys were younger. Whenever Gavin secretly brought me wontons, they would swarm him, shouting: “Daddy’s playing favorites! He only buys them for Mommy! I want some too!” Gavin would guard me and laugh. “Your mother favors you two, and I favor your mother. Fair trade!” I would smile, eating my wontons and watching them tussle. We had been happy once. But those moments were like clouds, scattered by the slightest wind. Dean and Leo glanced at me, a flicker of guilt crossing their faces. As they started to walk toward me, Sierra grabbed them from behind, her eyes filled with a predatory jealousy. After they left, I started packing. My gaze fell on the scarf lying on the bedside table. My movements stopped. I gently touched the knitted wool, then handed it to Maria, the housekeeper, who was standing nearby. “Maria, if you don’t mind, please give this to your daughter. Pink looks better on young women.” Maria’s eyes immediately reddened. She spoke in a low voice. “Ma’am, the young masters knitted that for you. It took them a month. You’ve always treasured it. I can’t take it.” I shook my head, not wanting to discuss it further. I simply continued folding my clothes. On the news, a photo of Gavin, Sierra, and the two boys was plastered across the screen. BREAKING: Family of Four Reunited! Wells Marriage In Crisis! Century’s Beauty Anya Reid Abandoned, Marriage Status Precarious! The online trolls swarmed like hungry leeches. “Anya Reid! That famous piece of trash. After all the things she did, being dumped is what she deserves!” “Yeah, she probably already has a new sugar daddy lined up. Don’t worry about her.” “Ten years of marriage and no kids. Her body must be all worn out. No wonder she was tossed aside!” “It figures she has no parents. It’s karma, heaven doesn’t tolerate people like her!” Reading the venomous comments, I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling. My parents died in a car accident when I was a child. It was a wound that never healed. My sister, Zara, and I grew up dependent on each other, until she was struck by a severe illness. It was Eleanor, Gavin’s mother, who saved her life, and that was the debt that made me agree to marry Gavin. Now, my painful past was being used as a weapon to destroy me. My phone buzzed. A text from Eleanor. “Anya, the divorce papers are finalized. After tomorrow, Gavin will never be able to find you.” Seeing the picture of the official document, I felt a deep wave of peace. The next second, the bedroom door was kicked open. Gavin, Dean, and Leo stood in the doorway, their eyes blazing with volcanic hatred. My heart skipped a beat. Before I could speak, a hand whipped out and sent me sprawling to the floor. My scalp screamed as I felt hair being ripped out. Gavin grabbed a handful of my hair, looking down at me with utter contempt. “Anya Reid, you are a monster. How did I ever fall in love with a viper like you?” My head was splitting. I cried out, “What are you talking about?!” Dean’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists, tears welling in his eyes. “From this day on, you are not my mother!” Leo started to sob. “Mommy is so vain, and you left that huge scar on her shoulder!” Seeing the fear and confusion in my eyes, Gavin slapped me again. “Stop pretending! She was wearing your evening gown. Why was there a razor blade sewn into the lining?!” He hauled me up and dragged me out, throwing me at Sierra’s feet. Sierra’s eyes were bloodshot, and her shoulder was bandaged. She looked at me with unbearable grievance. “Anya, why did you do this to me? I never wanted to steal your life! You truly misunderstood me!” But as soon as the words were out, she quickly leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Bitch. Enjoy the frenzy. I just wanted you to see who these three men truly love.” Then, she grabbed my hand and quickly pressed it down onto her bandaged wound. “Ah!” She screamed, collapsing dramatically. Instantly, all three men rushed to her side. Gavin scooped her into his arms. Dean positioned himself like a fierce guardian, shielding them both. Even though I had prepared myself for this ending a million times, the sight of it still made my heart seize up. The next moment, a framed photo struck my head. My vision went black. When I opened my eyes, blood was trickling down my cheek. Leo, being younger, was slightly scared after hitting me. “Don’t you dare hurt my mother again!” I didn’t react to him. I just stared at the photograph that had fallen near my feet. It was from my fifth wedding anniversary. I was smiling, hugging the two boys, with Gavin standing behind me, his arms around my waist. I thought it was the beginning of true happiness. Five years later, this moment told me the brutal truth. Any last, ridiculous hope I’d harbored had just evaporated. I slowly got to my feet, offering no explanation, and turned to grab my suitcase. Sierra shrieked. “She’s coming for me! Help! Help!” Gavin’s eyes were blazing with fury. He rushed to block me. When his hand struck me, I completely lost my balance and crashed hard. This time, half of my body went numb. A sharp, needle-like pain began to pierce my lower abdomen, stabbing me in waves. A sudden thought flashed through my mind: I haven’t had a period in two months. Fearing I would harm Sierra again, Gavin dragged me toward the basement’s utility room—the dog’s sleeping area. Clutching my stomach, I grabbed his sleeve, my voice tight with fear. “I think I’m pregnant! Remember I told you I missed my period? Take me to the hospital, now!” Gavin’s steps stopped abruptly. He turned, his eyes wide with shock. But then he saw Sierra, and a look of doubt and struggle crossed his face, as if weighing the truth of my words. Tears streamed down my face. I could barely stand. “I’m in so much pain, Gavin. I’m dizzy and nauseous…” Seeing my ashen face, Dean looked worried. He spoke softly. “Dad, maybe call a doctor. She doesn’t usually fake being sick…” Leo was silent, but his expression tacitly agreed with his brother. Suddenly, the sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the living room. Sierra’s face was twisted. She couldn’t stand the thought that her children and her man might still hold a shred of genuine feeling for me, not even pity. She shrieked, “If you call a doctor for her, I will crash my car into a wall!” Instantly, Gavin stopped hesitating. He dragged me quickly into the dark basement and slammed the door shut. My heart turned to ash. But the moment the door closed, a figure stepped out from behind him and quickly clamped a white cloth over his mouth and nose. Gavin’s eyes bulged, and he struggled furiously, but within half a minute, his body went limp. In the dark, the sharp click-clack of high heels approached. A familiar voice offered comfort. “Anya, you’re free now. Go find your sister.” I gave Eleanor a grateful look, then climbed into the car she had waiting for me without a single glance back. The pain in my body was too intense. I went straight to the nearest hospital. But even moving so quickly, I was too late. “The pregnancy is not viable. We need to perform an emergency D&C.” My jaw clenched. I stared down at my flat abdomen. This life, a life I hadn’t even realized existed, was gone. It was fate. I would never have a child with Gavin Wells. I signed the forms and was wheeled into the operating room. Three hours after the surgery, I was boarding a plane. I couldn’t stand to be in that city for another second. The first person to notice something was off was Dean. He looked at his grandmother, who had unexpectedly arrived, utterly confused. “Grandma, what are you doing here?” Eleanor gently stroked his hair, then looked at Dean and Leo. “Go upstairs and play for a while. I need a word with your mother.” The boys exchanged a look and obediently went up. As soon as they were gone, Sierra put on a flattering smile and went to help the old woman. “Mom, what are you doing here so late—Ah!” A sharp, clean slap interrupted her. Eleanor’s face was filled with undisguised contempt. “You restless woman! Since you left us three times, why did you come back? Haven’t you caused Gavin enough pain?” Eleanor’s eyes welled up as she recalled the past. “You agreed to marry him, then you ran off before the wedding! Gavin chased you, crashed his car, and all he wanted after surgery was for you to visit him. You made every excuse, then blocked his number entirely.” “You left to chase your career, didn’t you? And what happened? When it all fell apart, you crawled back here with your tail between your legs.” Sierra bit her lip until it was purple, unable to deny any of it. They were all indisputable facts. She glared at Eleanor, her face swollen and hateful. “I may not be perfect, but I gave the Wells family two sons! How is that not better than that barren hen you chose?!” Eleanor’s dignified face was expressionless. She scanned Sierra with a cold look. “You’re not fit to touch the hem of Anya Reid’s dress. She has character. She has a sense of responsibility.” Sierra’s teeth ground together. She was about to retort when Eleanor spoke again. “Do you know what Dean and Leo like to eat?” “Do you know their grades in school?” “Do you know what kind of men they are becoming?” Watching Sierra’s face turn crimson, Eleanor sneered. “You don’t. You only care about drinking and carousing with your lowlife friends. You only care about driving around town showing off. You don’t deserve to be a mother.”

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It was a complete accident that my sister and I ended up saving the life of a wealthy socialite after her car wreck. Mrs. Eleanor Albright—Ellie, as she insisted we call her—knew our family was struggling. As a gesture of gratitude, she offered us two separate roads to a future neither of us could have dreamed of. One path: marry her only son and heir, and eventually inherit the family’s considerable assets. The other: an immediate, life-altering cash reward of five million dollars. My sister, Sasha, chose the man without hesitation. She even broke off her long-term engagement with the man she was supposed to marry, convinced that a husband with a nine-figure net worth far outstripped the value of a mere five million. What she didn’t know was that the seemingly quiet, slightly awkward heir was a paranoid, obsessive sadist. Less than a year later, he had tormented her to the point of a complete nervous breakdown. I, on the other hand, took the five million, used it to earn a stack of glittering degrees abroad, and returned to the States to start my own business. I caught the right trend, met the right investors, and my career took off. I had a line of successful, eligible bachelors waiting for my attention. Then I opened my eyes again. Sasha and I were sitting primly on the edge of the sofa across from Ellie Albright. On Ellie’s left sat her handsome, quiet son, and on her right, a five-million-dollar check lay on the mahogany table. “Maya, Sasha, which of you will choose first?” Ellie asked, her smile warm and gentle. This time, my sister was just as quick to raise her hand and speak first, but her gaze was fixed, not on the man, but on the five-million-dollar check. In that instant, I knew. She had been reborn, too. 1 “Maya, Sasha, I’m a straightforward woman, so I won’t beat around the bush,” Ellie had said. “This is my son, Dean Albright. He had a rough time growing up, so he’s a little… reserved. Not much interest in running the family business, either. So, I’m looking for a daughter-in-law who can eventually become my successor. For the other sister, I’ll offer a one-time gift of five million dollars. I’ll give you a moment to decide, how does that sound?” Ellie’s words triggered a sudden, sickening flash of memory, a blood-soaked montage of the past. I knew. I was back. The last memory of my previous life was the blinding white ceiling of the asylum, moments before a wild-eyed, disheveled Sasha suddenly shoved me over the seventh-story balcony railing. The crushing impact that followed. I could almost hear the splat of blood and fluid from my ears, mixed with Sasha’s ragged, hysterical scream: “Why! Maya, why do you get to have it all? That luck should have been mine! I chose wrong, and you just picked up the scraps!” Sasha had blamed her own misery entirely on me. But in that past life, she had been the one to choose the Albright marriage, the one who wanted to be the glittering heiress, even throwing over her fiancé to do it. Who could have known that the seemingly gentle and scholarly Dean Albright was, at his core, a sadistic sociopath? On their wedding night, he had tied her to the bed and lectured her for hours on Lagrange’s Equations. After the lecture, he’d test her on the application and calculus. One mistake, one fingernail. The next night, it was Newton-Leibniz. Fail again, one tooth. Of course, she only told me this when she was completely broken, delivered to a state hospital, and shrieking hysterically during my visits. I had been full of pity, determined to help her escape her torture and seek justice. But I never realized her greatest pain wasn’t the abuse itself—it was the fact that I hadn’t shared her fate. Instead, I was thriving, living a life she felt should have been hers. It was this bottomless envy and twisted logic that made her toss me off that building, ignoring the bond of sisterhood and blood. Reborn, sitting across from Ellie and Dean, my palms were slick with cold sweat. I swore that this time, I would not involve myself in Sasha’s life. I would not visit her in the asylum. I would get my education, build my fortune, and bring my grandmother abroad to retire in peace. And just as I expected, Sasha’s hand shot up first. She had to choose first. It had always been this way—a poor family, limited resources, and her need to always snatch first, never concede. My naturally easy-going nature always made me yield. But this time, I held the crucial information. I watched her, unhurried, calm. “Mrs. Albright, I actually have a boyfriend,” Sasha said, looking directly at the check. “I really think a promising, excellent man like Dean should be saved for my sister. I’d like to take the five million dollars.” An earthquake went off in my chest. My pupils dilated. I knew Sasha. Greedy. Arrogant. Hated hard work. Five million dollars would be burned through quickly. How could a mere cash payout compare to the limitless wealth and prestige of a family matriarch, the very thing that had lured her the first time? Yet this time, she didn’t spare Dean a glance. Her eyes were glued to the check. She leaned into me, took the check, and whispered into my ear, her voice laced with venom, “Maya. This time, it’s your turn to get a taste.” In that flash, I understood. She had been reborn, and her hatred was still fully intact. 2 It turned out that just before I died, I heard a second thud moments after I hit the ground—it was her body, following mine. She had planned to take me with her, her hatred so total that she couldn’t bear to die without dragging me down as well. Now, Sasha had preempted me, grabbing the immediate cash benefit while ruthlessly maneuvering to push me into the fire. “Dean is very private,” she explained to Ellie with a saccharine smile. “He loves to read, especially math. Luckily, my sister Maya is a total academic. I’m sure they’ll have so much in common.” Marry Dean Albright? Become the plaything of her former life’s tormentor, while she took five million to live happily ever after? I had been reborn, not lobotomized. So, while Sasha was distracted, I snatched the check—which she hadn’t even fully warmed in her hands—with the speed of a striking viper. I handed it back to Ellie, neat and respectful. “Mrs. Albright, thank you for your generosity, and Mr. Albright’s good intentions. But we simply cannot accept a gift this valuable,” I said. “Though we don’t have much, Grandma taught us to be honest and kind. Saving you was just the decent thing to do. Please, keep the check.” I stood up, sparing a quick glance at Dean, who sat silently beside his mother. Honestly, the man was peak handsome. If I hadn’t lived through the first life, who would ever believe that such a clean-cut, reserved exterior housed a brain as convoluted and toxic as a clogged drain? Sasha thought she had the perfect script, snatching the reward while pushing me into the abyss? No. We were going to practice the great American virtue of altruism: no one gets the prize. 3 “Maya, are you insane?!” Back home, Sasha unleashed a torrent of abuse. “Ellie Albright is worth hundreds of millions! Dean is her only son! He’s awkward and won’t run the company—she’s clearly grooming his wife to be her successor! How could you throw that away?” Sasha desperately tried to sell me on it. “Even if you don’t care about us, think about Grandma. She raised us alone. She’s seventy, still hauling trash and selling street food late into the night. She’s only thinking of saving money for our future. Don’t you want to give her a decent life?” I gave a serene smile. “I graduate next year. I’m confident I can find a great job and take care of her. I’m not marrying him, Sasha. If you want the marriage so badly, why don’t you marry Dean Albright?” “Don’t make this difficult for me!” Sasha looked tearful. “You know I’ve been with Travis for nearly a year! Do you think I’d betray him just to be with Dean? Ellie gave us three days to reconsider. Maya, just say yes to Dean. Otherwise, it looks like we’re taking the money and rejecting the man, like we’re insulting him. It’s so awkward.” I had to suppress a laugh. She had the audacity to talk about awkwardness after kicking her poor, unsuspecting fiancé to the curb in the last life. But no sooner had I chased Sasha out of my room than Grandma collapsed. She passed out while closing up her food stall. At the hospital, the situation was critical. The doctor said it was an acute allergic reaction that triggered a stroke, exacerbated by her long-term diabetes. They couldn’t figure out the allergen. And when Grandma collapsed, Sasha was the only one there. What Grandma ate, only Sasha knew. 4 The ICU costs were staggering—ten thousand dollars a day. By the third day, my modest savings were gone. Sasha wouldn’t answer my calls, so I sent her a simple text: I’m going to sign the prenuptial agreement with Mrs. Albright. Sure enough, like a jack-in-the-box, she appeared right on time at our designated cafe. I agreed to marry Ellie’s son, Dean Albright. Sasha got the five million dollars, with the condition that she use half of it immediately for Grandma’s medical expenses. Sasha readily agreed. I knew that the loss of half the money was far less satisfying than the vision of me married to her personal psycho-tormentor. A week later, Grandma was safely moved out of the ICU and into a regular room. She was out of danger. I signed the marriage license with Dean and moved with him into the small villa Ellie had bought us. On our wedding night, I laid out my props: a portable whiteboard, dry-erase markers, and a stack of advanced mathematics textbooks. When Dean emerged from the bathroom, his face was quite literally paler than frost. My inner self chuckled. Two can play this game, psycho. I’ll walk your path so you can’t. “What is this?” Dean’s throat bobbed. Maybe I’d set the thermostat too high. He walked to the bedside table, picked up the water, and drank the whole glass down. I sat cross-legged on the bed, looking innocent and compliant. “Why, it’s the stimulating game only adults are qualified to play.” Calculus. Dean’s brows furrowed further. I strutted to the whiteboard, wrote down a complex 𝑓 ( 𝑥 ) f(x) equation, and turned to him. “Where should we start? Partial differential equations? Limits? Newton-Leibniz is basic entry-level stuff. Or maybe I should challenge you a bit? Have you looked at the existence of Yang–Mills and the Mass Gap, or maybe the Navier–Stokes equation?” Before I could finish my wicked string of numbers, my mouth was fiercely covered by his warm, aggressive lips. 5 “Wait—not… not like this!” I was completely blindsided. What the hell was Dean Albright doing? I pulled my mouth away from his soft, invasive kiss long enough to gasp out, “Y-You can’t do this, Dean! This isn’t how wedding nights are supposed to go!” He braced himself with a muscled forearm beside my head, his dark eyes looking down at me, full of passion. “Do you know how unbelievably sexy you are when you say ‘Navier–Stokes equation’?” he murmured. “Right now, all I want to study is the limit of negative distance deviation with you.” Limit? Negative… negative distance? Hold the phone! The next morning, I woke up nestled in Dean’s firm arms. He was still asleep, exhausted from the night’s effort. Sunlight slipped through the sheer white curtains, spilling onto his thick eyelashes. They fluttered faintly with his steady breathing. My face flushed as I replayed every detail of the previous night. I was utterly confused. Sasha’s psycho? He had been crazy and intense, yes. But he had been gentle, had asked about my feelings, and had solicitously carried me to the shower afterward. Aside from a weird fetish for following the Fibonacci sequence in his rhythm, he wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Sasha had described. Could he have figured out my intentions and was deliberately holding back, trying to lure me into a false sense of security? I smoothly reached under the pillow and pulled out my multi-purpose defense kit, running my hand over the pepper spray, the Swiss Army knife, and the stun gun. Just then, Dean’s eyes snapped open. I froze, squeezing a “Good morning” smile onto my face. What I didn’t expect was for Dean to suddenly surge forward, his eyes bloodshot, his hands locking around my neck with terrifying strength. “I am not—I am not useless!” “Say that—say that again! I’ll kill you!” His sudden, vicious assault left me stunned. I slumped back, my hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists. “No… please…” “Dean, l-let go…” Just as I thought I was about to suffocate, he abruptly deflated, the murderous rage instantly draining from him. He fell back, holding me, but I was already coughing, fighting for breath. “Maya, I… I just…” “Don’t touch me!” I shrieked.

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The engagement party was well underway, but Rhys was nowhere in sight. I called him countless times. Nothing. Not a single text back. Not until I saw the post on Sloane’s Instagram story. “Someone has been flying back-to-back for work, but because I wanted to, he dropped everything to come swimming with me.” The picture was a selfie of her and Rhys in an indoor pool. In the background, tossed carelessly aside, was the familiar crimson fabric of my vintage family heirloom gown. Facing a ballroom full of guests, I announced I was calling the whole thing off. Six years. Six years I had loved him. I was simply—tired. 1 The guests had long dispersed when Rhys finally called. A spike of irritation shot through me, yet I answered anyway, a perverse reflex. Rhys’s voice was laced with an impatient indifference. “Gemma, come to The Meridian Club and pick up Sloane and me.” I looked down, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m nearby.” The club was less than two blocks from the hotel. “How could you possibly be nearby?” Then, a beat of realization, and a casual, dismissive “Ah.” “Oh, right, I forgot about today. Look, we’ll do the engagement next time. Just come pick us up first.” I didn’t respond. He continued, his tone hardening with authority. “It’s just an engagement, Gemma. Don’t start throwing a tantrum. Just come get me.” It’s just an engagement. That was it, wasn’t it? To him, my sincerity, my commitment, my grandfather’s final gift—that gown—none of it meant anything. Before the party, he swore he had to fly out for a last-minute deal, promising to be back the day before. He did come back, only to run straight to Sloane. I hung up, my chest aching with a dull, heavy pressure. A moment later, Rhys updated his own feed: “My little one loves to stay active.” The photo was a full-body shot of Sloane in a flattering swimsuit, proudly showing off her figure by the pool. A strange, acrid taste of nausea rose in my throat. I let out a sharp, empty laugh. In that moment, I finally saw how completely superfluous I was in this six-year relationship. The obsession, the fierce loyalty I’d maintained for so long, vanished into thin air. 2 Rhys finally stumbled in around two in the morning. His luggage—a couple of overstuffed weekend bags—was dumped unceremoniously in the living room. I glanced at his messy collar, catching a faint, dark smudge of lipstick and the unmistakable look of a hasty cleanup. He scowled, his tone instantly aggressive. “Gemma. What the hell is this? What’s with all the drama?” I stopped packing my own small box of essentials. My voice was ice. “We’re done. You need to move out.” “Seriously? Over this?” He scoffed. “I just forgot the date. You know how slammed I’ve been with work.” I let out a cold laugh. “Slammed enough to forget your own engagement, but not too busy to go swimming with someone else?” I paused, the air suddenly thin. “Where is the dress?” A flicker of guilt—fast, but visible—crossed his face. He pressed his lips together. “That old thing? I don’t know where I tossed it. I’ll pay you for it.” He pulled out his phone, ready to transfer money. “Twenty thousand? That should cover it.” The anger I’d suppressed all night finally erupted, scalding and pure. “No! You know exactly how much that gown meant to me!” My voice cracked. “It was my grandfather’s final gift. It’s not something you can just slap a price tag on!” He rolled his eyes, a sound of supreme impatience. “So what? Fine, I’ll add another ten thousand. Does that finally shut you up?” Ding-dong. My phone vibrated: three thousand dollars deposited. He looked utterly unbothered. “Look, I’m exhausted. Let’s just cool off tonight, okay?” He strode into the guest room and slammed the door shut. I stared at the closed door, and the last, microscopic flicker of warmth I held for him—the hope that he was still the man I fell for—was extinguished. I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Lou. I need a reliable moving company… first thing in the morning.” 3 Perhaps it was the prick of a guilty conscience, but he was up ridiculously early, making breakfast. He held up a bacon and cheese croissant. “Your favorite. See?” This was his usual pathetic routine: a cheap, flimsy gesture of placation meant to paper over a massive betrayal. Before, I would have melted. Today, I was granite. “I’m not hungry,” I said, coolly. “I’m heading to work.” I was halfway to the garage when he rushed after me, breathless. “Let’s ride together?” I stopped, one eyebrow arched in genuine surprise. “Weren’t you worried about discretion?” He was a shareholder; I was a project manager at Crestwood Global. For years, he’d strictly forbidden me from publicizing our relationship, maintaining a glacial distance in the office, acting like we were barely acquainted. He flushed, realizing his contradiction. “The garage is usually empty this early. No one will see.” I didn’t argue. I pulled open the passenger door. The seat was covered in a ridiculous mound of plush toys, and tucked into the seat back was a little customized plaque that read: “Sloanie’s Spot!” Rhys stammered, scrambling to throw the toys into the back seat. “Sloane, you know. She just hitches a ride sometimes. She’s being ridiculous.” A sour, metallic taste flooded my mouth. I used to have to meticulously check his car for stray hairs or crumbs before I rode with him. Once, I’d accidentally left my ID on the floor, and he’d lost his mind, throwing it at me and warning he’d toss it in the garbage if I ever left a trace again. Now, he tolerated a whole zoo of a grown woman’s tacky toys. Watching him struggle to clear the mess, I felt only annoyance. “Don’t bother. I’ll take my own car.” I turned, but he grabbed my arm. “Let me drive. We haven’t spent time together.” I glanced at the panic in his eyes, but I was running late. I didn’t have the energy to fight him. I got in. 4 The entire drive, he kept up a stream of meaningless small talk, which I met with monosyllabic replies. As we merged onto the freeway ramp, his phone rang. Sloane’s voice immediately chirped through the car’s Bluetooth speakers. “Rhys… I feel so terrible…” My stomach clenched. I knew that tone. Rhys’s voice instantly went tight with frantic concern. “Sloane? What is it? Where does it hurt? Wait, don’t move, I’m coming right now!” He whipped his head toward me, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get out. Now! I have to turn around.” We were in heavy traffic, practically stopped on the overpass. Get out? I looked at him, genuinely aghast. “Are you out of your mind? We’re on the…” The flash of cold steel in his eyes made me immediately bite back the rest of my sentence. This wasn’t the first time. Every time we had a moment together, a single phone call from Sloane and he would abandon me without a thought. Arguing was useless. He seemed to realize how harsh he sounded and offered a flimsy excuse. “It’s only a short walk to the office from here. I don’t know how sick Sloane is, and she doesn’t have family nearby. I’m all she’s got, Gemma. Just try to understand!” I said nothing. I just got out. His car swerved immediately, leaving a trace of exhaust fumes, accelerating away without a second’s hesitation. The cold November air seeped into my coat, and I shivered. I pulled out my phone to call a ride-share, but as I stepped toward the shoulder, a car cutting through traffic clipped me. I stumbled, scraping my elbow and knee hard on the asphalt. 5 I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the hospital waiting area, waiting for my name to be called for an X-ray. Rhys called. “What is your problem? Still pouting and skipping work?” His voice was furious. “It’s your project presentation today, and they said you’re a no-show. How old are you? Stop letting personal drama bleed into professional life! If this happens again, you might as well resign!” I opened my mouth to explain—to tell him I’d been hit by a car, that I was in the hospital. But he didn’t give me a second to speak. He slammed the phone down. I sat there, dumbfounded, the phone still hot in my hand. I felt like I’d been doused in a bucket of ice water. I looked up just as Rhys, his face etched with worry, carefully helped Sloane walk past me. He was murmuring reassurances to her, a constant stream of tender concern. It was the type of gentle care I had spent six years craving, but never once received. I closed my eyes and drew a long, shaky breath. Enough. That was it. I was exhausted, truly, finally exhausted. 6 I felt like my body was coming apart at the seams when I left the hospital. I called the moving crew and had the last of Rhys’s belongings delivered directly to Sloane’s apartment. I sat in my now-empty living room, just letting myself be blank. The front door suddenly burst open. Rhys stood there, eyes blazing with fury. “Gemma! What the hell is this stunt you’re pulling?” “You ditch work, and then you send all my things to Sloane’s place? Are you completely insane?!” I lifted my gaze, noticing the bandages wrapped around my elbow and knee. “You… you’re hurt?” “Yes. Small accident on the way to work this morning.” He flinched, unwilling to probe further. But he remained defiant. “It’s not my fault you got into a wreck! That doesn’t give you the right to throw my things out!” My voice was flat. “Rhys, we’re breaking up.” He frowned. “Don’t say things you don’t mean!” I sighed. “I’m serious. It’s over. I’m setting you and Sloane free.” His face twisted with the irritation of a manipulator caught red-handed. “You are so jealous! I can’t stand your insecurity!” He spat the next words out. “If you leave, don’t come crawling back and begging me to take you back!” For three years, we’d fought countless times over Sloane. It was always him who threatened to leave, and me who would swallow my pride, apologize, and beg him to stay. Not this time. I would not be humble anymore. “Go. I won’t regret this. We’re finished.” My gaze was steady, unwavering. His face turned a sickly, dark color. He glared at me one last time, then slammed the door on his way out. I looked at the closed door and reminded myself to call a locksmith tomorrow. 7 The moment I walked into Crestwood Global, the CEO’s assistant summoned me. “Gemma, your position… there’s going to be a slight shift.” The leader explained that my project manager role was being revoked. The major account I was finalizing would be handed over to Sloane. He patted my shoulder, feigning regret. “Your work ethic is stellar, and the company values you. It’s just… have you perhaps offended someone recently?” Who else but Rhys? He’d always subtly discouraged my success, worried I would overshadow Sloane. He’d previously suggested I quit, saying our corporate overlap “looked bad.” Now, he’d just yanked the rug out from under me. I kept my expression neutral, forcing a slight smile. “No problem. I understand.” Inside, my stomach churned, a humiliated fury burning in my chest. When I got back to my area, Sloane was directing a few colleagues to empty the office. She turned, her smile sickeningly smug. “Gemma, sweetheart. So sorry. This space is mine now.” She pointed to a messy pile of cardboard boxes in the corner. “I packed up your things for you. You can take them now.” I looked at the haphazardly dumped personal items and clenched my fists. I gave her a freezing look, walked to the corner, and picked up the boxes. They were light. Inside were a few textbooks, and a small, gaudy ‘Cornerstone’ statuette Rhys had given me years ago, engraved with a meaningless corporate motto. As I carried the boxes out, I passed Sloane. She chirped, dripping with false concern, “Bye, Gemma. Don’t trip on your way out.” I stopped. I turned back, a cold smile curving my lips. “Sloane. You better pray you never fall into my lap.” The major client, The Prescott Group, had partnered with Crestwood because of my expertise. If I was out, that project was going to tank. 8 I was already planning to quit. A headhunter had been pursuing me for months with an offer far superior to my current one, but because of Rhys, I kept putting them off. Looking back, I felt like an utter fool, sacrificing career opportunities for a man who didn’t love me. As I walked down the hallway, my foot snagged on something. I pitched forward. My boxes flew, scattering my belongings. The cheap ‘Cornerstone’ award shattered on the marble floor. The unhealed wounds on my knee immediately burst open with a sharp, blinding pain. “Oh my god, Gemma, are you okay?” Sloane’s voice was laced with unconcealed triumph. “Why are you so clumsy? Next time, you really should watch where you’re going.” I knew, with absolute certainty, she had tripped me. A few colleagues gathered, whispering, but no one offered a hand to help me up. I laughed, a humorless, empty sound. I looked straight at Sloane’s faux-innocent face. “Don’t celebrate too soon, Sloane. The smell of low-grade ambition is really repulsive on you.” Her expression immediately darkened. “What did you say?” Rhys appeared from around the corner, saw my bloodied state, and immediately launched into a rage, not concern. “Gemma! Why aren’t you at your desk? What is this spectacle? You’re always causing drama!” I pushed myself up, my knee throbbing. Rhys saw the blood and instinctively reached for me. I slapped his hand away. “Don’t bother with the fake compassion! Get lost, you despicable pair!” Rhys’s face went white with shock, but he couldn’t find a single word to say. I staggered away, letting the blood drip down my leg. I walked straight to HR and handed in my resignation. Outside the building, I pulled out my phone and called the headhunter. “Hello, is this Mr. Prescott’s office? It’s Gemma. About that position we discussed? I’m ready to talk now.” The manager’s voice on the other end was a surge of surprised delight.

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The dating profile claimed she was a teacher, but she showed up to the restaurant with ten friends, immediately ordered eight bottles of vintage Bordeaux, and enough Wagyu and Australian lobster to feed a small army, announcing it was a test of my financial viability. I simply smiled. I walked calmly up to the front desk and deposited a thousand dollars onto my account. Then, I left a message for the waiter: “The remaining balance will be settled by the beautiful lady in the restroom touching up her makeup. If she refuses, call the police.” 1 Twilight had settled over the city, the neon slicing through the thin haze like countless prying eyes. I was seated in the plush leather booth of The Gilded Coterie, my fingertip tracing the chilled glass of an unused wine goblet. The air hung thick with a peculiar, heady mixture: expensive perfume, seafood, and the aggressive scent of money. It was nauseating. The woman across from me was Sierra Wells, introduced via a distant contact of my mother’s—one of those well-meaning, meddling suburban matchmakers. Her profile had promised an elementary school English teacher, a product of a “refined background,” gentle and intellectual. Yet, here she was, giggling conspiratorially with her ten so-called “best friends.” Their laughter was a high, grating sound, sharp enough to cut through the opulent silence of the private dining room. Their gazes swept over me like floodlights, missing no detail: the brand of my watch, the subtle weave of my custom-tailored shirt, the keys to my German sedan resting casually on the tablecloth. “Rhys, I hear from the matchmaker that you run your own firm. A big success, isn’t it?” A woman with aggressive scarlet nails leaned forward, her décolletage a deliberate distraction. I adjusted my classic-frame glasses. My expression, framed by the lens, was perfectly neutral. “A small operation,” I answered, my tone mild. “Just enough to keep the lights on.” Sierra took a slow sip of the ruby-red liquid—vintage Bordeaux, which they’d ordered the moment they arrived, eight bottles deep, without consulting a single person. She looked at me with the assessing gaze of a buyer inspecting a commodity, a small, calculating smile playing on her lips. “Oh, Rhys Harrington, don’t be modest. Brenda Moyer told my friend that you’ve done quite well for yourself. A few properties downtown, I hear?” Her voice was just loud enough to carry across the long table. The ten women inhaled in an exaggerated, collective gasp. Their eyes, already hot with curiosity, now burned with renewed interest. Brenda Moyer. My mother’s Zumba buddy. I mentally rolled my eyes. It seemed my financial history was her favorite piece of gossip. “Just rumors, Sierra. Nothing worth repeating,” I maintained, my composure undisturbed. “Oh, but a man should show his strength!” another heavily made-up friend interjected. “Sierra is the prettiest of our group; the men lining up for her stretch down the block. Her agreeing to see you is a real privilege.” “Exactly,” a third chimed in, their voices a well-rehearsed chorus. “Our Sierra has impeccable taste. She doesn’t waste time on men who lack the necessary economic viability.” The message was singular, direct, and delivered with the force of a battering ram: Prove your sincerity with cash if you want to court our princess. I lowered my eyes to the wreckage on the table. The skeletal remains of the huge Australian lobsters, the bone fragments from the high-grade Wagyu, and the untouched sides of expensive, gourmet fare. This wasn’t a date. This was a sophisticated, high-end ambush. And I was the prey, surrounded by predators. Sierra kept her cool, demure smile, acting the part of a princess above the fray. But the flicker of greed and sharp calculation in her eyes stripped away the fragile veneer of her innocence. The room grew warmer, the conversation bolder. “Is that the latest model sedan you drive, Rhys? Over a hundred thousand, I bet?” “And that watch of yours… enough to buy each of us a new designer bag, right?” I continued to offer nothing but polite smiles and noncommittal phrases, maintaining an air of detached ease. In their eyes, my silence was not a sign of restraint, but an admission of weakness and consent. Finally, Sierra rose, swaying her hips slightly in the tightly-fitted dress. “I’m going to the restroom to touch up my makeup,” she announced, offering me a saccharine smile—a victorious look that suggested the hunt was already over. Her friends followed, some claiming they needed a smoke break, others saying they’d accompany her. Within seconds, the cavernous private room held only me and the evidence of their plunder. I sat for three full minutes, listening to their muffled, excited whispers fade down the hallway. Perfect. The charade was over. I stood up slowly, smoothing the jacket of my suit, ensuring there wasn’t a single wrinkle. Then, with deliberate, unhurried steps, I walked out of the room. I didn’t head toward the restrooms. I went straight to the restaurant’s opulent front desk. The hostess, dressed in a sleek uniform, gave me a professional smile. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?” “The check,” I said simply. Her smile broadened. “Of course, sir. The total consumption for your table comes to thirty-one thousand, six hundred, and eighty dollars. We’ll round it down to thirty-one thousand six hundred.” I nodded and pulled my bank card from my wallet. “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I currently have exactly one thousand dollars in liquid cash available on this card. Please deduct that amount first.” The hostess’s professional smile shattered, replaced by an expression of baffled disbelief. She looked at me as if I’d spoken an alien language. “Sir… Are you serious?” “Do I look like I’m joking?” I countered calmly. I handed her the card. “Swipe the thousand.” She hesitated, then, under a discreet signal from the manager nearby, took the card and ran the transaction. The receipt printed out. I tucked the card and the slip away, then leaned in, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “The remaining balance will be settled by the beautiful lady in the restroom touching up her makeup.” I gestured toward the far hallway with a slight tilt of my head. “Her name is Sierra Wells. She was the host. If she refuses to pay, you are authorized to call the police immediately. She is skipping out on the check.” Without waiting for her spectacular expression to change, I turned, my stride steady and long, and walked out of The Gilded Coterie without a backward glance. The cool night air hit my face, dissipating the oppressive heat of the dining room. I took a deep breath. I felt lighter than I had in months. My phone screen glowed with an incoming call—my mother, no doubt checking on the progress of the date. I silenced the ringer and dropped the phone into my pocket. Tonight, I wasn’t speaking to anyone. Let that thirty-thousand-dollar bill be my little housewarming gift to Ms. Wells and her cadre of excellent friends. 2 Back at my condo, I took a long, hot shower, washing away the stench of expensive perfume, stale air, and social maneuvering. Dressed in comfortable loungewear, I sat in my study, the faint light of the computer screen illuminating my face. I didn’t spare a single thought for Sierra Wells’s current state of panic, or how she was managing the spectacle. An adult is responsible for her own actions. The moment they stepped into that restaurant with a plan to fleece me, the ending was inevitable. My phone vibrated a dozen times on silent mode. Sierra’s name flashed repeatedly, followed by a series of unknown numbers. I picked up the device and, without a shred of emotion, dragged her contact into the blocked list. The world went quiet again. The next morning, I went to work as usual. Life seemed to have snapped back into place, the absurd dinner feeling like a bad dream. But I knew better. A woman as high on her own ambition and as prone to vengeance as Sierra Wells wouldn’t simply swallow this insult. Trouble arrived that afternoon. My friend, Nolan Scott, pinged me a link with a simple message: “You’ve gone viral, Rhys.” I clicked on the link. It led to a major local social media group, something dedicated to neighborhood gossip and local politics. The title was shocking, visceral: “Heart-Wrenching Accusation! The Soulless Scammer Who Played an Innocent Teacher, Where Is the Justice?!” The ID of the poster was “Humble_Heart_Sierra,” and the profile picture was a soft, filtered side-profile, the background intentionally blurred to suggest a classroom chalkboard. It was Sierra. Of course. The post was a masterpiece of contrived victimhood, a moving, tear-soaked tale. She described herself as a humble, hardworking public school teacher from a modest background, seeking only a reliable man for a stable life. She claimed she’d been introduced to me—a man who looked successful. She wrote that I pursued her aggressively and insisted on taking her out. To avoid letting me overspend, she’d brought a few friends for company, thinking a larger group would make the atmosphere lighter. Instead, she claimed, I ostentatiously ordered an entire table of unimaginably expensive dishes to flaunt my wealth. Then, under the pretense of going to the restroom, I had run away. I had abandoned her, a vulnerable woman, to face a monstrous thirty-thousand-dollar bill alone, leaving her hysterical and distraught. “I was frozen,” she wrote. “My hands and feet were ice-cold. My friends were terrified; they’re regular working women, they’d never seen anything like this. I had to bite the bullet, max out every credit card I had, call my elderly parents, and borrow from every single relative just to cover the bill. When I finally stumbled out of the restaurant, it was the middle of the night. Walking alone on the empty street, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. All I wanted was a simple, honest relationship. Why did I have to meet a monster?” She included a photo of the blurred restaurant bill, the final, enormous number clearly visible. The entire post was polished, tear-jerking, and calculated to incite immediate, furious sympathy. I almost believed her ghost-written plight myself. The comment section was already a dumpster fire. “HOLY COW! This guy is utter trash! A sociopath!” “Poor Sierra. Sending a huge hug. Don’t let this get to you.” “Someone needs to Dox this scum and run him out of the city!” “Justice for Ms. Wells! Society is so unfair to women!” Sierra was smart; she hadn’t named me directly, but the details—“runs his own firm,” “wears gold-rimmed glasses”—were specific enough to leave little doubt. Worse, she’d anonymously shared the post into a local “Moms and Tots” group, where people claiming to be her co-workers or friends jumped in to “confirm” the story. “It’s true, Sierra cried all night. Her eyes are so swollen.” “I think I know the guy, the one who owns the tech company. I knew he had a bad reputation.” “She’s a respected educator, to be abused like this is just heartbreaking.” The teacher title granted her an instant moral halo, a free pass to the public’s sympathy. Sierra was exploiting this perfectly. She had crafted herself into the perfect victim, and me into the unforgivable villain: the arrogant, heartless scammer who flaunted his wealth and dodged the check. I stared at the screen, a cold, sharp fire igniting in my chest. I had underestimated her ruthlessness, and the terrifying power of a manipulated crowd. This game, it seemed, was only just beginning. I picked up my phone and called Nolan Scott. “Nolan? You free? I need a favor.” 3 “My mother just called. She ripped me to shreds.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if discussing a character in a book. Nolan was silent for a few seconds, then I heard the familiar flick of a lighter. “Your mom knows? That spread fast.” “Brenda Moyer—the matchmaker—saw the post in some community feed, added her own spin, and called my mother. Now she’s convinced I tormented a ‘sweet, hardworking girl’ and wants me to apologize immediately and pay the tab.” I leaned back in my chair, the agitation creeping up my spine. More painful than the venom of strangers was the lack of understanding from family. My mother could never grasp the nuance; in her world, a teacher could not be a bad person. She would only see me as the cold, unforgiving son. “So what’s the move? Argue with the internet? I’m telling you, it’s useless. Emotions are running too high. You explain, they see deflection. You clarify, they see guilt,” Nolan’s voice was coolly analytical. “I’m not that stupid,” I replied. “We’ve already lost the opening skirmish on the battlefield of public opinion. Charging in now is guaranteed social suicide.” “Then what’s the strategy?” “I want her to swallow every lie she spat out, one agonizing bite at a time.” My words were soft, but Nolan knew I wasn’t joking. “Consider it done. Tell me what you need.” His loyalty was a given, an unspoken foundation of our friendship. “I need everything on Sierra Wells. Her social accounts, her actual consumption habits, her inner circle. The more detail, the better. She wants to play the role of the innocent sweetheart? I’m going to peel back every layer and show the world exactly what color she really is.” “A piece of cake,” Nolan replied instantly. “I’ll get started. But you also need to make a move. The surveillance footage from that restaurant is your primary evidence.” “I know.” I hung up and looked out the window at the dull, overcast sky. The outline of the city seemed vague, uncertain. Public opinion was like this weather: seemingly overwhelming, but a strong enough wind will scatter it. My job was to generate that wind. I called The Gilded Coterie and asked for the manager. He sounded instantly cautious when I introduced myself. “Mr. Harrington? Is this about Ms. Wells’s bill? She settled the account.” “I know,” I interrupted. “I’m not calling about the money. I’m calling about my reputation.” I briefly explained the social media campaign. The manager was silent. “Mr. Harrington, we’re a luxury establishment. We can’t just release customer private information.” “I’m not asking you to leak anything,” I countered, my voice gaining an edge. “I need you to preserve the raw security footage and the original order slip from that night. Ms. Wells is publicly claiming I skipped out on a bill—that damages your establishment’s reputation as much as mine. If this escalates, I won’t hesitate to involve my legal team, and then simply providing the evidence won’t be enough.” Pressure and leverage: the most effective tools in the adult world. The manager weighed his options, his tone finally softening. “…I understand, Mr. Harrington. We will archive all relevant evidence. Should the authorities or a legal representative request it, we will fully cooperate.” “Excellent.” I had the promise I needed. Now, I just had to wait for Nolan. Throughout the afternoon, my phone buzzed with screenshots and links from friends—all variations of the same accusatory post. Some were shocked, some were doubtful, and many urged me to post a rebuttal. I ignored them all. Making any move without absolute certainty would be foolish. My mother called again that evening, her voice sterner than before. “Rhys! What is wrong with you? The family group chat is ablaze! You’re making me look ridiculous! Brenda Moyer called me to tell me that poor Sierra was so upset she checked herself into the hospital! You march over there, apologize, and pay back that money! Do you hear me?” “I have not shirked my responsibility,” I said calmly. “You haven’t? She’s a young woman, thirty thousand dollars! How could you let her bear that alone? How did I raise such a heartless son?” My mother’s voice was wet with tears. I closed my eyes, a deep sense of powerlessness washing over me. “Mom, it’s not what you think. Give me time. I will fix this.” “I won’t wait! I’m going to the hospital tomorrow to see Ms. Wells and apologize for your behavior myself!” She hung up with a sharp click. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. A suffocating knot tightened in my chest. This was Sierra’s true aim. Not just to damage my reputation and finances, but to inject poison into my family life. A cruel and calculated psychological attack. Vicious. And ultimately, stupid. She thought this would force me to surrender? She was wrong. She had stoked not my guilt, but my absolute, cold-blooded resolve to crush her. Nolan’s efficiency was remarkable. By nine that night, a clean, organized dossier landed in my secure email inbox. “The fish is on the hook. Check your mail,” his text read.

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It was our third wedding anniversary, and I was planning to deliver the news of my pregnancy to Alexander “Alex” Maxwell as a surprise. But a sudden, reckless impulse led me to check his phone first. That’s when I saw the photograph. The woman in the picture bore an unsettling resemblance to me, but the child in her arms—a toddler—had a shadow of Alex’s features. I heard the click of the bathroom lock turning. I looked up, meeting Alex’s eyes as he stepped out. His gaze dropped to the phone in my hand. His face darkened instantly. The shift was chilling. “Why were you going through my phone?” he demanded, his voice low and cold. 1 I almost laughed. The lock screen password was my birthday. Was he genuinely so arrogant, so trusting, that he believed I’d never look? I remained silent. He strode forward and snatched the phone away. When he saw the photograph himself, he froze. A wave of complicated, churning emotion flashed in his eyes before he masked it. It took him a moment. He finally lifted his head to look at me, his expression hardened with displeasure. “You shouldn’t have looked.” In all the years I’d known Alex, this was the first time he’d turned that dark look on me. It was the frantic fury of a secret exposed. I lowered my eyes, clenching my fists, fighting to keep the tremor from my voice. “Who are they?” His silence was the only answer, a suffocating blanket in the air. I risked a glance at him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of rare, genuine frustration. A sliver of guilt finally seemed to penetrate his annoyance. “The child is mine. And she…” He trailed off, his hesitant gaze lingering on my face for a long time. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.” My eyes stung with a sudden, hot burn. Alex watched, completely lost. He fumbled, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. “Mia, it’s not what you think. I broke up with her right after you came back from overseas. She was pregnant but didn’t tell me. She had the baby and only contacted me about a year ago.” The explanation was paper-thin, transparent. He had successfully hidden the existence of this “ex” from the beginning. During the three years I was away for school, we’d lost touch. When I returned, I was met with Alex, the devoted, patiently waiting fiancé. It was all a facade. While I was gone, someone else had been by his side. I stared straight into his eyes, demanding the truth. “If she had told you about the pregnancy back then, what would you have chosen?” His gaze flickered. He frowned, his impatience returning. “Don’t make useless hypotheticals.” Faced with a devastating choice, Alex chose to dodge. But I had already seen the hesitation, the quiet conflict, in his eyes. I took a shaky breath, forcing a small, brittle smile onto my face. “Alex, do you want a divorce?” 2 Alex rejected the suggestion immediately. He scrambled into his clothes and slammed the door behind him, leaving without a second glance. The third night, he came back smelling strongly of liquor. He grabbed me roughly, pinning me beneath him on the bed. His kiss was scalding, a desperate, suffocating pressure that gave me no chance to breathe. The heavy scent of alcohol filled my nostrils, but beneath it, I caught a faint, sweet, and distinctly feminine perfume. Finally, just as I felt myself starting to panic, he released me. His eyes were bloodshot, shimmering with unshed tears. “Amelia,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a strange, wounded fury. “You have no right to ask me for a divorce.” The tremor in his voice carried a hint of self-pity, as if I were the one who had committed the unforgivable act. I pushed him away and sat up, my gaze cold and flat. “Did you change cologne?” The lingering scent on his skin was definitely a woman’s sweet fragrance. Where he’d spent the last two days was painfully clear. He offered no explanation. Instead, he grinned, a flash of undeniable mockery in his eyes. “Do you think I’m too much, Mia? Because you’re worse. You settled for me, but your heart was still hung up on Spencer Elliott, wasn’t it?” It took me a full three seconds to process the name. Spencer Elliott. I saw the look on Alex’s face—a sick satisfaction, the triumph of achieved revenge. It hit me. He still resented me for chasing Spencer overseas years ago. His next words were calculated, stabbing right at my deepest vulnerability. “If you truly want a divorce, why don’t you go ask the Owens what they think first?” Immediately, the stern, judging faces of my adoptive parents flashed in my mind, followed by the familiar, cutting stream of blame and admonishment. I squeezed my hands into fists. My fingertips felt ice cold. Alex’s smile widened, becoming outright cruel. In that instant, everything clicked into place. “Alex, this is about revenge, isn’t it?” He didn’t flinch. He admitted it brazenly, even promising that this was only the beginning. “You don’t love me, so I’ll make you miserable.” With that, he got up and walked out of the room. I reached for my stomach, then pulled out the sonogram I’d planned to give him as a surprise. Slowly, I tore the paper into small, jagged pieces.

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Owen Davis was cheating. The day I caught him, Owen was cheating. To stop me from walking out, he staggered into the kitchen, snatched a steak knife, and drew the blade savagely across his own wrist, sobbing so hard the sound choked in his throat. “Liz, if you won’t forgive me, I swear, I’ll kill myself.” Blood sprayed, flecking my face, blurring my vision. A sharp, sick ache tightened my chest, and my eyes burned. Looking at Owen, I felt utterly cold. “Owen, if you truly want to die,” I said, my voice flat. “Don’t do it in front of me.” I walked over, took the knife from his slackened grip, and gave him the final word. “Owen, we’re calling off the wedding.” 1 “No! I won’t call it off!” Ignoring the deep gash on his wrist, Owen lunged, clutching me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. All I could hear was his ragged, crumbling voice. “I am not breaking up with you!” “Eliza Reed!” Owen grabbed my hand, his fingers slick with his own blood, and slapped it hard against his face. “Hit me, then!” “Slap me, scream at me, do whatever you want!” “Just don’t call off the wedding, please! Don’t leave me!” I watched the scarlet seep steadily from his wrist. The warm, sticky blood smeared my hand and his face, coiling around my heart like a vicious vine, tightening until I was suffocating. As my eyes met his, for a flashing moment, I remembered. I remembered Owen using that same face, those same desperate eyes, driven by pure, raw need, while he was buried in another woman. The image hit me, and I shoved him away with all my strength, stumbling to the bathroom. I vomited until my entire body ached and I felt hollowed out, but through the roar in my ears, I could still hear Owen’s voice. “Wife, we’re getting married right away!” “Wife!” “You’re going to be my wife! My life depends on you!” The truth was, I never thought I would leave Owen. I never imagined there would be a hole in my life where Owen used to be. Just like I never imagined I’d find him naked, intimately tangled with someone else, shattering the illusion of our love. “Get out!” I backed away frantically until I hit the wall, cornered. I saw the look of wounded, complete devastation on his face as he screamed. “Get out!” Owen’s complexion turned stark white. He dropped to his knees in front of me, pleading, saying sorry, saying he’d made a mistake, that it was only a moment of madness, that he’d been drunk, that he couldn’t help himself. “Liz.” “You are the only one I have ever loved!” “I love you!” Owen lost too much blood. At the hospital, I sat in the silent hallway, watching the red light above the Emergency Room door. I was chilled to the bone, feeling trapped in a dead end. That’s when his phone, which I still held, rang. It was the other woman. She called his name. Receiving no answer, she asked me, “Where is Owen?” “Who are you?” My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed glass. Before I could speak, I heard her voice, silky, yet confident. “You must be Eliza Reed.” “Owen’s fiancée.” “But so what?” she purred. “As long as you haven’t made it official, who’s to say Owen will actually marry you?” “Eliza Reed.” “I hear you were holding out on him, saving yourself for the wedding night, thinking that’s what a good woman does. Well, you shouldn’t blame Owen for straying and finding love elsewhere. Eliza, this is your own damn fault.” 2 A loud buzzing filled my ears. My body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller. It wasn’t that Owen and I hadn’t been close to that step. But every time, at the last moment, Owen would stop, gently cup my face, and tell me. “Liz.” “You’re different to me.” “I cherish you,” he’d say. “I want our first time to happen at the most perfect moment.” And I believed it. I felt so incredibly lucky to have found such a good man in Owen, that he was a blessing, the best luck I’d ever had. Now, I listened to her mockery. “Owen told me that every time he tried to take things further, he’d look at your face and just… stop. Eliza Reed, have you honestly never wondered why?” Tears poured down my face. I swallowed the sourness rising in my throat, gazing at the still-lit red emergency light. Before she could say another word, I cut her off. “If you truly believe Owen loves you,” I said. “Fine.” My chest ached with a burning acid, almost unbearable, but I continued, “Then you tell him to call off the engagement.” “If you’re so capable, then stop hiding in the shadows! Make Owen choose you!” My emotions were spiraling out of control. Before I could say more, a hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. Veronica Davis, Owen’s mother, slapped me hard across the face. Before I could even register the pain, she hauled me up and slammed me onto the floor, screaming at me. “You tramp!” “If anything happens to my son, you will never pay enough, even if you die a thousand times!” Mrs. Davis’s voice thundered. Standing meekly behind the Davis family were my own parents. My mother caught my eye, shaking her head, silently begging me to keep quiet, to endure the abuse. I knew they wanted me to submit. But when Mrs. Davis took off her high-heeled shoe and hurled it at my face, the impact made my nose bleed. I couldn’t stop myself. “Then let’s cancel it.” Tears mixed with the blood streaming down my face, but I was defiant. “I won’t marry him.” I looked at my mother. “I am breaking the engagement with Owen!” “Oh, you worthless little bitch! You’ve got attitude now, do you?” Mrs. Davis raised her hand again, but my mother was faster. She slapped the other side of my face. “You apologize to Mrs. Davis right now!” “You tell them that you will never leave Owen as long as he wants you! Never!” My tears fell thick and fast as I looked at my mother’s face. The heartbreak was suffocating. I wanted to tell her why, but she roared at me instead. “Say it now!” My mother’s fists rained down on me, each blow a sharp sting that drove me toward a breakdown. “Say it!” “Say you’ll never leave him unless he throws you out! Say it, you hear me!” “Mom!” I cried out, my eyes red and swollen. Just then, the emergency room light went dark. Everyone rushed forward to ask about Owen. But Owen, despite his exhaustion and injuries, pushed past them all, rushing toward me. He tried to pull me into a hug, crying out again. “I won’t let us break up!” “Liz, please, don’t leave me…” 3 I realized my life couldn’t possibly get any worse. I sat by Owen’s hospital bed, listening as he explained everything—how his injury had nothing to do with me, how he took full responsibility for his cheating, and how my anger was completely justified. His eyes red-rimmed, Owen promised my parents. “Just this one time.” “I will never betray Liz again.” “I love Liz. I plan to marry her and spend my life with her.” Then I heard Owen tell his family. “If you keep giving Liz a hard time, you will genuinely drive me to suicide.” The Davis family adored Owen, their only son. Veronica Davis cried until she was broken, but she softened for her child’s sake. She shot me a venomous glare before changing her tone, saying only, “You had better cherish my son.” Owen squeezed my cold hand and whispered to me. “Liz, don’t worry about your brother’s tuition. I will fully support him. His future wedding, his car, his house—it’s all covered. I’m his brother-in-law. We’re family.” Everyone smiled then. The widest, most relieved smiles belonged to my parents. All their anxieties seemed to have evaporated, and they looked at Owen with an added measure of warmth and adoration. The day I accompanied Owen home from the hospital, I saw Skye Foster, the woman who had called me and slept with Owen. Her eyes were red as she looked at him. As Owen and I walked past, she grabbed the corner of his jacket, crying softly. “Owen.” “I just need to talk to you.” Skye was no longer arrogant and aggressive toward me; her tone was humble and pleading. “Owen.” “Just one conversation.” I felt Owen’s body stiffen. Meeting his conflicted gaze, I realized I had very little emotion left to give. I slipped my hand out of his, forcing a composed smile. “I’ll wait for you at home.” I got into the car. Owen’s text came immediately: [Wife, I promise I’ll make things clear with her. She won’t ever show her face again. Don’t be upset.] I exited the chat and opened the new text from Skye. “But what can I say?” “All I have to do is shed a few tears, and Owen still fetches like a dog.” The video the woman sent showed Owen following her into a hotel room, desperate to jump into bed. His hospital bandage had fallen to the floor. Her panting, intimate moans were like a toxic substance stealing my breath. I barely managed to keep the renewed wave of nausea down, rushing to the bathroom to dry-heave until my stomach felt completely empty. Then, my mother’s voice message played. “Liz, what man doesn’t fool around? Even your father looks at other women sometimes. I made it through it, and you will too.” “A woman should prioritize her husband. You need to think about your brother, Liz.” “Don’t be so selfish.” I sat in the empty house, surrounded by the new, brightly colored decorations for our wedding. It felt like even crying was no longer an option. I texted Owen. [Are you done?] 4 Owen returned the next day. Even with Skye’s perfume clinging to his clothes, he was no longer avoiding me like he had at first. Instead, he constantly tried to test my boundaries. He had started out terrified of losing me, but now he understood that even if I wanted to leave, my parents would always be my obstacle. He seemed to finally realize that our break-up wasn’t imminent. He became increasingly nonchalant in front of me, even taking to pinching my chin and saying, “Liz.” “As long as you’re a good girl.” “We’ll be happy forever.” “I promise,” Owen’s skin reeked of the other woman’s scent—so heavily I felt physically repulsed and wanted to throw up, but I forced myself to listen. “You will never have to go back to your family, to be sold off like a piece of property again.” I listened to the contempt in his tone, and watched the scrutinizing way he looked at me. He told me, “My momentary lapse of judgment was because I respected you, Liz. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” “I just want you to understand.” I understood. I knew I was supposed to agree with Owen, nod sweetly, say I understood and forgave him, and that I would love him forever. The words gathered in my throat. But I kept seeing the videos Skye sent me: from the hotel to the beach, to car rides, to forest escapades and camping trips. Every position, every intimate sound. Skye would always ask him. “Owen.” “Whose body—mine or Eliza Reed’s—attracts you more?” And Owen would answer without hesitation. “Yours.” He would drive himself into a frenzy on her body, his face contorted with lust, and he’d tell her, “If she’s my spiritual need, you’re my primal, physiological desire.” Skye had messaged me: “Eliza Reed. You’ll always lose if you try to compete with me.” Now, looking at Owen, the compliant words I was meant to say jammed in my throat. I tried to speak, but just as I was about to tell Owen that I would love him for life, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I threw up. I threw up all over Owen. He no longer had the initial look of heartbreaking remorse. He simply grimaced with distaste and snapped one line. “Eliza Reed.” “You need to be grateful for what you have.” When Owen left, the house fell silent again. I looked at the white wedding dress hanging in the room, the fine crystals flashing—a dream I had once held for my entire life. Now, as I watched the soft moans on the projector screen, and heard the sounds of celebration rising from downstairs, I put on the wedding dress. I called Owen.

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Six years ago, I was the head of Research and Development—a Chief Research Scientist—until I was busted for falsifying drug trial data, a scandal that killed countless patients. The entire internet crucified me, calling me the Butcher of the Lab. Before I was even sentenced, a group of victims’ families found me and carved their rage onto my skin—eighteen cuts, right on the street. When I got out, I vanished. I changed my name and hid, becoming a fishmonger at a downtown market, the stench of brine and blood clinging to me like cheap perfume. I was scrubbing down a fillet board when my billionaire ex-husband showed up. Harrison Shaw. He looked at me, his perfect face a mask of shock. “Sloane? What happened to you? Why didn’t you come find me after you were released?” I didn’t get a chance to answer. His assistant, sleek and terrified, leaned in from behind him. “Mr. Shaw, Ms. Wells is still waiting for the fish you promised to personally select for her broth. It won’t be fresh if we’re late.” I yanked off my surgical mask, exposing the jagged, half-scarred face I wore now, and let out a cold laugh. “That cut of salmon is twenty dollars. Pay up or get lost. You’re messing with my business.” He threw me to the wolves—Tatum Wells’ wolves—and let me take the fall, all so she could climb the corporate ladder. Now that Tatum was the replacement fiancée, he had the nerve to stand here? 1 I slammed my gutting knife down on the cutting board, splattering fish blood onto Harrison’s Italian leather shoes. He recoiled half a step, a flicker of pure disgust crossing his features. “Sloane, what are you doing to yourself? You know these hands weren’t meant for cleaning fish.” My body swayed, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably. My fingers were chapped and swollen, the nail beds permanently stained with black dirt and fish guts. Six years ago, these hands handled million-dollar lab equipment. Now, they only gutted fish. “Mr. Shaw, don’t sully your pristine gaze. Are you buying this fish or not?” I reached into the tank, expertly snatched a thrashing trout, and brought the blunt back of the knife down hard on its head. Thunk. The fish went still. Harrison hadn’t spoken, but the old man behind him in line lost his patience. “Are you selling fish or holding a board meeting? I’m going to the stall down the row if you don’t hurry up!” “Selling, of course.” I pulled my gaze away, done with looking at Harrison, and prepared to weigh the trout for the customer. A large, controlling hand pressed down on my arm. Harrison placed a stack of cash on my counter. “Don’t sell anything else today.” “I’ll take the rest of your stock. Pack up and go home to rest.” I didn’t touch the money. I picked up my scaling tool and went back to work. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Shaw.” “But I run a small business. We don’t do exclusive buyouts. Now, if you’re not buying, please move. You’re blocking the line.” Just then, a saccharine voice chimed in. “Harrison, why are you still here? Miles and I have been waiting for you to come home to make the soup.” My hand, scaling a bass, paused. Tatum Wells stepped forward, linking her arm affectionately through Harrison’s, and then feigned shock when she saw me. “Oh, is that… Sloane? Sis, what are you doing here selling fish?” “Did you just get out and have nowhere to go? You should have told me! I’ll ask Harrison to find you a place to stay, or maybe a job!” She was immediately followed by a man who looked utterly ashamed to be there. It was Miles Harrington, my own brother. Six years ago, when I was sentenced, he not only cut ties and disowned me from the Harrington family, but he also triumphantly brought Tatum—my father’s illegitimate daughter from an outside affair—home to take my place. Our parents had made Miles and me swear on their deathbeds that we would never let Tatum Wells set foot in the Harrington home. They had warned us that Tatum’s mother had nearly destroyed our family years ago, and her daughter was no better. My own brother had forgotten our parents’ dying wish completely. Miles now spoke softly to Tatum. “Sweetheart, why talk to someone like this? Let’s go home. Harrison and I are making you a big dinner tonight.” He then glared at me. “Sloane is a disgrace who hasn’t learned her lesson. Six years in prison and she’s still covered in bad luck!” His loud voice drew the attention of everyone around. An older woman who frequently bought fish from me suddenly pointed a trembling finger. “Wait! I remember now! The news six years ago! The Butcher of the Lab! The one who killed all those people—that’s Sloane Harrington!” “Oh my God! I’ve been buying fish from a murderer!” Harrison immediately stepped forward to try and calm the enraged crowd. “Sloane, you can’t work here. Your hands belong in a lab, not a fish market.” “Tell me what you need. I can help you.” But the shouts and insults were growing louder. Rotten vegetables and eggs began to fly. Harrison spoke about helping me, but his body immediately shielded Tatum. He was terrified that the expensive designer dress she was wearing would be stained. I stood there, covered in the stench of fish and now the slimy mess of raw egg. Tatum peered out from Harrison’s protective embrace. “Sloane, you should apologize to everyone.” “Even though those patients died because of your fake data, if you just show genuine remorse, people will forgive you.” That single phrase, genuine remorse, sent the crowd over the edge. Someone shoved my entire fish stand over. The water tank burst. Over a dozen live fish flopped desperately in the dirty puddle on the ground, struggling for a final breath. Just like I did six years ago. I quietly gathered the remaining supplies and walked home. The next day, the market manager dismantled my stall. “We received complaints about unsanitary conditions and illegal operation. Your lease is terminated.” I looked at the empty space and gave a hollow laugh. They truly were determined to eliminate anything that reminded Tatum of me. They stopped at nothing. When I arrived back at my dilapidated basement apartment, all my luggage had been tossed out onto the street. The landlord had even refunded me three months’ rent—triple the deposit—just to ensure I left immediately. I sat on my pile of belongings, staring into space, when a pair of perfectly shined leather shoes stopped in front of me. “Sloane, Tatum’s research project has hit a crucial bottleneck. She’s only missing the final piece of data.” “You’re a genius in this field. If you agree to help her, I’ll give you enough money to disappear. You can start a new life somewhere no one knows your name.” Hearing those words made me sick. “Harrison, are you insane? You framed me for data fraud and put me in prison for years. Now you have the audacity to ask me to clean up the mess for that illegitimate daughter who killed those people?” Harrison’s face darkened. “Sloane, watch your tone. You’ve already paid for the mistakes of six years ago. Don’t try to throw dirt on Tatum.” “Tatum is highly gifted. She took over your disaster of a project and has practically ruined her health trying to perfect this drug. She’s the one who asked me to come to you, despite everything. Don’t be ungrateful!” I laughed again, a sound devoid of humor. “And what if I refuse?” Harrison spoke with his usual arrogance. “Then you’ll have to deal with the consequences yourself.” Harrison left, and I initially dismissed his threat. I found a new underground apartment and started looking for another job. Then, the caretaker of my parents’ memorial park called me. “Ms. Harrington, the Shaw family has acquired the land where your parents are buried. They plan to flatten the area and build a new sewage treatment facility.” “The Shaw representative said if you don’t accept their terms, they will scatter your parents’ ashes on the street.” My hand holding the phone trembled violently. Was this the man I had loved? He was using my dead parents as leverage, all for the sake of Tatum Wells? I looked at my half-ruined face in the mirror. For six years, for the sake of a misguided love and my family’s reputation, I had silently accepted the blame. I thought my sacrifice would protect Miles and the Harrington family, and that Harrison would remain untouched. What was the result? My brother elevated the illegitimate daughter to a princess, and Harrison cherished the murderer. Only I rotted in hell for six years. Harrison’s call came in. I answered on the first ring. “Have you thought it through? Sloane, stop being difficult. The past is over.” “If you just focus on helping Tatum, you still have a chance to restore your reputation. I’ll help you, alright?” I answered calmly. “I’ll do it.” “But first, I need the title to my parents’ burial plot transferred solely into my name, with a signed contract guaranteeing it will never be moved.” Harrison agreed.

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