Author: Momo Chan

The day I was discharged from the hospital, my depression finally in remission, I waited at the entrance for hours. It was nearly midnight when the message from Lucas Sterling finally came through. Something urgent came up at the firm. Don’t wait up, just head home. A moment later, I saw the new post on Bethany Reed’s Instagram. It was a photo of Lucas, sleeves rolled up, patiently changing a lightbulb for her. The caption read: For all the hard things in life, I’m so lucky to have you. My breath caught in my throat. I tapped the ‘like’ button and quietly called a cab. When I got home, I was surprised to find Lucas already there, looking like he’d rushed back. He saw me and immediately grabbed my hands, his voice tight with anxiety. “Don’t overthink it, Mia. She’s just an old friend. I was just helping her out.” I nodded, playing the part of the compliant girlfriend he expected. But his brow only furrowed deeper. He hesitated, then asked, “…Mia? What’s wrong?” I just shook my head, my gaze fixed on the ugly, layered scars that covered my wrists. Nothing was wrong. I was just… done loving him. … The room fell silent for a long moment. Finally, Lucas let out a sigh, reining in his temper to coax me. “Mia, please don’t be like this.” “It was nothing. I didn’t do anything with her, I just helped her with something small.” “I already promised you I wouldn’t cross any lines with Bethany again. Don’t fixate on one little thing.” He finished and moved to wrap his arms around me, but I took a silent step back, avoiding his touch. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His patience finally snapped, his voice rising. “What the hell do you want from me?!” I flinched, a sudden fog of tears blurring my vision. He seemed to realize he’d gone too far, a flash of regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to blame you—” “I want to break up.” My voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through his words. “What?” Lucas stared at me, then pressed his fingers to his temples as if fighting off a massive headache. “Can you not do this again? Don’t threaten to break up every time we have a problem.” “It’s always this, Mia. I’m so tired.” “Yes, I know. I cheated on you before. I was with Bethany, and it was wrong, it hurt you. But I’ve changed, haven’t I? Haven’t I been good enough to you these past months?” “Just because I made one mistake, you’re going to torture me like this forever?!” There it was again. I couldn’t look at him. The air in the room felt like it was turning to thick, black water, ready to pull me under. A wave of terror washed over me, and for a horrifying second, I felt the urge to drop to my knees and beg for his forgiveness. But I held my ground, repeating the words. “I want to break up.” Crash! He slammed his water glass onto the floor, and it shattered into a thousand pieces. “Aah!” I screamed, dropping into a crouch and wrapping my arms over my head, trembling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry… please don’t hit me… I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Lucas loomed over me, his voice dripping with scorn. “There you go again. Faking it.” “Mia, have I been too good to you lately? Did that make you think you could control me with these pathetic little acts?!” I couldn’t process his words. The rising volume of his voice just sent fresh waves of panic through me, and I scrambled away from him like a cornered animal. The look in his eyes hardened into disappointment. “Fine.” “Calm yourself down. When you’re ready to be rational, we can talk.” I don’t know when he left. By the time the storm in my body subsided, the sun was streaming through the windows. Slowly, I packed a bag and walked out. I passed a few neighbors on my way out. They gave me those familiar, pitying looks, and as I walked away, I could hear their hushed whispers. “What’s going on now? Another tantrum?” “You don’t think they’re actually breaking up, do you? I don’t get it. They fight every single day. Why are they even still together?” “She can’t let go, probably. Who could, in her position?” “That man doesn’t love her. If it were me, I would have walked away a long time ago.” They were right. I should have walked away a long time ago. I paused and looked back at the apartment complex, now small in the distance. I couldn’t stop the hot, heavy tears that finally fell. Ten years of this. I had cried, I had raged, I had lost my mind. I had trampled on every last shred of my dignity until I was nothing more than a joke. Lucas Sterling, I’m finally done loving you. I was eighteen when I got together with Lucas. I had just been accepted into the country’s top art academy, my future a bright, shining path. Then the call came from home. My father was addicted to gambling and had racked up an insurmountable debt. With my back against the wall, I dropped out of school and started working as a cocktail waitress in a high-end club. That’s when Lucas appeared. He was thoughtful, a gentleman, handsome and well-mannered, like a prince from a fairytale. He was so good to me. He paid off my father’s debts and had him transferred to a private hospital after the loan sharks beat him so badly he was paralyzed. He remembered my cycle, brewing me ginger tea whenever I had cramps. When I couldn’t sleep, he would hold me all night, whispering stories until I drifted off. Falling in love with him was inevitable. After we got together, everyone said I wasn’t good enough for him. They’d laugh, their contempt barely veiled. “She’s just some cheap cocktail waitress. Does she really think she’s pulled off a Cinderella story?” “Haha, everyone in this town knows Lucas is just playing with her.” “Just wait until she comes back…” A cold knot would form in my stomach. I never let myself listen to the end. Of course, I knew I didn’t deserve him. Our worlds were galaxies apart. But I loved him, and because of that, I missed my chance to walk away when I should have. From that love, the thorny branches of insecurity began to grow. I never dared to ask him who “she” was. Instead, I’d joke around, asking if he loved me. He would never answer. He would just look at me, his dark eyes seeming to see right through me, to a place I couldn’t follow. My anxiety grew. Eventually, I heard the name: Bethany Reed. She was his first love, the one that got away. They said we looked alike. That I was just her replacement. The realization was like being plunged into ice water. It all made sense. The tender way he looked at me—he wasn’t seeing me at all. He was looking at someone else. I completely lost my temper. I stormed into Sterling Corp and demanded an explanation. But he was patient, pulling me into his arms and hushing me softly. “It’s all just rumors. Why are you so upset?” “Yes, Bethany and I were together, but that was a long time ago, Mia.” “She came back to the country yesterday. If I still loved her, if you were just a substitute, why wouldn’t I just break up with you and be with her?” I believed his lies. For a little while, I even felt a flicker of confidence. But I couldn’t shake my curiosity. One day, I was working a catering gig and learned that the famous concert pianist performing was Bethany Reed. I snuck a look. She was beautiful. Dressed in a flowing white gown, her long, slender fingers danced across the piano keys. The spotlight caught her from the side, making her glow like a princess. The self-loathing was a tidal wave, and it threatened to drown me. I turned and fled, but I didn’t get far before someone grabbed my arm. It was one of the women who was infatuated with Lucas. She looked at me with a sneer. “Well, look who it is.” “Here to cause a scene?” “So you know you’re the stand-in, and now you’re getting desperate? Look at yourself. You really think you’re fit for the Sterling family? How pathetic.” All eyes were on me. Their jeers wove into a net, trapping me. I couldn’t breathe. But then Lucas was there, alerted by the commotion. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around me, shielding me from their stares, and then he tore into the women who had been taunting me. In the middle of that noisy hall, his voice rang out, clear and strong. “Mia Collins is my girlfriend. You have a problem with her, you have a problem with me.” I drew a universe of security from those words. From that moment on, I pushed every doubt aside and forgot all about being a substitute. We had three wonderful years together. On our wedding day, Bethany sent a tasteful gift with her best wishes. When she spoke to Lucas, she was warm and poised, like any old friend. Watching the elegant profile of her face, I felt a pang of guilt, certain that I had wronged her with my petty insecurities. I went home that night, happy, planning what I could get her as an apology gift. I wanted to discuss it with Lucas. I pushed open our bedroom door and froze. He and Bethany were tangled together, their clothes in disarray. On our wedding bed.

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When my husband asked for a divorce, his mistress was already showing. That night, working late and alone, I couldn’t stop myself from wailing like a banshee for my dead marriage. Unexpectedly, my caterwauling caught the attention of the CEO. He appeared, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, carrying a container of still-warm shrimp dumplings. His eyes were surprisingly gentle. It was the dead of night. A man and a woman, all alone. In a moment of self-destructive abandon, I thought, Well, winter is coming. Time to give my husband a taste of his own medicine. But then the CEO handed me a tissue and, after a bit of awkward preamble, I finally understood. He wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in my scumbag husband. My sobs died in my throat. My mind started racing. My husband with another woman? I lose my appetite. My husband with another man? Hell, I’d even pop some popcorn and watch them cook. 1 The only sound in the empty office was me, howling and sniffling. Every time I thought about the divorce papers, a bitter knot tightened in my chest. They say there’s a seven-year itch. Mine got restless in five. He had a case of the wanderlust so bad even a prescription-strength cream couldn’t cure it. Yes, my husband, Mark, had found a mistress. Her name was Lily, and with a bun in the oven, she was planning on leveraging that pregnancy for all it was worth. And Mark, my dear husband, was dead set on divorcing me to marry her. All in the name of “following his heart and giving his child a proper family.” What a load of crap. Wasn’t it “true love” when he married me, too? Sure, our passion had thinned to the consistency of tissue paper over the years, but we were a financial unit. I figured we could coast for a few more years. Unfortunately, that paper had finally torn. And my grand life plan of coasting on my husband’s salary had crashed and burned right along with it. Life had been sweet with access to two paychecks. Now, with our assets split, how long could a “lazy freeloader” like me last? My fine-tuned skills of leisure would turn a mountain of gold into a molehill in no time. At that thought, a fresh wave of sobs escaped me. Between wails, I mentally cursed my heartless boss. My own career was already on life support. Just last week, he’d ripped my latest project proposal to shreds, metaphorically dumping a bucket of pig’s blood on my head. It was like he’d sprinkled industrial-grade chili powder on my already wounded soul. “What’s with all the crying? It’s the middle of the night.” A deep, slightly impatient male voice sounded from above me. I jolted, looking up with a start. Through my tear-blurred vision, I saw him: my boss, standing right beside my desk. In his hand was a takeout container with the logo of “Silver Palace”—my favorite place for dumplings. He placed the container on my desk. “Eat something. Stop crying.” I choked back a sob and opened the box. A cloud of steam and the savory scent of shrimp dumplings rose to meet me, which only made the tears flow faster. As I nibbled on a dumpling, I snuck glances at him. Uriah Thorne was the company’s founder. Young, brilliant, and utterly ruthless. In our industry, he was known as the Devil Incarnate. He was usually stricter with us than a wicked stepfather. What was happening tonight? Not only was he not scolding me for disrupting the office’s pristine silence, but he’d brought me food? Could it be… he saw that my marriage was failing, that I was vulnerable… and he wanted to take advantage? A quid pro quo situation? The thought was so shocking it startled me. But then again… was it really so bad? Mark had already cheated on me. Why shouldn’t I return the favor? Just as my internal drama reached the climax where Uriah and I teamed up to crush Mark, forcing him and his mistress to their knees to beg for mercy, my boss’s cold voice cut through my fantasy. “That woman, Lily. She’s the one who wrecked your marriage?” I choked on my dumpling and nodded miserably. “I hear she’s basically taking a dump on your head?” It was crude, but coming from him, it sounded like a strange, cold form of empathy. I nodded again, more forcefully this time. “I see,” he said slowly, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on my desk. “So, do you want to… take a bigger one on hers?” I…!!! The half-chewed dumpling nearly shot out of my mouth. What? Did I hear him right? My boss was so offended on my behalf that he was going to personally step in and help me get revenge? Revenge was all I needed to hear! I dropped my chopsticks, my eyes wide. “Yes! Absolutely! A massive one, boss! Super-sized, with extra toppings!” 2 A second later, he delivered the punchline. “I want your husband. You help me get him, and you’ll get back at the mistress. It’s a win-win.” His words hit me like a lightning strike. My eyes widened, my mouth hanging open. “What? You… you want to get my husband… into your… bed?” I wondered if I’d cried so hard I was hallucinating. Or maybe my boss had eaten one too many expired snacks. “Mr. Thorne… are you feeling alright?” There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment on his face. Instead, he shifted into full-on business negotiation mode. “I’m perfectly fine. And perfectly clear. Also, for the record, I’m a top.” I… That was too much information. My brain was overheating. Ignoring my petrified state, he strode over to the office whiteboard and expertly drew a mind map. “Let’s conduct a rational analysis of your current situation.” On the board, a logic diagram with “Mark” at its center took shape. “First, the marriage. The mistress is five months pregnant, and your husband is resolute. This divorce is happening. It’s just a matter of when and how much you get.” “Second, your financial status. Even with a 50/50 split of the condo and one car each, your monthly salary is $3,500 after taxes. Subtract your $500 car payment, and you’re left with $3,000. Given the cost of living in this city, assuming no major illnesses, no new clothes, and zero entertainment, you’ll be barely surviving.” The cold, hard numbers were a slap in the face. I could already picture myself eating instant noodles and living on the poverty line. “Therefore,” he concluded, “if you refuse my proposal, you’re not just facing a personal life collapse, but likely unemployment. With my influence in this industry, it would not be difficult to ensure you don’t find a suitable job for some time. At which point, you won’t even have that $3,500 to fall back on.” I sucked in a sharp breath. This was a threat, plain and simple. “However,” his tone shifted, dangling the bait, “if you choose to cooperate, we become allies. Our goals are aligned. I get the man I want, and you… you get your dignity back.” I cut him off. “Wait! Dignity? Boss, is dignity all I get?” After that brutal financial analysis, my priorities were crystal clear. He seemed to have anticipated this. “Of course not. When this is done, I’ll give you a one-million-dollar bonus.” “One million dollars?!” I grabbed the calculator from my desk, my fingers trembling as I punched in the numbers: 1,000,000 ÷ 3,500 ÷ 12 ≈ 23.8. That was almost twenty-four years of my current salary! Paid in advance! He continued, sweetening the deal. “In addition, I’ll have the company’s top project director personally mentor you. You’ll gain new skills and become an essential part of the team in the shortest possible time. Which means, even without the million, you’ll be able to build a very comfortable life for yourself.” Oh, my God. This wasn’t kicking me while I was down. This was a winning lottery ticket falling from the heavens. A Michelin-starred, solid gold lottery ticket. He must really, really be in love… with my husband. So in love that he’d resort to threats and bribery, personally crafting a “husband-snatching” strategy. The scales in my mind tipped dramatically. Mark’s betrayal, Lily’s arrogance, my bleak future… compared to the very real pile of money, career advancement, and this bizarre but promising new path? They were nothing. He cheated on me with a woman. So what was wrong with me introducing him to a powerful, successful man? It was perfectly reasonable! This was a public service! I was helping him explore new, exciting horizons! “Boss,” I declared, my voice ringing with newfound purpose. “From this day forward, I am your dedicated strategist. I will do everything in my power to… uh… clear the way for you to secure your target!” Uriah Thorne looked at my impassioned face and gave a slight, satisfied nod. “Excellent. A pleasure doing business with you.” 3 First things first, we had to handle the divorce. Mark arrived with Lily attached to his arm like a permanent accessory. Her slightly rounded belly was her badge of honor. I tried to keep my voice steady, even a little nostalgic. “Mark, do you remember when we first moved in here? We didn’t even have a proper table. We ate instant noodles sitting on cardboard boxes, and you promised you’d give me a good life one day…” I slowly recounted the memories we’d shared, my eyes locked on his face, searching for any flicker of emotion. If he had even an ounce of heart left, a shred of guilt, then maybe… maybe my plans would have been different. Maybe his… assets… could have been spared. But I was disappointed. His eyes were filled with nothing but impatience. He cut me off. “Let’s not talk about the past. I’m here to discuss the terms of the divorce.” The tiny, flickering flame of hope in my heart sputtered and died. Fine. This just made what I had to do next that much easier. I lowered my head, my shoulders trembling slightly, my eyes red-rimmed. “Okay, I get it. I was hoping for too much. But you’re the one who wronged me, aren’t you?” “Look, I’m up for a promotion at work, and my boss puts a lot of stock in his employees having stable family lives. The company’s annual gala is next week. Mark, for old times’ sake, can you do me one last favor and come with me? Just show your face. If you do that, I’ll sign the papers the very next day. No more fighting.” This combination of retreat, vulnerability, and mutual benefit made Mark hesitate. But Lily was on high alert. “No way!” she snapped. “Who knows what you’re planning! What if you try to get back with him?” Her eyes darted around, and she came up with an even crueler demand. “If you want him to go, fine. But you have to give back all the designer bags and jewelry Mark ever bought you! Consider it a security deposit on your character!” I put on a show of distress. “But those were gifts! He gave them to me! They’re mine!” “Gave them? Or you wheedled them out of him?” The standoff was tense. My chest heaved with manufactured rage. “I need to use the restroom to calm down!” As soon as I locked the bathroom door, I whipped out my phone. “Boss, the mistress is demanding I give back all the luxury items Mark bought me before she’ll let him attend the gala. I’m refusing, we’re at a stalemate.” Uriah replied almost instantly: “How much are they worth?” I thought for a moment. “Probably around $30,000.” My phone buzzed. A bank notification: an incoming transfer of $50,000. Another message from Uriah followed: “Stop wasting time. Stick to the plan.” Seeing that number, a wave of calm washed over me. I rubbed my eyes in the mirror until they were satisfyingly red, then walked back out with an expression of pained resignation. “I’ve thought it over. I’m serious about becoming an independent woman. These material things… I don’t need them!” Under Lily’s suspicious and Mark’s surprised gazes, I opened my safe and piled the designer bags and jewelry boxes on the bed. “It’s all here.” Lily inspected the items like a pawnbroker, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face once she confirmed they were real. “Since you’re being so sensible, Mark, I guess you can go with her.” Then she turned to Mark, her voice dripping with possessiveness. “But during the gala, you have to reply to my texts instantly! And video call me to show me where you are and who you’re with! You hear me?” Mark nodded eagerly, the picture of obedience. 4 The night before the gala, Uriah summoned me to his office. “What brand of cologne does Mark usually wear?” he asked. I blinked, caught off guard. “…Terre d’Hermès. He’s worn it for years.” “And his drink of choice?” “Single malt scotch. He thinks it’s masculine.” As I answered, I couldn’t help but marvel at the level of detail in his research. His next questions were even more jaw-dropping. He quizzed me on everything from Mark’s preferred clothing style and hobbies all the way to the most intimate details of our… private life. Uriah asked the questions without a flicker of emotion, a true scholar in his field. I gritted my teeth and reported the facts as objectively as I could. When it was over, I couldn’t resist asking. “Boss, if you don’t mind my asking… what is it you see in him?” Uriah slowly lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a plume of smoke. “The front may be used,” he said calmly, “but the back is brand new.” I… Rich people, I swear. They have a special kind of audacity. He didn’t just not see me as a woman. He didn’t even see me as a person. He flicked some ash into an ashtray. “Liking someone is a feeling. A vibe. If it feels right, it’s right. You wouldn’t understand.” I certainly did not. But for the money and my career, I chose to respect the boss’s vibe. After the interrogation, he called the project director into his office. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be mentoring her personally. I want her up to speed in the shortest time possible.” I was ecstatic. My career was about to take off! The night of the gala went exactly as planned. Under the guise of “mingling with the common folk,” Uriah sat at the table with Mark and me. He had toned down his usual Devil Incarnate aura and was the picture of a charming, attentive gentleman. He was witty, knowledgeable, and could talk to Mark about everything from macroeconomics to football. Mark, initially reserved, quickly loosened up under Uriah’s calculated flattery. The two of them were soon chatting away like old friends. But the pleasant atmosphere didn’t last. Lily’s check-in texts started arriving like clockwork, every fifteen minutes, the vibration of Mark’s phone a constant, nagging reminder. Uriah’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He discreetly sent me a transfer under the table. My phone buzzed. A peer-to-peer payment of $2,000. The note read: Make her stop. I got the message. I slipped away and sent Lily a short video of the two men talking, then called her, my voice a low threat. “My boss is very impressed with Mark and is discussing a potential partnership. This is directly tied to my promotion and his performance bonus. If you keep this up and piss off my boss, I swear, I will not sign those divorce papers. I will drag this out until you both rot.” She cursed me out, but as I’d hoped, she stopped bothering Mark. Because she started bombarding me instead. Washed-up hag. Scheming bitch. You deserve to be dumped. The messages were vile, one after another. I was shaking with rage. The wine I’d been drinking churned in my stomach. Why? Why did they get to be so self-righteous about their affair while I, the victim, had to endure this humiliation? A dark impulse took over. While Uriah had Mark’s attention again, my hand “slipped,” and I tipped a small packet of powder into Mark’s drink. He didn’t notice a thing, laughing with Uriah as he drained the glass. Not long after, Mark’s eyes glazed over, and he slumped back in his chair. Uriah immediately feigned concern. “Mr. Stevens, are you feeling alright? You’ve had a bit too much to drink. Our company has a corporate suite at this hotel. Why don’t you stay the night? The company will cover it.” A woozy Mark had no objections, and I played my part. “Thank you, boss.” Uriah helped Mark to his feet, and I followed them out. As we neared the suite, Uriah gave me a look that screamed Get lost. I understood. I got lost.

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My boyfriend was perfect. He listened to everything I said, spoiled me like a princess. The day I was going to propose to him, I saw him cheating with my own eyes. I screamed at the other girl. But then everyone around me said the same thing: I was the other woman. 1 For three years, Larry was my rock. He was gentle, devoted, and catered to my every whim. I spent six months planning the perfect, fairy-tale proposal. I pictured him blindfolded, stepping into the room I’d so carefully decorated. I imagined the tears of joy welling in his eyes when he saw it all. He would pull me into a fierce hug and kiss my forehead with all the love in the world. The anticipation was killing me. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I changed the plan. Without telling a soul, I drove to his office building. I had to tell him, right then and there, about the tidal wave of love I felt for him. I got there early, before he was done with work, and settled in my car to wait. My heart was hammering against my ribs with excitement. I clutched the ring I’d designed myself, our initials engraved on the inner band. My knuckles were white, and my palms grew damp with anticipation. After what felt like an eternity, I finally saw him emerge from the building. I was just about to open the door and surprise him when I froze. A girl bounced up behind him. She stood on her tiptoes, playfully covered his eyes, and whispered something in his ear. I couldn’t hear her words, but I saw what happened next. A soft smile bloomed on Larry’s face. He gently pulled her hands away, turned, and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. The girl jumped, a blush instantly coloring her cheeks. She glanced around nervously, and only when she was sure no one was watching did she seem to relax. Then she playfully tapped him on the chest. Larry wrapped his arms around her, his eyes filled with a look of pure adoration I had never seen before. He leaned in, and right there in front of his office, they shared a deep, sweet kiss. A handsome man and a beautiful woman. If the man hadn’t been my boyfriend, I might have applauded the romantic scene. My mind flashed back to the time I was sick, and Larry stayed by my side, never leaving for a second. The time I craved a specific cupcake, and he drove three hours just to get it for me. He even remembered my parents’ birthdays, carefully picking out gifts and letting me give them as my own. The memories flickered through my mind like a slideshow. How could the feeling of being loved have been so real, only for the betrayal to be this sharp? My fists clenched, my whole body trembling. The sharp edge of the diamond on the ring dug into my finger, drawing blood. The pain snapped me back to reality. If all that love was just a lie, then this was a betrayal I would not tolerate. 2 I threw the car door open and marched toward them. Without a word, I shoved them apart. My hand swung, connecting with Larry’s cheek in a sharp crack. “You bastard!” “Ah!” the girl shrieked, but she immediately stepped in front of Larry. She shielded him like a mother hen protecting her chick. “Who are you? What gives you the right to hit my boyfriend?” she demanded after checking to make sure Larry was okay. I ignored her, my eyes locked on Larry. He finally seemed to register what was happening. His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet mine. “Let’s just go,” he muttered, grabbing the girl’s hand to leave. I let out a cold, bitter laugh. The coward. He had the guts to cheat but not to face me? I blocked their path. Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, the girl lost her patience. She shoved me hard. “What is wrong with you? If you’re sick, go to a hospital! Stop harassing my boyfriend!” The shove sent me stumbling in my high heels, but it was her words that sent my mind into a chaotic spiral. “Look at you, always crying! It’s no wonder our daughter is the way she is!” “You have the nerve to blame me? Weren’t you the one who cheated first? That woman showed up at our door with her kid, and you still dare to blame me?” “How many times do I have to tell you? She’s my friend’s widow! He died, she had nowhere to go. Was I wrong to take care of her and her son?” “Ha, ‘take care of them’? Took care of them right into your bed, did you? Mark, you have no conscience! If it wasn’t for me networking for you, raising our child, would you have been able to build your business? Now that you’re successful, you go out and cheat?” “Keep your voice down! Our daughter is already unstable, are you trying to push her over the edge?” “So her mental illness is my fault? MY FAULT?!” The jarring voices mixed with the sound of shattering porcelain, raging inside my head. Mark… that was my father’s name. But weren’t he and my mother the perfect couple, the envy of all their friends? My head was splitting. My body started to shake, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps. Through the fog, I heard Larry’s frantic voice. “She has severe depression! You can’t agitate her!” Who is he cursing? You’re the one who’s sick. The world went black, and I collapsed. 3 When I opened my eyes, the world was a stark, clinical white. The familiar, stinging scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. For a moment, I was disoriented, with a strange, frantic energy buzzing under my skin. I turned my head with a frown and saw Larry sitting by my bed. His eyes were bloodshot, but they lit up when he saw I was awake. He immediately poured me a glass of water, his movements as careful and attentive as always. But I felt none of the old comfort. It just made me sick. I swatted his hand away, knocking the glass to the floor. CRASH! It shattered on the tile, water splashing everywhere. Larry scrambled to pick up the pieces, but my control was already gone. I ripped the blankets off and stood up, my bare feet pressing into the sharp shards of glass. Blood bloomed on the floor, but I felt nothing. I grabbed the fruit basket from the nightstand, the vase of flowers, anything I could reach, and hurled it all at him. “You bastard!” I screamed. “How could you cheat on me? What did I ever do to you to deserve this?” “I was going to propose to you! I was going to make you my entire world!” “But you’re just a piece of trash! You don’t deserve it!” At my words, Larry’s head shot up, his eyes wide with shock. He seemed stunned that my feelings for him ran so deep. To be honest, so was I. My other memories were fuzzy, but everything about Larry was crystal clear. We met in college and fell in love instantly. Graduation didn’t tear us apart; it made us stronger. We had just bought our first house together. And now, at the moment I loved and needed him most, he had betrayed me. The thought made me dizzy, fueling my rage. I lunged at him, clawing and hitting, my palms stinging against his face, each blow a fresh wave of pain in my own heart. My parents rushed in, their faces etched with horror. They hurried to pull me off Larry, then formed a protective circle around him, as if I were the monster. Tears streamed down my mother’s face. “Mia, please, calm down,” she begged. “Please, sweetie, get better. Mommy can’t stand to see you like this.” My father tugged on her sleeve. “She’s not listening,” he said grimly. “Press the call button. Get a doctor.” My mother tearfully pressed the button, her eyes filled with a sorrow that I couldn’t understand. I was still glaring at Larry, my mind a blank haze of fury. Just then, Larry’s best friend burst into the room, with the girl from the office right behind him. He marched straight up to me, his eyes cold. He grabbed my wrist. “Mia, stop this madness! Larry and Chloe are the real couple. You’re the other woman!”

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The year I turned seven, my sister and I were playing hide-and-seek when the earthquake hit. My parents pulled me from the rubble first. But the rescue teams searched for three days and three nights, and they never found where my sister was hiding. My parents, their eyes red-rimmed and raw, demanded to know where she was. I could only stare back, numb and helpless, whispering, “I don’t know… I don’t know where Lily was hiding…” After that day, my parents, who had always treated me like a princess, never smiled at me again. This time, they were going to the site of the ruins to honor Lily’s memory. When I simply said I wanted to go with them, my mother broke down again. “Get out!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “It’s all your fault! You and your stupid game of hide-and-seek killed your sister! You wanted to hide so badly? Fine! Get in!” She grabbed me, her fingers digging into my arms, and shoved me into a large suitcase. But she forgot. It was a combination-lock suitcase. Once it clicked shut, I couldn’t push it open from the inside… 1 I curled up obediently, squeezing my body into the cramped, dark space of the suitcase. Over the years, I’d gotten used to it. The suitcase had become my secret base. Whenever Mom’s grief boiled over and she started smashing things on the table, Dad would just give me a look, and I knew what to do. I’d climb in, pull the zipper shut, and pretend I couldn’t hear a thing. Just like hide-and-seek, I started counting, silently preparing to count to ten thousand, ten times over. But this time, I didn’t finish. My limbs, twisted for so long, grew stiff and numb. My knees were pressed so hard against my chest that I could barely breathe. The stale air was thick and heavy. I clawed at the small gap near the zipper, but it wouldn’t budge. “Did you pack all of Lily’s things in the case? I’ll put it in the car.” Dad’s voice. A spark of hope ignited in me. I thought, I’ll apologize, I’ll beg him to let me out. But then the world tilted violently. I felt the suitcase being lifted, then flipped upside down. My body was hanging by my feet, the blood rushing to my head. The feeling of suffocation was immediate and overwhelming. I instinctively thrashed, pounding my small fists against the inside of the case. But the lining was too thick, and I was too weak. The desperate gasps that escaped my lips were swallowed by the sound of my parents’ voices. “The spiritual advisor said we have to burn it all,” Dad said, his voice heavy. “Her spirit is trapped. If we don’t send her things with her, she can’t move on.” “Don’t you talk to me about that!” Mom’s voice was a sharp, jagged thing. “Isn’t this all because of Ella?! She’s the one who killed Lily!” “If she hadn’t dragged Lily into that stupid game, would we at least have a body? My Lily… we couldn’t even give her a proper burial…” Her voice trailed off into a choked sob, each word weighted with an unbearable pain. My throat closed up. No sound would come out. Lily’s death was an arrow lodged in our family’s heart, its tip fused with flesh and bone. Inside the suffocating darkness, the air grew thin and foul. My head felt thick, my consciousness fading. In a daze, I thought I saw a little girl standing far away, calling out to me in a cheerful voice. “Ella! Let’s play hide-and-seek! I’m going to hide now!” I froze. It was like muscle memory. My knees gave out, and I collapsed. “No,” I whimpered. “No more hide-and-seek… I’m sorry, Lily. It’s my fault. I’m the one who killed you…” The apology I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head while locked in this suitcase came out as a jumbled, incoherent mess. What I really wanted to say was, If I could, I would trade my life for hers. Just like Mom prayed for, over and over again. When I looked up again, my soul was somehow floating outside the suitcase. It wasn’t Lily I saw in front of me, but my mother, her expression vacant. She was staring into space, muttering to herself. “Do we really have to burn it all? Lily’s things… her clothes, the doll I made for her… I dug them out of the rubble with my own hands…” Her expression shifted, the sorrow twisting into a deep, consuming hatred. “It’s all because of Ella. Lily is dead and can’t even rest in peace because of her. Don’t you think she was sent by God to punish me?” She believed what the advisor had said—that a soul needs a complete body for a proper burial, and because of me, Lily’s spirit was trapped, unable to be reborn. Dad’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. He turned his head, his face a landscape of fatigue and wrinkles, his eyes sunken. Even his voice was drained of life. “It’s been so long. Like the advisor said, Lily needs to go where she belongs. And the living… we have to move on.” He gave a bitter smile. “We can have another child. A family of three. A fresh start.” His tone was so casual, but the words made my soul tremble. A family of three. Without me. I was the thorn in my parents’ hearts they were desperate to pull out. I had always known. My face, so similar to my sister’s, was a constant, painful reminder of the life I carried on my shoulders—hers. That’s why, a few days ago, I had secretly visited several orphanages, mustering the courage to ask the directors if they took in new children. But now, looking at my own transparent body, I thought, this is better. If I’m dead, my parents won’t have to see me and feel that pain. Maybe then, in their hearts, my sin could finally fade a little. 2 The closer the car got to our old neighborhood, the more violently my mother’s body trembled. Nearly five years had passed since the earthquake. Most of the area had been rebuilt with new high-rises, but the block where our house used to stand was still a field of ruins and scarred earth. I could still remember that day, my parents clawing at the rubble like mad animals, ignoring the stones that tore their hands to ribbons, their fingers dripping with blood. “Lily loved BBQ chips. I bought a few extra bags,” Dad said, pulling the snacks from the trunk. “And some chocolate milk, too.” He carefully arranged them on a flat piece of concrete. Mom’s eyes were already swimming with tears. When Dad lifted the suitcase from the car, she lunged for it, but he held her back. “Please, just let me look one more time…” she pleaded, her voice breaking. Dad’s brow furrowed, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and pity. He placed his hand on the combination lock, hesitating. My non-existent heart was in my throat. Will they find out? Will they realize they took the wrong suitcase? That inside isn’t their daughter’s belongings, but their other daughter’s body? “Looking will only make it harder to let go,” Dad sighed. “Let’s not open it. It’s time to let the past be the past.” But Mom didn’t pull her hand away. As they stood in a silent standoff, Dad’s phone rang. He answered it. It was our housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, her voice frantic. “Mr. Sterling, I can’t find Ella anywhere! I don’t know where she’s hiding this time!” Mom snatched the phone from his hand, her rage instantly ignited. “Why are you even looking for her? She does this on purpose, making trouble for us on a day like this. Mrs. Davis, you lock her bedroom door. Let her hide until she rots.” A flash of irritation crossed Dad’s face as well. He told the housekeeper not to worry about it and hung up without another word. “She’s clever, that one,” Mom sneered. “Does she think if she stays out of my sight, I’ll forgive her?” The air grew heavy with unspoken resentment. Dad didn’t say anything, silently preparing to start the fire. But the flames of hatred in my mother’s eyes burned hotter and hotter. “It’s all Ella’s fault!” she spat. “It’s because of her that I can’t even keep these last few things of Lily’s. We were so good to her! How could she be so cruel? Tricking her sister into hiding during an earthquake… Now Lily is dead and can’t even be reborn. Did she hate her that much?” She hissed the words through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing. I had heard this tirade countless times. I knew my mother’s pain was a bottomless pit, and she needed somewhere to pour it. I looked at my father. The flicker of pity he’d shown for me earlier was gone, replaced by a dull, numb expression. Because of me, he’d lost his youngest daughter. Because of me, his wife suffered from a severe mental illness. Dad was a lawyer; logic and reason were the pillars of his life. But years of relentless grief had eroded those pillars. He couldn’t look at me without seeing everything he had lost. There was a time, when Mom hurt me, that he would secretly slip me candy while I was hiding in the closet. He’d lean against the door and whisper apologies. “Ella, Mommy is just sick right now. Just hide a little longer. I know it’s not fair to you.” But later, he started drinking heavily in secret. He would grab me and demand to know why, why did I have to play hide-and-seek with Lily? And then, later still, he stopped caring when Mom hit me. He would lock my door and forget to bring me food for an entire day. And now, he just said quietly, “Yes. After we send Lily off, I’ll send the child to live with her grandparents. Then… we can start over.” As if I were a piece of trash to be disposed of. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I wanted to smile, to be happy for them. They were finally escaping the nightmare, finally finding the courage to start again. But the flames in front of me were already leaping, eager to consume the last trace of my existence. My empty chest ached. Mom was clutching Lily’s little teddy bear, her expression lost. I let my soul drift into the stuffed animal, imagining I was back in her arms. A long-forgotten warmth enveloped me. I remembered when they first pulled me from the rubble. Before I could even see my surroundings, Mom had pulled me into a hug. But that last shred of warmth was shattered by a single slap, the moment I uttered the words “hide-and-seek.” 3 The fire roared to life. Dad gently took the teddy bear from my mother’s arms and tossed it into the flames. Mom’s face went deathly pale. She turned, stared at the suitcase, and then stumbled forward, throwing her arms around it. “Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Just let me stay with Lily a little longer.” Dad’s expression was a mask of tormented conflict. A wave of guilt washed over me. If they found my body in here, they would be so disgusted, so angry. My death would ruin Lily’s chance to move on. My spirit swirled around them in a panic. But I could only watch as Dad pried the suitcase from her grasp and, with a look of grim determination, kicked it into the heart of the fire. The flames crackled and hissed. “Wait! That’s not Lily’s suitcase!” Mom suddenly shrieked. Her hand trembled as she pointed at the burning case. “Lily loved pink stickers. Her suitcase had a Hello Kitty sticker on it.” Dad froze, confused. “That’s Ella’s suitcase!” I tensed, my soul vibrating with anxiety. I thought she was about to remember—that she had locked me inside, that I had never gotten out. But her next words were spat out with a familiar, venomous rage. “Weren’t you watching when you packed? How could you use Ella’s filthy suitcase for Lily’s things?! Lily will be so angry if we send her this!” Dad was stunned. I was, too. So that was it. She didn’t remember me at all. She just found the thought of my suitcase disgusting. “No, we can’t burn this disgusting thing for Lily…” Mom started scrambling toward the fire, completely frantic. Dad grabbed her, holding her back. He pulled her into his arms, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down. Don’t do this. It’s just a suitcase. It doesn’t matter, it won’t change anything.” He held her tight. The firelight illuminated her pale, wild-eyed face. She clamped a hand over her mouth and nose, looking like she was about to faint. Realizing how close she was to a complete breakdown, Dad’s gaze fell on my suitcase, his expression turning grim. He was probably cursing me, too. Cursing me for causing trouble even now. “That’s enough. Let’s go home,” he said, patting her back. He ignored the dying flames and quickly guided her back to the car. He gave her a pill, and once she was asleep, he sent a text message. [Thank you, Doctor. We’ve taken care of Lily’s things. Please, when the time is right, tell my wife that our daughter has been successfully reincarnated.] The reply came almost immediately. [Of course. I hope this therapy helps your wife move forward. Let’s schedule another appointment soon.] I finally understood. There was no spiritual advisor. It was all a carefully constructed act between my father and a psychologist to help my mother escape her nightmare. A brilliant plan. If it hadn’t been for me. I looked out the window at the smoldering suitcase that held my body and prayed that no one would ever find it. Let me rot in these ruins, I thought. Let me become fertilizer for my sister’s new life. But my hopes were in vain. When we got home, there were several people standing in our front yard. As Dad helped a groggy Mom out of the car, Mrs. Davis rushed forward, looking relieved. She pointed at my parents. “There, that’s Ella’s mother and father. They’re back. You can ask them.”

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I’d known Diana for fifteen years, and loved her for four. She promised we’d get married on graduation day. But on that day, she became someone else’s bride. I stormed into the wedding, demanding a reason. The man beside her looked at me, his face a mask of pain. “Ron, man… I have cancer. I’m dying. Diana is just… she’s helping me grant my only wish.” My Diana, my love, stared at me, her expression hard. “I’ll explain when this is over. Now is not the time for you to make a scene.” I laughed, wished them a long and happy life together, and walked away. 1 On the day of our university graduation, Diana vanished. My friends were giving me strange looks, like they were holding back words that burned on their tongues. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I called Diana’s phone again and again, each unanswered ring echoing in the hollow of my chest. Then, a text from a friend popped up on my screen. It was a forward, simple and brutal. She’s getting married. An address was attached. At first, I thought it was a joke, some elaborate graduation prank. But the closer I got to the venue, the more a chilling certainty settled over me. When I arrived, Diana’s friends saw me at the entrance, their faces paling in panic. “Ron… what are you doing here?” My voice trembled as I pointed toward the grand doors. “Who… whose wedding is this?” 2 Diana and I were the definition of childhood sweethearts. From kindergarten chatter to university cram sessions, we were inseparable, our lives woven together thread by thread. Our friendship blossomed into love so naturally, it felt like breathing. Everyone who saw us would smile and say we were a match made in heaven. I believed it with every fiber of my being. Diana was my destiny. She used to say our love story was already written in the stars, a gift from the universe delivered to me early, so I’d never have to be alone. Her words made my world spin with joy. Without Diana, my life would be a colorless void. I saw our future so clearly: walking down the aisle, hand in hand, growing old and gray together. Reality, however, was a sledgehammer. On graduation day, the very day she promised would be our wedding day, she was marrying another man. I shoved my way through the crowd, my world narrowing to a single point. And there she was. Dressed in a stunning white gown, Diana was breathtakingly beautiful, but she was on the arm of Caleb, clinking glasses with the guests. My heart felt like it was being ripped in two. She was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, but the sight of her was a dagger in my soul. When she saw me, her face went ghostly white. A flash of panic and guilt crossed her eyes before Caleb cut in. “Ron, man… I have cancer. I’m dying,” he pleaded, his voice laced with a pathetic helplessness. “Marrying Diana was my dad’s only wish. She’s just helping me.” He made it sound like he was the victim, and I was the villain for even being there. Diana’s gaze turned cold, her voice firm and final. “This isn’t the time to argue. I’ll give you an explanation when this is over.” “Don’t bother.” A gaping hole tore open in my chest, the pain so immense I could barely breathe. I ripped the simple silver ring she’d given me—our promise ring—from my finger and hurled it out a nearby window. It was once a symbol of our forever; now, it was just a painful memory. I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the tremors in my voice to still. “I wish you a lifetime of happiness. May you have beautiful children.” Then, I turned my back and walked away. “Ron!” Diana called my name, starting to follow, but her steps faltered as Caleb erupted into a fit of violent coughing. A bitter, silent laugh escaped me. I didn’t look back. I just kept walking. She glanced frantically between Caleb and my retreating back. In the end, she chose to stay by his side. I walked out into the blinding sunlight, hot tears blurring the world into a kaleidoscope of pain. 3 As I was about to leave, Diana’s friends swarmed me, their words a useless, buzzing drone. “Ron, she has her reasons, don’t be mad at her.” “Ron, there’s nothing going on between her and Caleb, you have to believe…” “Yeah, Ron, just wait, let her explain.” I held up a hand, cutting them off. My gaze swept over their familiar, treacherous faces. A cold, hard laugh bubbled up inside me. They all knew. They had all been in on it, helping Diana lie to me for who knows how long. How pathetic. I’d known these people for years, yet when it mattered most, they chose her side, conspired to keep me in the dark. If I hadn’t shown up today, were they just going to let me keep playing the fool? Let me become the other man in my own relationship without even knowing it? “Don’t call me that ever again,” I said, my voice flat and empty. “We’re not that close. If we see each other again, let’s just pretend we’re strangers.” I slipped into a taxi. As I opened my bag, my eyes fell on the crisp envelope inside. An acceptance letter to a top international university. I was going to tell her today. Now, there was no point. 4 Looking back, the signs were all there. In the weeks leading up to graduation, Diana started coming home late, sometimes not at all. Our small apartment often felt empty, haunted by her absence. I rarely saw her on campus. Whenever I called, it was always noisy in the background. Her excuse was always the same: “Work is swamped. I’m just so busy.” She promised she’d make it up to me once this busy period was over. Now I know. She wasn’t busy with work. She was busy planning a wedding. That afternoon, I made an appointment to finalize my travel documents. By a cruel twist of fate, I ran into Maya, one of the few friends of Diana’s I hadn’t seen at the wedding. She looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and frustration. “Does Diana know you’re leaving?” I just shook my head. “Did you know she was getting married today?” Maya sighed, a heavy, weary sound. “I tried to talk her out of it. I told her you wouldn’t stand for this. But you know Diana, she’s too soft-hearted. That guy, Caleb, he’s been chasing her for years. She always shut him down, firmly. But then he showed up a while ago, told her he was sick, that he didn’t have long. His ‘dying wish’ was to marry her. She wrestled with it for ages, but in the end, her pity won.” Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. A wedding isn’t a game! You don’t just do it for someone. Did she even think about me? What did she think I was? A wedding is supposed to be one of the most sacred moments in a person’s life, and she’d used it to grant some other guy’s dying wish. She had betrayed not just me, but everything we had promised each other. Whatever her reasons, she gave something that was meant only for me to someone else. And that was a betrayal I couldn’t forgive. 5 The sharp edges of my heartbreak slowly dulled into a numb ache, as if even my sorrow had grown exhausted. “Are you sure about this?” Maya’s voice was soft beside me. “No second thoughts?” I nodded, my voice hard as stone. “No second thoughts. Let’s get this done.” After all the paperwork was finished, I closed my eyes, a wave of weariness washing over me. The world faded, my body felt weightless, and my mind drifted back to a hazy afternoon in my childhood. I remember coming home from kindergarten. The house was quiet, too quiet. Mom was sitting alone in the living room, one hand resting on her still-flat stomach, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. I ran to her, and she pulled me into a hug that felt both gentle and sad. “Ron,” she whispered, “let’s not have this baby brother or sister, okay?” I was confused. Just a few days earlier, she had told me with a radiant smile that I was going to be a big brother. This sudden change was a mystery to my young mind, but I trusted my mom, even when I didn’t understand. Then one day, she was gone. The next time I saw her, Dad was with her, looking defeated and exhausted. Mom tossed a phone at him, her eyes colder than I’d ever seen. “What are you doing back here? Weren’t you busy picking out a ring for your new girlfriend?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the warm memories of our family. “I’m not the type to make a scene. I’ve already had the divorce papers drawn up. We can end this right now. I’m taking Ron. After all, your mother never truly accepted him anyway.” Dad was crying, begging, but Mom had already lifted me onto our suitcase and was walking out the door. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Deceit, Ron, once it starts, it never stops. A crack can’t be mended to look new. I hope you find happiness, a person who loves you with their whole heart. But more importantly, I want you to be the one who knows best how to love yourself.” 6 Life as a single mom wasn’t easy, but she never let me feel the weight of it. Whenever she was tired or stressed, she would just stroke my cheek and say, “As long as I have you, I have all the strength I need.” Not having a dad around made me different. Some kids at school started whispering that I was the “son of a mistress,” and the whispers turned into taunts. Kids can be cruel; they repeated the poison they heard from adults and gave me nasty nicknames. I never fought back in front of the teachers, but I remembered every face. When I found one of them alone, I’d make sure they learned I wasn’t an easy target. But none of that mattered after I met Diana. I was hiding in a corner after a fight, dabbing at a cut on my lip, when she found me. She held out a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton swabs, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. “You’re so skinny. How do you hit so hard?” She cleaned my wounds so gently, I forgot all about the sting. Her smile was… it was everything. From that day on, whenever I got hurt, she was there to patch me up. We became inseparable. Through elementary and middle school, we were a unit. Mom started her own business and our lives got better. She saw the unspoken thing growing between me and Diana but never said a word. Our families grew close, too, all of us quietly watching our bond deepen, waiting for it to ripen into what it was always meant to be. 7 The summer after we graduated high school, Diana presented me with a simple silver ring. Her eyes, shining with a love so deep it stole my breath, met mine. “The day we graduate from university,” she promised, her voice a soft whisper, “we get married. Ron, I can’t wait to be your wife.” In that moment, cherry blossoms drifted around us like pink snow, a beautiful, fleeting illusion I could never recapture. I woke up with a start, realizing I’d fallen asleep in the waiting area. My cheeks were damp with tears. Maya was looking at me with concern, suggesting we go get a big meal. I shook my head. Right now, all I wanted was to go home to my mom. On the way, my luck ran out. I ran into the last two people I ever wanted to see. Diana was hovering over Caleb, fussing over him as if he were made of delicate glass. Our eyes met, and the air crackled with awkward tension. “What a coincidence, seeing you here,” Diana said, forcing a tight smile. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Looks like I’m interrupting something. My mistake, I’ll be on my way.” I turned to leave, but her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, a grip both gentle and firm. “Don’t misunderstand,” she said, her voice pleading. “I’m just here with Caleb for a check-up. He’s not feeling well.” I nodded slowly, carefully pulling my hand from her grasp. My voice was calm, distant. “Diana, you’re a married woman now. You should be careful about appearances. Let’s just delete each other’s contacts. It’s only fair to your husband.” I then turned to Caleb, my eyes narrowing slightly. “Right, Caleb? In a marriage, making your partner feel secure is the most important thing.” Caleb just flushed with embarrassment, clutching his chest and starting to cough again. But this time, Diana didn’t rush to his side. I gave them a small, cold smile and walked away. 8 Back at the apartment, I moved with a cold efficiency. I packed every single thing of Diana’s into boxes and left them by the door. Every gift she’d ever given me went into the trash. A headache throbbed behind my eyes as my phone buzzed relentlessly. I ignored it, blocking and deleting Diana from every app, every contact list, until it was as if she’d never existed in my digital world. It was seven in the evening when I got back to my mom’s house. She took one look at my pale face, said nothing, and just pulled me into a tight hug. She told me to get some rest. I spent the next three days in a fog, drifting in and out of a heavy, dreamless sleep. Dark thoughts flickered at the edges of my mind, but the clean, familiar scent of the linens on my bed, my mom’s scent, kept them at bay. On the fourth day, I finally had the strength to get out of bed. On the fifth day, Mom’s face lit up when she saw me. She brought me a bowl of warm chicken soup. I took a sip of water and looked at her. “Mom, Diana and I broke up.” Her smile froze. Her face was a canvas of confusion, but she kept her voice even, not wanting to pressure me. “She got married.” One sentence was all it took. Understanding, then a fiery anger, flashed in her eyes. She went into her room and returned with a small, velvet box. “Good,” she said, her voice firm. “You deserve better. But since it’s over, we should return what belongs to her family.” That’s when I learned the full story. Diana’s mother had adored me. She and my mom had already been talking, planning for us to get married right after graduation. Diana’s mom had even given my mom a family heirloom, a beautiful silver locket, as a clear sign that she saw me as her future son-in-law. But life had other plans. The sun was high in the sky when we arrived at Diana’s house. Her mom greeted me with a smile as bright as a flower, though her son, Leo, just shot me a dirty look and stalked off. Diana’s mom led me into the living room, where Diana and Caleb were already sitting. She was still blissfully unaware, grabbing both our hands. “What’s this, did you two plan to come back together? Now that you’ve graduated, have you thought about the next step? Like, maybe, a wedding?” She tried to place Diana’s hand in mine, but I pulled away instantly. A flicker of hurt crossed Diana’s face, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I looked at my mom, who knew exactly what I was thinking. Diana’s mother had always been so kind to me; I couldn’t bear to be the one to tell her. My mom spoke up for me. Diana shot to her feet, rushing toward me, her voice a desperate whisper. “Ron, it’s not what you think. Just give me some time, I’ll explain everything.”

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The deadline for the contract was breathing down my neck. I raced to Office Administration to get some printer paper. Brenda, the admin coordinator, shot me a look of pure disdain. “In case you haven’t heard,” she sneered, “to stop people on the lower rungs from milking the company for all it’s worth, there’s a new policy. You bring your own paper now.” I pointed to the literal mountain of A4 paper boxes stacked behind her. “Then what’s all that for?” I asked, my voice cold. She rolled her eyes. “That’s for the people who actually deserve company resources.” “A small-fry project manager like you, always with your hand out, contributing next to nothing?” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Don’t even think about touching a single sheet.” I just nodded, walked out, and made a phone call. “Mr. Dyer, my apologies. We’re pulling out of the bid for the two-hundred-million-dollar project.” 1. I stared at the clock in the corner of my screen. Less than two hours until the submission window for the Falcon Project slammed shut. The three-hundred-page proposal glowing on my monitor represented three solid months of my team’s blood, sweat, and tears. My nails dug into my palms, leaving angry red crescents in their wake. The project department was a ghost town, the only sound the frantic click-clack of my keyboard echoing in the silence. My team had been pulling all-nighters for a week straight. Just last night, Jake was so pale from a gnawing stomach ache he looked like he was about to collapse, but he’d stayed until dawn. I’d finally sent them all home an hour ago, promising I’d handle the final wrap-up. Now, it was just me and the cold, hard text on the screen. Outside, the sky was slowly bleeding from gray to black. “Done!” The final period landed like a gavel. I triple-checked everything, ensuring every single data point was perfect. A surge of adrenaline shot through me. This two-hundred-million-dollar deal was ours. I practically vaulted out of my chair, my knee smashing into the leg of the desk, but I didn’t feel a thing. Snatching the USB drive that held our entire future, I bolted from the office like a man possessed. In the administration department, Brenda was meticulously applying a fresh coat of lipstick in a compact mirror. “Brenda! I need paper! It’s urgent!” I burst in, slapping the USB drive down on her desk. After listening to my breathless explanation, she languidly picked up a nail file and started shaping her nails, not even bothering to look up. “There’s a new policy to stop lower-level employees from taking advantage of company resources. You have to bring your own paper now.” She paused, adding with a smirk, “What, did the memo not make it down to your pay grade?” My temper flared. “My own… my own paper? This is the two-hundred-million-dollar Falcon Project! It has to be couriered by six p.m. tonight!” Brenda just shrugged, completely unconcerned. “No paper here.” I was trembling with rage. I pointed at the fortress of boxes behind her. “What do you call that?!” “Oh, that’s paper,” Brenda said, standing up. She strolled over to the boxes, patting them condescendingly. “But this is for people who matter. And who are you, Ross Vance? Dead last on the contribution charts, and you have the gall to come asking for handouts?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping, each word a poisoned dart. “If I were you, with performance that pathetic, I’d have been too ashamed to show my face long ago. Why don’t you just pack your things and get out? Stop embarrassing yourself.” What she didn’t know, or chose to ignore, was that my biggest projects always ended up with the boss’s nephew’s name slapped on them. My phone buzzed. It was Jake. “Ross, did you send the file? The print shop says if we don’t get it to them now, they won’t have time to bind it!” The background was a chaotic symphony of voices as the rest of the team anxiously discussed the binding details. My throat felt like it was clamped in a vise. I couldn’t get a single word out. “Hear that? Your little soldiers are getting antsy. Better figure something out,” Brenda purred, leaning back in her chair and tapping the toe of her designer heel on the floor. “It’s not that I won’t help you, it’s just… company rules are company rules.” She dragged out the last word, savoring it like a cat toying with a mouse. “And you, Ross… you’re just not important enough for me to break them.” She picked up a stack of documents and fanned herself with them, the rustling paper a symphony of mockery. “Honestly, you project managers are all the same, always begging for resources. Two hundred million? You talk a big game. Why don’t you try collecting the overdue payments from last quarter’s project before you start making grand pronouncements?” I gripped the USB drive so hard its metal casing bit into my palm. Flashes of the last three months assaulted me—Mark, pulling an all-nighter from a hospital waiting room, balancing his laptop on his knees; Chloe, crying her eyes out over a single data discrepancy; the mountain of antacids in Jake’s desk drawer… I spun around and stormed out, heading straight for the boss’s office. I kicked the door open. The heavy oak slammed against the wall with a deafening crack. Mr. Davis yelped, jolting so hard he spilled hot tea all over his expensive suit. “Mr. Davis,” I said, my voice shaking with barely suppressed fury, “Admin says we have to bring our own paper now. The Falcon Project deadline is tonight, the proposal needs to be printed… are you going to do something about this or not?!” He regained his composure, his face darkening into a thunderous scowl. “Ross! Have you lost your mind?! A rule is a rule! I don’t care if it’s a two-hundred-million-dollar project or a two-billion-dollar one, you will follow my rules!” My fists clenched. “The nearest print shop is over twenty miles away! There’s no way to make it there and back in time, Mr. Davis!” “That sounds like a problem you need to solve,” he said, his expression smoothing into a placid mask. He took a delicate sip of his tea. “As a project manager, surely you possess some basic problem-solving skills?” I looked at his smug, dismissive face and remembered what Jake had told me: Mr. Davis never wanted our team to have the Falcon Project in the first place. He wanted to give it to his nephew, Frankie, the sales director. My eyes burning, I stormed back to the admin office. My voice was trembling. “Brenda… I’m begging you. Just let me borrow it, personally. I’ll pay you back double from my bonus when the project lands.” She looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ross, you still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about the paper.” Her manicured finger tapped the desk. “It’s about the rules. And you…” She smiled, a slow, cruel curve of her lips. “…are not worthy of me breaking them.” Just then, my phone rang. The name “Mr. Dyer – Apex Dynamics” flashed on the screen. I looked at Brenda’s face, a mask of pure contempt. I looked at the mountain of paper behind her. I thought of Mr. Davis’s smug grin. A white-hot rage exploded in my chest. I answered the call, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Mr. Dyer.” “Ross! Is the file on its way? My entire board is assembled, we’re just waiting on your proposal…” “About the two-hundred-million-dollar bid,” I interrupted him, my eyes locked on Brenda’s suddenly frozen expression. “We’re pulling out.” A gasp of disbelief came from the other end, but I’d already hung up. 2. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the marble floor with a sickening crunch. The screen spiderwebbed into a thousand pieces. For a heartbeat, the office was utterly silent. Then, as if jolted by electricity, Brenda shot up from her chair. “Ross! Are you insane?! A two-hundred-million-dollar project, and you just pull out?! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she stormed around her desk, her finger jabbing the air inches from my face. “You’re a bottom-rung nobody, and you think you can pull a stunt like this? I’ll have security throw you out on your ass!” I bent down and slowly picked up the shattered phone. My own distorted reflection stared back at me. “Are you deaf?! Say something!” she shrieked, her chest heaving. “Stop playing dead! I’m telling you, you can’t handle the fallout from this! You are going to call Mr. Dyer back right now and tell him you were joking!” When I didn’t move, her voice climbed an octave, dripping with condescension. “Ohhh, I get it. This is a tantrum, isn’t it? Because I wouldn’t give you paper, you’re trying to threaten me with the project? Ross, I never realized how childish you were. How pathetic!” She circled me like a vulture, looking me up and down. “You want to throw your weight around, you’d better have some weight to throw! Who do you think you are? You think this company can’t function without you? Let me tell you something, project managers like you are a dime a dozen!” Just then, my broken phone began to vibrate violently. I stared at her, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “What are you smiling at?!” she snapped, snatching her hand back as if she’d been burned. “I’m smiling at how pathetic you are,” I said, enunciating every word. “You’ve been kneeling for so long, you’ve forgotten how to stand.” She trembled with rage and swung her hand to slap me. I caught her wrist, my grip so tight she cried out in pain. “Let go of me! You’re a worthless piece of trash! You’re nothing without this company!” she screeched. On the phone’s cracked screen, Jake’s name was flashing, his caller ID a picture of him with his wife and young daughter. I could almost hear him on the other end, him and the whole team, waiting at the print shop, dialing my number over and over, desperate for good news. Brenda saw the caller ID too. “Go on, answer it! Why don’t you? Scared to tell your little minions you blew up their project just to soothe your bruised ego? That you just smashed their rice bowl? That you made them work for three months for nothing?” She took a step closer, her voice a low hiss. “Look at yourself, Ross. You sold out your entire team for a shred of pride. When they find out their fearless leader torpedoed their payday over a ream of paper, what do you think they’ll do?” “Will they feel sorry for you? Or will they want to tear you limb from limb?” Her words hit me like a physical blow. She was right. I had sold them out. But in the next instant, a wave of pure, unadulterated fury washed over me. I looked up, my eyes locking onto hers. “You’re right,” I said, my voice raspy. “I am a bastard.” And before she could process what was happening, I turned and kicked the towering stack of A4 paper with all my strength. CRASH! The mountain of boxes toppled over. An avalanche of pristine white paper cascaded across the floor, burying half the office in a blizzard of uselessness. Brenda screamed and stumbled backward, her ankle twisting, sending her sprawling ungracefully into the paper drift. I stood amidst the swirling sheets, bent down, and retrieved my shattered phone. Then, I looked at Brenda’s pale, shocked face and said, word by word: “Here’s your damn paper.” “And you can tell Mr. Davis that I’m done serving this sorry excuse for a temple. I quit.” 3. I walked back to the project department clutching my broken phone. Brenda’s words, “You sold out your entire team,” echoed in my head. I pushed the door open, and every eye in the room snapped to me. Jake was the first to rush over. “Ross! The print shop—” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on my empty hands, then on the unfamiliar, grim expression on my face. “Where’s the proposal?” Mark asked, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. I opened my mouth, but the words “we’re pulling out” felt like lead on my tongue. Chloe asked timidly, “Ross… did something happen?” I looked at their faces, and the crushing weight of the last three months—the sleepless nights, the heated debates, the bloodshot eyes—came crashing down on me. “Admin…” My throat was tight. “…they wouldn’t give us any paper.” The office fell silent. Then, a bitter laugh erupted from the corner. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. “No paper? What kind of crappy excuse is that?” “A two-hundred-million-dollar project gets killed over a ream of paper? You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Ross, are you messing with us?” Jake stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Because of paper? You just gave up? What about the last three months of our lives…?” His words were a slap in the face. Mark took a deep breath, his knuckles white. “Ross, I get that you’ve been put through the wringer. But you’re the project manager. You’re responsible for this team. You throw a fit, and we’re all out on the street!” “I…” I wanted to explain that it wasn’t just about the paper. It was about dignity. It was about raw, calculated humiliation. But looking at their exhausted, anxious faces, the words died in my throat. He was right. In their eyes, I was just an asshole who’d torched everyone’s livelihood over a temper tantrum. A toxic rage surged through me. I grabbed a nearby filing rack and hurled it to the ground, sending documents flying like confetti. I jabbed a finger in the direction of the admin office, my voice raw and loud. “Responsible?! How the hell am I supposed to be responsible?!” I roared. “They pointed at us and called us ‘lower-level nobodies’! They said we weren’t worthy of using the company’s damn paper! Was I supposed to get on my knees and beg her for charity?!” The room went dead silent, everyone stunned by my outburst. I was panting, my gaze sweeping over their pale, shocked faces. I squeezed the words out from between my clenched teeth. “So, yes. I pulled the plug.” “Anyone who wants to stick with me, stay. Anyone who thinks I’m an impulsive screw-up, you can walk right now. No hard feelings.” With that, I kicked a chair out of my way, stalked to my desk, and started furiously shoving my belongings into a cardboard box. No one moved. The silence was deafening. A few seconds later, Jake, his eyes red, walked over and silently picked up a box to start packing his own desk. Mark tore the project timeline from the wall, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into his box, followed by the half-dead potted plant from his desk. Watching them, the churning storm of anger and humiliation inside me finally began to subside. Once I was packed, I picked up my box and took one last look at the place where I had poured three years of my life. The awards on the wall, the photos from late-night work sessions—they all seemed like a bitter joke now. “Let’s go,” I said, my voice now completely calm. “I know a co-working space downtown that’s open 24/7.” I walked out of the department first, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as I trod over the ruins of my old career. I was leaving the humiliation behind. From now on, I was carving my own path. 4. As I stepped out of the building, the cool night air hit my face. Jake caught up to me. “Ross, are we really giving up on the two-hundred-million-dollar project?” “Hell no,” I said, shoving my box into the trunk of a taxi. “We’re going to take it. But we’re going to take it standing up.” Saying it out loud felt like releasing a pressure valve in my chest. Mark looked back at the glowing monolith of the office building and sighed. “So, what’s the plan?” “We’re going into business for ourselves,” I said, getting into the car. Inside, I pulled out my shattered phone and sent a voice message directly to Mr. Dyer at Apex Dynamics. “Mr. Dyer, this is Ross Vance. I’ve just resigned, and I’ve taken my entire core team with me. The complete proposal for the Falcon Project is in my possession. If you’re still interested, I will be at the bid presentation tomorrow morning. I’ll deliver the proposal in person.” Jake sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s a hell of a gamble, man!” I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. “I’m betting he knows a good thing when he sees it.” Three seconds later, the phone vibrated. A reply from Mr. Dyer: “See you at nine.” I tossed the phone into the back seat. “We’re in.” “Holy shit!” Jake slapped his thigh. A slow grin spread across Mark’s face. “Savage.” As we got out of the taxi, I saw a new notification in the old work group chat. It was Brenda, posting yet another memo about “conserving office supplies.” I let out a cold laugh and typed a message, tagging everyone. “@everyone This is Ross Vance. I have officially resigned. All core technology and intellectual property rights for the Falcon Project belong to me personally and are no longer associated with my former employer. P.S. Enjoy the paper.” Then, I left every single company chat without a second thought. Turning, I pushed open the doors to the co-working space and said to my team behind me: “From now on, we play by our own rules.”

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I’m the Director of Human Resources for my company. During an interview, a candidate named Maya Chen presented a resume so riddled with lies it was almost comical. I called her out on the spot and politely showed her the door. The next day, she registered dozens of sock puppet accounts and launched a coordinated smear campaign across every major job search platform. 【Exposing the Dark Underbelly of a Major Tech Firm: HR Director Adrian B. is a Predator.】 【He didn’t even look at my resume. He just stared at my legs the entire time. His hand was practically reaching for me.】 【He hinted that if I just came to his hotel to “chat” at night, even the director’s position could be mine.】 【What good is being handsome? He’s just another greasy, disgusting sexual harasser. Vile!】 Messages of concern poured in from my colleagues. I simply compiled the screenshots. The young woman seemed to have forgotten what my company specializes in. Crisis communications and information warfare. And I am the founder of that department. … I forwarded the screenshots directly to my assistant. “Run a full background check on this Maya Chen. I want every social media account she’s ever had. The more detailed, the better.” My assistant’s half-typed message of sympathy vanished, replaced by an immediate: 【Yes, Mr. Black. Right away.】 The online firestorm spread faster than I’d anticipated. “HR Director Adrian B.” was quickly doxxed. My full name, my photo, and my company were plastered everywhere. Within hours, the hashtag #BigTechExecSexualHarassment was trending. The company’s internal servers were on fire. Colleagues in every department were whispering. My phone rang. It was the CEO, Mr. Thompson, his voice grim. “Adrian, what the hell is going on? This is a PR nightmare. We already have partners calling to ask questions.” “It’s a candidate whose fabricated resume I rejected,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “This is her retaliation.” “Retaliation?” His voice grew cautious. “What kind of retaliation? You didn’t do anything… out of line, did you?” I understood his caution. In a scandal like this, a corporation’s first instinct is always self-preservation. “Every interview I conduct is recorded on audio and video. You can pull the tapes at any time.” “Good, good…” Mr. Thompson breathed a sigh of relief, but his tone quickly hardened again. “But you know how it is. The online mob doesn’t care about evidence; they run on emotion. For now, stay silent. Our legal team will issue a statement. We need to kill this story, fast.” I gave a noncommittal “Mm.” Kill the story? No. I never intended to kill it. I was going to let this fire burn until it was an inferno. As soon as I hung up, an encrypted file arrived from my assistant. The dossier on Maya Chen was exhaustive—every failed class from elementary school to college, every past relationship, every single account she’d ever registered on even the most obscure platforms. I found one of her phone numbers and dialed. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep and suspicion. “Who is this?” “Ms. Chen, this is Adrian Black.” The line went silent. A few seconds later, a sharp, mocking laugh came through. Her tone shifted to one of pure arrogance. “Well, well, if it isn’t the great Director Black. What’s the matter? Saw the trending topics and got scared? Calling to beg for mercy?” I ignored her taunt. “What are your demands?” I asked calmly. “If you felt uncomfortable during the interview process, we can discuss it.” My composure seemed to fuel her ego. “Discuss? Alright, let’s discuss!” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “First, your company will issue a public apology on its homepage, admitting to your sexual harassment and your unfair hiring practices.” “Second, you will immediately send me a job offer. The position… hmm, let’s make it your Assistant Director. I think it suits me.” “And third, five hundred thousand dollars in compensation for my emotional distress. Not a penny less.” She paused, then added flippantly, “Oh, and you’ll write the apology yourself. I want it to be tearful. I want it to be sincere. Otherwise, the ‘evidence’ I have is just the tip of the iceberg. I can ruin you, Adrian. I can make sure you’re a social pariah for the rest of your life. Do you believe me?” I almost laughed out loud. She thought she was threatening me. To my ears, this was a confession. “I’ve received your demands,” I said softly. “Don’t call me again. Have your lawyer contact mine,” she snapped, then slammed the phone down, as if terrified I’d retract my ‘surrender’. I put my phone down and packaged the call recording along with Maya’s entire dossier. I named the file “Phase One Evidence” and sent it to our company’s top legal team. Only then did I see the dozen missed messages from my wife. 【Honey, are those things online true?】 【Please don’t scare me, call me back!】 【How can they say those things about you!】 I called her immediately. Her voice was choked with tears. “Adrian, I saw the comments… they’re saying such horrible things… they’re threatening to come to our house…” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. She was pregnant. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all lies,” I said, forcing my voice to be a steady anchor. “Stay home. Don’t go out, and don’t look at anything online. Trust me. I can handle this.” I just never imagined how fast, how violently, things would escalate. The next day, the atmosphere at the office was toxic. Colleagues who used to greet me warmly now avoided my gaze, offering only awkward nods. When I walked into my own department, it was dead silent. The team I had built from the ground up, the people I had personally mentored, were all staring intently at their screens, pretending to be busy. No one would look at me. I pushed it aside and called my core team for the morning briefing. “Regarding the current situation, I want our PR department to hold all public statements. Await my signal,” I said, proceeding as usual. “Also, have the tech team continue to monitor the IP addresses of those sock puppet accounts and track the source of any new negative posts…” I was cut off. “Mr. Black.” It was Sarah. A management trainee I’d hired two years ago and personally promoted to team lead. She stood up, her eyes blazing with the self-righteous fire of someone “speaking truth to power.” “I think what the company needs to do right now is distance itself from you, immediately.” The entire conference room went silent. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. I frowned. “Sarah, what are you trying to say?” She took a deep breath, as if summoning immense courage. “As a woman, I feel sympathy and anger for what Maya went through. Whether her resume was fake or not is irrelevant. It’s not an excuse for workplace sexual harassment!” “The public opinion is completely one-sided. Everyone is standing with the victim. If the company continues to protect you, we’ll be branded as an organization that shelters predators. It will be devastating for our brand!” “Furthermore,” she said, looking around at the other female colleagues in the room, “as our direct supervisor, this incident makes all of us women on the team feel incredibly… unsafe.” As soon as she finished, another female colleague timidly chimed in, “Yeah, Mr. Black, the things people are saying online are so specific… it’s really disturbing.” A chill went down my spine. The very people I’d invested in, the ones I expected to have my back, were stabbing me in it without a second thought, all for some misplaced sense of “female solidarity.” This was the team I had so carefully cultivated. I managed a small smile. I looked at Sarah. “So, what’s your recommendation?” She seemed emboldened. Her voice grew louder. “I recommend that you resign, effective immediately. And issue a public apology to Maya and the public to salvage the company’s reputation. As the head of this department, it’s the only responsible thing you can do!” I started to clap, slowly and deliberately. “Well said. In crisis management, the core principle is to sacrifice the pawn to save the king. You’ve learned the lesson well.” A flicker of pride crossed Sarah’s face. Then my smile vanished. My voice dropped to absolute zero. “But you’ve forgotten the most important rule.” “In information warfare, the facts—the truth—are the ultimate nuclear option.” “You didn’t do the most basic level of investigation. You didn’t even try to verify the claims. You convicted your own boss based on a few screenshots and some inflammatory internet comments.” “Sarah, you are professionally incompetent.” I watched the color drain from her face. “Meeting’s over. You can go to HR and process your termination.” Sarah froze, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Mr. Black… I… I didn’t mean it like that! I was just trying to protect the company! You can’t fire me for speaking the truth!” I didn’t give her another glance. I walked straight out of the conference room. The assault didn’t stop. That afternoon, Mr. Thompson summoned me again. His face was a thundercloud. He slammed a document on my desk. “Adrian, read this.” It was a petition. Headed by Sarah, nearly a third of the company’s female employees had signed it, demanding the company take severe action regarding my “harassment case” and terminate my employment. The reason cited was 【a pervasive fear of potential workplace risks and an inability to work in an unsafe environment.】 “This is now affecting internal stability!” Mr. Thompson’s hands were shaking with rage. “The board is under immense pressure. Several directors are already suggesting you be placed on temporary leave pending an internal investigation.” I looked at the pages filled with signatures. It was absurd. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Maya. A photo of me standing outside the CEO’s office. 【Heard you got suspended. How’s it feel to be betrayed by your own people, Director Black?】 【Don’t worry. This is just the beginning.】 【I told you. I’m going to destroy your reputation. You won’t be able to work in this industry ever again.】 The official suspension notice came swiftly. To appease the public, the company released a statement announcing that “HR Director Adrian Black has been suspended from all duties, effective immediately, to cooperate with an internal investigation regarding a personal controversy.” It was like pouring gasoline on the fire. The internet erupted in celebration. 【See! He’s guilty! Why else would they suspend him?】 【The scumbag finally got what he deserved! We won, sisters!】 Maya immediately posted a new, tearful message, “thanking” the company for delivering justice, casting herself as a hero in the fight against workplace abuse. My phone number and home address were leaked. A torrent of abusive texts and harassing calls flooded in. Piles of garbage takeout bags with “scum, go die” written on them appeared at my doorstep. But the final straw—the thing I could not tolerate—was when someone Photoshopped a picture of my wife into a funeral portrait and sent it to my phone. I had to turn off my phone, unplug my internet, and move my wife to a hotel. Seeing her tremble with fear and rage, I felt a pain sharper than any knife. Online harassment is never just words on a screen. It grows fangs, and it attacks the people you love most. These self-proclaimed champions of justice were inflicting pain on an innocent, pregnant woman without a shred of remorse. They had just pulverized the last bit of restraint I had, the part of me that wanted to keep this a “lesson.” After settling my wife, I went straight to Kevin’s office building. He was the other “victim” Maya mentioned in her posts. My assistant had confirmed that during that time frame, the only male candidate I’d interviewed was named Kevin. I waited downstairs for two hours. He saw me from a distance, and his face went pale. He spun around and tried to run. “Kevin,” I called out. “I just want to talk.” He flinched back, his eyes wide with panic. “Mr…. Mr. Black… Don’t, don’t come any closer.” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. “I just want to ask you about Maya’s posts online…” He suddenly shrieked, cutting me off, his voice high and terrified. “Stay away from me! It was you! You harassed me!” “During the interview, you asked if I had a girlfriend! You put your hand on my shoulder and said I was ‘cute’!” “I… I was too scared to say anything!” His hysterical screams immediately drew the attention of everyone leaving work. A crowd formed, their eyes landing on me, filled with contempt and fury. “Ugh, a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” “He got suspended and he’s still bold enough to harass his victims? The nerve!” “Call the police! Someone call the police and get this creep arrested!” The shouting escalated. A man walking by hurled his half-finished bubble tea at me. The icy liquid and tapioca pearls streamed down my face and hair. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even wipe it off. I just lifted my head and, through the crowd, I met Kevin’s eyes. He recoiled from my gaze, unable to hold it. My voice was quiet but carried. “Kevin, you will be held legally responsible for every single word you’ve said today.” Then, ignoring the insults and the dozens of phones recording me, I turned and walked away. A few days later, Maya appeared on a popular talk show as a representative of “brave whistleblowers exposing workplace corruption.” She cried, her tears catching the studio lights. “I know… at first, a lot of people thought I was just seeking attention, that I was lying.” “That Director Black, he’s so powerful, so high up… I’m just a recent graduate. How could I ever win against him?” “But I couldn’t stand by and watch him hurt more people… I reached out, and I finally found another victim, Kevin. We gave each other the courage to speak out…” “We just want justice. We want people like him to face the consequences…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue. The host handed her a tissue, her face a mask of sympathy as she guided the narrative. “As we can see, the villain has been suspended. This is a victory, a first step!” The studio audience burst into supportive applause. At that exact moment, the rear doors of the studio swung open. Several uniformed police officers walked in. And then, I stepped out from behind them, my eyes fixed on the spotlighted, utterly stunned face on the stage.

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I ran into Randall again ten years after our divorce. I was enrolling our son in his new school. He was there to donate a new building for his daughter. I offered him a polite smile. He looked flustered. We ended up making small talk, the usual awkward pleasantries. As we parted ways, his eyes were glued to the acceptance letter in my hand. He looked like he wanted to say something more. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in. “Our son… he seems to be doing well with you.” Doing well? I just smiled, not offering a real answer. Yes, he was doing well. After I stopped loving Randall, our son and I… we were both doing very well. 01 Randall caught up to me at the school gate. “Where are you living now? I can give you a ride.” I took a few steps back, putting some distance between us. “No, thank you. I drove myself.” Randall looked stunned, a little lost. “Since when do you drive?” I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as the wind blew it across my face. I just shook my head gently. Randall’s memory of me was frozen ten years in the past. But I had moved on, traveled so far from the woman he remembered. On the drive home, a car shadowed mine the entire way. I knew who it was, but I didn’t let it bother me. It was only when I stopped at a red light that the thought truly hit me. Ten years. I used to imagine that seeing Randall again would break me, that all the old pain and hysteria would come rushing back and I’d fall apart. But there was nothing. I was as calm as if I’d run into a complete stranger, a footnote in the story of my life. Even with him following right behind me, my heart remained perfectly still, not a single ripple disturbing its surface. I locked my car and took the elevator straight up to my apartment. Randall didn’t follow, but I knew he wouldn’t leave. It was just like all those nights we used to fight; he would rather sleep on a park bench all night than be far from me, waiting for me to be moved by his gesture. Sure enough, after I’d washed up and pulled back the curtains, I saw the tell-tale glow of a cigarette ember in the darkness below. Randall stood with his head bowed, the ground around his feet littered with countless cigarette butts. He looked up. I looked down. Just like we had a thousand times before. But we both knew there was no going back. “Mom, what are you looking at?” my son asked, emerging from his room in his pajamas. I quickly drew the curtains shut and smiled. “Nothing.” Just an irrelevant person from the past. 02 I thought I would be able to sleep. But I couldn’t. Tossing and turning, memories flooded back like a relentless tide. When I first met Randall, he wasn’t the CEO he was today. He was the handsome, broke scholar, juggling three part-time jobs a day. He had an alcoholic father, a gambling-addicted mother, and a grandfather who had raised him but was now gravely ill. People at school were always circling him, drawn to that face of his. It was too striking. The boys were jealous, the girls were obsessed. I wasn’t the first person to offer him help, but I was the only one who stuck around until the end. “I like you,” I’d told him. “You don’t have to give me anything in return for what I’m doing. Just… don’t push me away.” I held out my debit card. It contained my entire life’s savings. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to cover his grandfather’s hospital bills. Young love is foolish and pure. At that moment, I truly just wanted to help him. Even if it was all a scam, I didn’t care. Randall took the card. He looked at me, his eyes serious. “Thank you.” But his grandfather still died. I went to the funeral to help, ignoring my family’s objections. I watched Randall’s father beat him, watched his mother scream at him, all because his grandfather had left him the family’s only house. When his father raised a beer bottle to smash it over Randall’s head, I ran in front of him. It didn’t hurt. Because the bottle never landed. I stood in front of Randall, and he had raised his arm to shield my head. Blood streamed down his arm, splattering my face in red. I cried as I called the police, then grabbed Randall’s hand and ran. “Don’t go back, Randall,” I pleaded. “From now on, I’ll take care of you.” I don’t know where I found the courage. A college student still living on an allowance, making such a bold declaration. But Randall believed me. Maybe the sight of my snot and tears streaming down my face had shocked him. He held me, patting my back comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I believe you.” By the river, the reeds swayed in the wind. Randall looked up, and for the first time, he gave me a smile more beautiful than any rainbow. “Chloe,” he said, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.” 03 In college, my single allowance supported the two of us. Randall was brilliant, and he worked incredibly hard. He was always working part-time jobs, and after graduation, he used my graduation award money to make an investment that paid off tenfold. That was his first real win. He dragged me to a jewelry store that same day and bought me a gold necklace. I was ecstatic, but he was wracked with guilt. He promised he would work even harder, that one day he’d buy me a much bigger, thicker gold chain. I just smiled happily and told him to keep going. The size didn’t matter; as long as it was from him, I would love it. But Randall took it as his motivation. He worked himself to the bone, buying stacks of finance books and teaching himself the trade. He was decisive, bold, never one to play it safe. In just a year, his initial capital had grown dozens of times over. He found his niche and started making a fortune. He became known as the man with the Midas touch. Every project he invested in turned to gold. The parents who had abandoned him came crawling back after seeing his name in the financial papers, demanding he support them. But he took them to court, declaring that parents who don’t raise their children don’t deserve the title. He publicly disowned them in the papers. That night, he knelt before me, holding a massive diamond ring. “Chloe, marry me,” he said. “Let me take care of you for the rest of my life.” I nodded, tears in my eyes, believing I was stepping into a life of pure happiness. I never imagined that the more perfect something seems, the more likely it is to be flawed. Especially the human heart. It’s the one thing you can never truly give away. 04 After we got married, I was truly happy. Randall had promised to take care of me for the rest of my life, and he did. I stopped working. He gave me his entire salary, and I controlled all our savings. When I got pregnant, he treated me like a precious jewel. He followed me everywhere. In the winter, when my feet were cold, he would wash them himself. When I got leg cramps in the middle of the night, he would groggily get up to massage them. My mom always teased that I was being treated like a queen. “Why a queen?” I asked her. “He waits on you hand and foot, like you’re his ancestor!” she’d laughed. And why not a queen? Perhaps that’s why, when he cheated, I fell apart so completely. Because I knew, in that moment, that he was never coming back. I was his queen, his ancestor to be worshipped. But with someone else, he was the one being worshipped. 05 Isabelle was not a remarkable-looking girl. She wasn’t as pretty as me, not as educated. But she understood Randall’s heart. Perhaps every man dreams of being a hero. In Randall’s darkest days, I had been his. So with me, he was always accommodating, always yielding. When he played basketball, I complained about the smell of sweat and made him shower before talking to me. When he watched anime, I called it childish and told him to turn the volume down. But Isabelle was different. She was his personal assistant. She not only managed his work flawlessly but also took care of my needs with meticulous attention. When Randall played basketball, she was there with a bottle of water and a word of encouragement. When he watched anime, she’d whisper in awe, “I never knew the CEO had such a passionate side!” I never understood how watching cartoons could be “passionate,” just as I never understood how Randall could get so worked up over animated characters. I couldn’t grasp it, but Isabelle got it instantly. Randall and I lived together day in and day out, yet we were drifting further apart. Isabelle was always a few steps behind him, yet they were growing closer. Soon, the name “Isabelle” became a constant presence in our lives. “This bouquet is nice. You don’t like it? I’ll give it to Isabelle.” The client had sent deep red roses, a color I found tacky. In the past, Randall would have thrown them out or given them to his colleagues. This time, he saved them for Isabelle. “Girls her age love roses. Better not to waste them.” It was just a bouquet. I didn’t make a big deal of it. But Randall’s excuses started piling up. A handbag I didn’t want, he’d take. “I’ll give this to Isabelle. A little bonus for the month.” Out at a restaurant, I wanted to order crab. “Isn’t Isabelle allergic to seafood? And crab is a ‘cooling’ food; you shouldn’t have it either.” He even let her sit in my passenger seat because she got carsick. Randall was oblivious. Every time I confronted him, he acted as if his conscience was clear. In his mind, Isabelle, an orphan from a group home, was just a pitiful little sister he wanted to look after, just as he had once been pitiful. I endured it. I thought I could keep enduring it. Then came Randall’s birthday. 06 We had been in a cold war for a week. My belly was swelling, and every time I went home, my parents would tell me not to be so petty, to swallow my pride sometimes. A man of Randall’s stature, they said, was bound to have these things happen. I baked his favorite chocolate cake from scratch and went to his office to surprise him. But as I pushed the door open, I saw Isabelle sitting on his lap, her clothes half-off, locked in a passionate kiss with him. I snapped. The black cake flew through the air, splattering across the white of her skin. Randall’s computer, the potted plants—everything was smashed. Isabelle screamed and cowered on the floor. Randall shielded her with his body and roared at me. “Chloe, are you insane?! Have you had enough? Can’t you just grow up?” He was the one cheating. She was the one having the affair. Yet he was telling me to be mature. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t believe that in a conflict between me and Isabelle, Randall would take her side. The office door was wide open. Everyone outside was listening. I raised my phone, recording, and demanded an explanation. He just stared at me, his eyes cold. “Chloe, I told you I would take care of you for the rest of my life. Don’t push your luck.” Isabelle, wrapped in his suit jacket, rushed over and knelt before me. “Chloe, Randall and I are truly in love. Please, let us be together! I don’t want anything. As long as I can be with him, I’ll do whatever you ask!” Randall pulled her up, his expression pained, and held her in his arms. He said nothing, but his actions said everything. In that moment, I was blinded by jealousy. I didn’t care about anything else. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late.

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After three grueling rounds of IVF, my family was overjoyed when I finally got pregnant. My parents even made me special broth with organic chicken they’d never normally buy. My husband Liam treated me like glass, always urging me to rest. Not wanting him to overwork, I secretly took a bakery delivery job to help with bills. That’s how I ended up outside an upscale restaurant—and saw them. My parents, who should have been working sanitation jobs, were dressed in designer clothes. And Liam was tenderly serving abalone to another woman, Cathy. “Cathy, darling,” he said softly, “Eliza is five months along. Our baby will be here soon.” My father slid her the keys to a new Mercedes. My mother fastened a diamond necklace around her neck. “Happy birthday, sweet girl,” Mom said lovingly. “We know the egg retrieval was hard on you.” “You can’t have children,” Dad added gently. “We had to ask you to let Eliza marry Liam. Once your baby arrives, our family will be complete.” Cathy lifted her chin like a princess. “Mom, Dad, you’ve done more than enough letting the maid’s child use our name.” Liam laughed coldly. “If she weren’t carrying Cathy’s baby, I wouldn’t even look at her.” The cake in my hands suddenly felt heavy. My heart plunged into a cold, dark abyss. It was all a lie—my parents’ love, Liam’s devotion. Even I was the lie. 01 “I’ve already had the divorce papers drawn up,” Liam was saying, his voice a gentle murmur that sent a blade of ice through my veins. “Once we have the baby, I’ll find some excuse to get rid of her.” His next words were for Cathy. “And I’ll give you the wedding of the century. Cathy, you will be the most beautiful bride in the world.” It was the dead of winter, and my hands were numb with cold, tinged a raw, angry red. But the chill biting at my skin was nothing compared to the frost crystallizing around my heart. I clutched my swollen belly, my eyes vacant, staring at the people who were once my family, now a gallery of cruel strangers. I was frozen in place. “Hey, delivery girl!” Cathy’s sharp voice cut through my daze. “What are you staring at? Get in here! God, are you stupid?” I flinched, quickly pulling my head down and hiding my face deeper inside the surgical mask I wore for deliveries. “H-hello,” I stammered. “This is the cake for Miss Sterling. Could you please sign for it?” My father, who had always been so kind to me, now frowned with disdain. He waved his hand at me as if shooing away a stray dog. “Get out of here. You’re filthy. Don’t you dare get our daughter’s cake dirty!” “Sweetheart, it’s from your favorite bakery,” my mother cooed, not even sparing me a glance as she lovingly carried the cake to Cathy. “Come on, let’s cut it.” The words on the card, which I had personally written just hours before, stabbed at my heart: “Happy Birthday, our darling. Mom and Dad will love you forever.” So this rush order, this custom cake, was from my parents for their daughter. Just two days ago, it was my birthday. Liam had said he was working late, trying to earn more money for the baby. My parents had shown up with a single, smashed slice of cake, and I had felt so loved, so happy, that I ate every last, slightly sour bite of it. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Confetti cannons exploded in a shower of glittering color. My eyes burned as I watched the people I loved most in the world celebrate Cathy. A primal scream of betrayal rose in my throat, but then I caught my reflection in a nearby mirror. My clothes were soaked with rain and sleet. Compared to Cathy in her stunning designer dress, I looked like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe. In that instant, all my courage evaporated. I turned to flee, to escape this nightmare. “Wait!” A smirk played on Cathy’s lips as she glided toward me, a slice of cake on a small plate. “You’re pregnant, and life must be hard for you,” she said, her voice dripping with false pity. “Here, take this. You deserve a little treat.” Liam chuckled. “See? Our Cathy has a heart of gold.” Then he turned his gaze to me, and his tone instantly turned to ice. “Well? Take it. Don’t be ungrateful.” My hand trembled as I raised my eyes. Cathy stared down at me, a flicker of pure malice in her eyes. It was then I knew. She recognized me. I moved like a robot, reaching for the plate to thank her. But before my fingers could even brush against hers, Cathy let out a sharp cry and threw herself backward. My mind went blank. Before I could process what had happened, a stinging pain exploded across my cheek. My father had slapped me, so hard that I tasted blood. “You psycho!” he roared. “How dare you touch my daughter!” Liam caught Cathy just in time, relief washing over his face before it hardened into a mask of fury directed at me. “You bitch! Cathy was being kind to you, and you pushed her? That’s it, you’re fired! You’ll never work in this town again!” “My baby, are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?” my mother fussed, her eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen before, a tenderness that was never for me. I clutched my swelling face, my voice a raw whisper as I tried to explain, over and over, that I hadn’t done anything. No one listened. Cathy wrapped her arms around Liam’s neck, her voice a sickly-sweet whine. “Oh, Liam, darling~ I’m fine. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Just let her go.” As the security guards dragged me out, I instinctively glanced back one last time. My husband, Liam, was holding Cathy in a tight embrace, refusing to let her go. My parents were fussing over her, their faces etched with worry, telling her to be careful. What a perfect family. I swallowed the bitter lump rising in my throat and placed a hand on my stomach, whispering to the life inside me. “Baby… Mommy has to figure some things out.” 02 It was nearly ten o’clock by the time I dragged my exhausted, rain-soaked body back to our small, run-down apartment. I quickly hid my work uniform under the bed and sat in the dark, my mind reeling. I was just supposed to be a cashier at the bakery. But they were short-staffed today, so I’d volunteered to do the delivery. I never imagined it would lead me to a truth that would shatter my world. My parents weren’t poor. My husband, the low-level employee who was always “working overtime,” was a CEO, a “Mr. Collins” whom everyone respected. And they had another daughter. A daughter I never knew existed. Why? Why would they construct such an elaborate lie? Was it all just to get this baby? Was my entire life, my entire family, nothing more than a cruel fiction? My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white. Tears, hot and silent, streamed down my face. “Sweetheart, we’re home! Look what we brought you!” My father was back in his faded, worn-out work shirt, his face once again the kind, familiar one I had always known. He led me to the dining table, a warm smile on his face. “Honey,” he called to my mom, “let’s heat up the food. Our girl must be starving. The baby needs to eat!” My mother bustled around, quickly reheating the dishes and setting them carefully in front of me. “Eliza, your dad’s boss treated everyone to dinner tonight. We packed up the leftovers for you,” she said. “Come on, eat up. It’s all good stuff, things you’ve never tried before.” “Don’t wait for Liam,” my dad added. “He’s still burning the midnight oil at the office. We already ate. You go ahead.” I forced a smile and looked down at the so-called “good stuff.” It was the scraps left over from Cathy’s birthday dinner. I thought back to all the late-night “treats” my parents used to bring me—half a slice of fancy dessert, a few crab legs. They were all just leftovers from their secret life, their secret dinners with their real daughter. Looking at my parents’ expectant faces, my heart felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. What was I to them? A dog that could be satisfied with scraps from their table? “I already ate,” I lied, my voice flat. “I’m not hungry.” I retreated to the cramped silence of my bedroom. “What’s gotten into her today?” I heard my mother whisper. “Just leave her be,” Dad replied. “Pregnancy hormones, you know? Let’s just give her some space.” I sat in the dark for a long time before opening my phone. My fingers trembled as, for the first time ever, I typed my parents’ full names—Jonathan and Anne Sterling—into the search bar. The screen filled with photos and articles. The most recent one was from last week: “Jonathan Sterling, CEO of Sterling Industries, and wife Anne attend the annual charity gala.” The bold headline and the glossy photograph shattered the last of my illusions. Ever since I could remember, my parents had told me we were poor because I had accidentally started a fire that burned down our house when I was a child. I never questioned it. I just worked harder, paying for my own tuition with scholarships and part-time jobs. But the truth was staring me in the face. My parents weren’t sanitation workers. Our family wasn’t poor. They just weren’t raising me. I slid down the wall, a wave of nausea and despair washing over me. As if sensing my turmoil, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I doubled over, my face pale, trying to breathe through it. “Eliza? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Liam was home. He rushed to my side, his face a mask of concern as he gently placed a hand on my belly. “Is it the baby? Let me take you to the hospital!” I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. Why are you back so early?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, all alone here while you’re pregnant,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a sincerity that used to make my heart melt. But now, all I could see was the fresh, crimson love bite just above his collarbone. And then, a faint, sickly-sweet scent wafted towards me. It was Cathy’s perfume. 03 Later that night, Liam held me as we slept, just like he always did. But I wasn’t sleeping. My eyes were wide open in the dark. I carefully lifted his phone from the nightstand. The lock screen was a photo of us on our wedding day. The password was my birthday. Nothing had changed. I scrolled through his messages, his apps, looking for anything. Finally, I found it: a second, hidden social media account. And there she was, under the contact name “My Sweetheart.” Cathy. I only had to read a few days’ worth of messages before the tears started to flow, silent and unstoppable, soaking my pillow. All those times Liam was “working,” he was with her. While I was enduring painful injections for the IVF treatments, he was buying her designer bags. I had never traveled, never taken a vacation, because we were always “saving money.” But Liam had taken Cathy skiing in Aspen one day and to see the fireworks in Times Square the next. He had placed her on a pedestal, worshipped her, spoiled her, all while forgetting that I was his wife. But then again, this marriage was never about me. It was a scam, a conspiracy to steal a child. I cried until I had no tears left. The next morning, I booked an appointment for an amniocentesis. Even now, a sliver of hope remained. My parents were fake, my husband was fake, but this tiny life kicking inside me… I couldn’t believe that was a lie, too. Later that day, after the test, I stared at the paper the doctor handed me, a deep chill spreading through my entire body. When my eyes focused on the number—a 0% probability—my fingernails dug into my palms. The sting of breaking skin was nothing compared to the suffocating agony ripping through my chest. The child wasn’t mine. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Doctor,” I said, my voice hollow, “I’d like to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible.” “But… you’re quite far along,” she said gently. “There are risks. Are you absolutely sure?” I nodded, my lips barely moving. “I’m sure. I accept the risks.” As I waited for the procedure, I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles. My parents had introduced me to Liam right after college. I was hesitant at first, but the moment I saw him—his handsome face, his cool yet gentle eyes—I was completely enchanted. In that instant, the world went silent, and a single thought echoed in my mind: It’s him. For him, I gave up a scholarship to study abroad. I stayed home, by his side, by our parents’ side. When he told me he was infertile, I quit my job and devoted myself to IVF, to the endless cycle of pills and injections. I truly believed that once our baby was born, everything would finally be perfect. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine! I just twisted my ankle a little, that’s all~” Cathy’s cloying voice shattered my thoughts. I looked up and saw them—my parents, walking down the hospital corridor, their arms linked with hers. Our eyes met. A flash of awkwardness crossed their faces, and they instantly dropped Cathy’s hands. “Mom, Dad,” she whined, feigning confusion. “I thought you were at work. Who is she? Why is she calling you Mom and Dad?” My father stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. My mother quickly jumped in. “She’s the daughter of a coworker. Her mom asked us to check in on her. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Really? Anyone watching would think you three were the real family.” Just then, Liam came out of a nearby room. He heard my words, and his face darkened. “Eliza, is that any way to talk to your parents? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you trust them anymore?” he snapped. “I came with them because I was worried. Stop making trouble. Mom, Dad, Cathy, let’s go.” As they turned to leave, Cathy shot me a triumphant, hateful glare. She mouthed two words at me. I knew what they were. You mutt. Moments later, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, I saw Liam leading Cathy out of her own appointment, a full check-up. He glanced in my direction for a split second, a look of relief crossing his face. She’s gone? he must have thought. She probably finished her check-up and went home. When it was all over, my hair was plastered to my forehead with cold sweat. I placed a hand on my now-flat stomach, and my heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. Before I left, I asked the nurse for the embryo. The tiny, palm-sized specimen jar. Since it wasn’t mine, I would give it back to them.

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1 On the eve of our wedding, my fiancée Aria’s childhood sweetheart came back. Caleb Chrest, the golden boy who once had the world at his feet, had been reduced to a simpleton by a tragic accident. Now, he wouldn’t let anyone near him except Aria. I thought she would keep her distance. After all, eight years ago, they had destroyed each other, a spectacular implosion that ended with Caleb fleeing the country and Aria’s entire family in the hospital. Since she’d been with me, I was her entire world. Our friends always teased her about it, calling her famously devoted now that her long-time crush—me—had finally become her fiancé. But now, she was on the phone, frantically arranging to pick him up, so absorbed she didn’t even notice I’d come home. “Cancel the setup at the venue for now,” she was saying, her voice strained. “Caleb can’t handle the idea of me getting married.” She let out a soft, confident breath. “Don’t worry, Ethan won’t mind. He loves me so much. He even cut ties with his family just to marry me…” Aria was so certain I’d do anything for her. What she didn’t know was that my father’s favorite game was pretending to disapprove. Not only had he prepared an astronomical “dowry” to help this ‘imposter’ heiress secure her position in the Monroe family, but he had also hand-picked another fiancée for me long ago… … A few days ago, I’d heard rumors that Caleb was back in the country, demanding that Aria come get him. I didn’t think anything of it. She hadn’t reacted to the news either, other than being too nervous and excited about our wedding to sleep. But now, the wedding I had dreamed of for years was just an inconvenient ceremony she needed to postpone. Her line was busy, so I drove to the hotel myself. The grand ballroom, which had been nearly transformed for our ceremony, was stripped bare. Everything had been packed away. The hotel manager conveniently avoided me. I went home, a cold fury simmering in my gut. Just as I was about to confront her, two vases came hurtling toward me. “Thief! Robber! Who said you could steal my Aria?” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, one slicing into my calf. I cried out in pain, stumbling backward. But Caleb wasn’t finished. He lunged at me, grabbing a handful of sharp fragments as if he couldn’t feel the pain, and tried to throw them at my face. I instinctively threw my arms up to block him. “Caleb!” Aria screamed, rushing out of the kitchen and grabbing his hand. The throbbing pain in my leg mixed with a surge of angry, wounded betrayal. This was the woman who used to fret over a papercut on my finger, and now she hadn’t even glanced at me. “Caleb, are you trying to destroy your hand?” she cried, her voice laced with panic. She immediately fetched the first-aid kit and began tending to his wounds, her brow furrowed with heartache. I looked around, and a wave of dizziness hit me. It wasn’t just Aria who seemed like a stranger; the whole house was alien. The designer watches she’d given me, the latest season’s menswear—all of it had been moved into a new, separate room. The rest of our home was a scene of utter devastation. Our wedding portrait and all our other photos together were shredded on the floor. The festive crimson banners we’d hung were torn down and crumpled. Anything red, anything that symbolized our union, had been destroyed. The Monroe family’s housekeeper was cleaning up the mess, while Aria’s neat handwriting on sticky notes directed her where to place Caleb’s garish action figures. She’d even installed protective corner guards on the tables. She was still so meticulous, just as she had been when she designed every inch of this home with me. But this was supposed to be our home. The unease I’d been feeling solidified into a cold, hard dread. “Aria, what is the meaning of this?” It was as if she’d only just remembered I existed. She turned, the gentle, placating smile she’d been giving Caleb freezing on her lips. Her eyes darted around the ruined room, and a look of guilt and panic flashed across her face. “Ethan…” As she started to rise, Caleb wrapped his arms around her waist and started to sob like a child. “Aria, why were you mean to me just now?” he wailed, then pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me. “Was it because of him? Because of this pretty boy who stole you from me?” Aria finally noticed the blood trickling down my leg. With a sigh of resignation, she gestured for the housekeeper to come bandage my wound, then pulled me tensely into the study. “Ethan, please don’t be angry with Caleb,” she began, her voice hesitant. “I know he’s older than you, but mentally… he’s stuck at around ten years old.” “He’s always been possessive,” she continued, her tone pleading. “I just looked away for a second and he destroyed the house. You can understand that, can’t you?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes, but her resolve hardened. “You know what happened. After his family went bankrupt, his parents disappeared. He doesn’t remember any of his other relatives or friends. Caleb… he only has me now.” Then came the final blow. “He’ll be living with us from now on.” The decision was so sudden, so absurd, it was almost laughable. “No. I don’t understand, and I don’t accept it.” The words felt like acid on my tongue. “First you cancel the wedding, now you’re redecorating our home for him. Should I just give him my spot in our bed, too?” A look of relief washed over her face. “Oh, so you already know about the wedding?” 2 Aria started rubbing my shoulders, the way she always did to calm me down. She let out a small, placating laugh. “Honey, you’re not actually jealous of someone with the mind of a child, are you? Look, we can go get the marriage license in a couple of days. As for the ceremony, we’ll have a proper one once his condition stabilizes.” I pulled away from her touch, my disappointment a lead weight in my stomach. “What does his condition have to do with us?” Her face was a mask of guilt. “His psychological problems started after I forced him to leave the country. When he heard about our engagement, he got drunk and had an accident. It took him over a year to recover to… this state.” She finally looked at me, her eyes filled with a terrible certainty. “It’s my fault. I owe him this. I have to take responsibility for him.” This wasn’t a discussion. It was a declaration. I knew Aria. That unshakeable resolve, once a quality I admired, now felt like a dagger in my heart. That night, she smoothed things over with her family and posted on social media, confirming the wedding was postponed. My father’s call came soon after. His voice was tight with barely suppressed rage. “Ethan. Is this wedding not happening?” I gripped the phone, forcing my voice to remain steady. “No. Not for now.” The story Aria heard—that I’d cut ties with my family—was just an exaggeration of my father’s anger when I’d refused to have our main wedding ceremony in our hometown of Northwood. I didn’t sleep that night, lost in memories. I remembered the day Aria found out I loved her back. She was so ecstatic she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. My father had initially disapproved of our relationship; he already had the perfect daughter-in-law in mind. But Aria never complained. She just worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy. Even though she thought I came from a modest background, she never once treated me with anything but respect. “It must be me,” she’d say. “I’m just not good enough to make your father happy yet.” Everyone knew Aria was determined to marry me. The wild, rebellious girl I first met had slowly transformed into a poised and capable woman. It was only after she achieved incredible success at her company that my father finally gave her his blessing. On the day we got engaged, she cried with joy. “I promise, sir,” she told him, “I will never, ever let Ethan down.” And she hadn’t. She was fiercely loyal, shutting down any hint of flirtation from others, always putting me first. But the moment Caleb Chrest came back, she broke her promise. … The next morning, Aria emerged from Caleb’s room, dark circles under her eyes. Seeing my stunned expression, she explained awkwardly, “He gets anxious. He needs someone to soothe him to sleep.” I walked past her, heading for the closet to put away the tuxedo I’d had meticulously prepared for our wedding. But the display stand was empty. A terrible premonition coiled in my stomach. Laughter echoed from downstairs. I found Caleb there, wearing my tuxedo, gleefully painting on the walls with his hands. The jacket was covered in childish graffiti. The pant legs had been crudely hacked short. It was slathered in so many colors of paint it was unrecognizable. A roaring sound filled my ears. That suit was more than just fabric and thread. My mother, before she passed, had designed it for me, pouring over draft after draft. It wasn’t just a memento; it was a mother’s love and blessings for her son, woven into every stitch. Now, it was ruined. Defiled. He twirled in front of me, his eyes holding a clear, defiant challenge. For a split second, there was no trace of the simpleton, only sharp, calculating intelligence. I saw it all in that instant. “Hey, bad guy,” he chirped, his voice mocking. “What do you think of my new clothes? Aren’t all the colors pretty?” My fists clenched, rage, hot and blinding, shot through me. “Take it off.” He ignored me, dipping his fingers back into the paint. “Why should I? I don’t want to! Aria said this is my home now when we were sleeping last night. She said everything here can be mine.” I grabbed him by the collar and slapped him, hard, across the face. Twice. “Aria! Help me!” he shrieked, bursting into tears. “I said,” I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, “take it off!” He thrashed and clawed at my hands, but I didn’t let go. I raised my hand to strike him again, but Aria caught my wrist. Caleb scrambled into her arms like a frightened animal, sobbing that I was trying to kill him. Aria looked at me with a cold, guarded expression. “It’s just a suit, Ethan! Why are you going crazy and hitting him?” I was shaking with fury. “He’s faking it!” She didn’t believe me. Her eyes followed my gaze to the ruined tuxedo on Caleb’s body, and her breath hitched. 3 “Caleb! Didn’t I tell you not to touch Ethan’s things? You—” Caleb gasped for air, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Aria caught him, her face pale with panic. She had the housekeeper change his clothes while she made a frantic series of calls, urging a doctor to come immediately. “Ethan,” she whispered, her voice pleading. “Please… don’t provoke him.” She still wanted me to be the one to yield. I numbly picked up the tattered remains of my suit from the corner where it had been tossed. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. When Aria came into my room later, she saw me packing a bag and her face fell. “Ethan, I’ll have it restored.” “It’s my fault, I should have been clearer with him,” she said hastily. “I’ll make him apologize to you right now.” She pulled me into Caleb’s room. He was clutching the corner of her shirt, looking lost and confused. “Aria, don’t be mad at me.” “You said… you said this was my home. Why should I listen to… to him?” He looked at me, and his expression suddenly twisted into a mask of pure desperation. He scrambled off the bed and started banging his head on the floor. “Please, I’m begging you, just leave!” he sobbed. “You can have all my toys! I just want Aria!” I saw shock and conflict flicker in Aria’s eyes. She didn’t immediately pull him up. When she finally moved to comfort me, Caleb let out a wild scream and pulled out a knife he’d hidden, holding it to his own wrist. “Aria is all I have! Make him get out!” The psychologist later told her Caleb had a “physiological aversion” to me. Watching him sob until he could barely breathe, Aria wrapped her arms around him, shielding his eyes from the sight of me. “His emotional state is too unstable,” she said, her voice strained. “Ethan, you need to leave. For now.” Two nurses she had called for backup escorted me firmly out the door. It was pouring rain outside. I knocked, but no one answered. My vision blurred, and a deep chill settled into my bones. I didn’t have my phone, and I was still in my pajamas. My only option was to walk out of the gated community to find a place where I could call for a ride. … I ended up in the hospital with a fever from the cold. As I was waiting, I saw Aria rushing down a hallway and instinctively followed her. “It’s been six months. Why hasn’t his condition improved?” It was the psychologist’s voice. “Aria, his obsession is you. That’s why you’re the only person he remembers.” The doctor sighed. “You’re the one who deliberately sent him the engagement announcement that triggered his accident in the first place…” “The reason he hasn’t gotten better is because you used to only visit him once a month. Of course he’s terrified you’ll abandon him again. It’s perfectly normal for him to be hostile toward your fiancé. If you don’t want Caleb to have another breakdown, you need to remove the source of his insecurity.” Aria’s voice was sharp with warning. “That’s enough. Don’t talk nonsense.” So. They had been in contact for a year. No wonder she was so practiced at handling him. The irony was suffocating. All those “monthly business trips” she’d told me about… My complete and total trust in her was now a cruel joke. Because of today’s incident, she had even hired bodyguards for Caleb. That evening, Aria picked me up so I could pack some of my things. She stared at my red-rimmed eyes, her voice soft and cautious. “Ethan… would you be willing to move out for a little while?” She showed me her phone. She had already booked our appointment to register the marriage. I nodded, turned off my screen, and closed my burning eyes. When we got back to the house, there was a puppy in the backyard. The engagement ring Aria had worn was now hanging from its collar. The reason? Caleb was afraid the puppy would get lost, and the unique ring would make a perfect dog tag. I calmly slipped my matching ring from my finger and dropped it into my pocket. Then, I opened my phone and accepted a friend request I had been ignoring. A message came through immediately. [Don’t worry. All the years of support Mr. Kensington has given the Monroe family will not be in vain.] Attached was a wedding plan, updated annually to reflect my changing tastes. In the past, my father had always declined it on my behalf. This time, I replied with a single word. [Approved.] … Two days later, a message from Aria popped up. [I thought we agreed to get our marriage license today? Ethan, why didn’t you show up?] I was busy with work transitions and ignored her calls. A few hours later, she sent me the address of a remote, no-name hotel. [Is this about the wedding? Fine. I’ll give you a wedding.] [Stop throwing a tantrum. We’ve been together for nearly ten years. Don’t let a small thing like this…] Someone leaked a screenshot of the cheap, thrown-together venue to our friends’ group chat, along with the fact that Aria had only invited a handful of people and begged them to keep it a secret. The same friends who had once envied our love story were now openly and privately mocking me. Our ten years, it seemed, couldn’t compete with Caleb’s ten-year-old mind. The messages in the group chat kept coming. I paused, typed out a short reply, and hit send. [Wedding’s off. We broke up.]

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