Author: Momo Chan

It was a terrible day. I drove to a quiet, old cemetery and chose a headstone that looked appropriately tragic. I sat on the grass, hugged the cool marble, and just let myself dissolve into tears. Turns out, the grave belonged to a trust fund playboy. His mother, Mrs. Worthington, saw the genuine desperation in my breakdown. She approached, quiet as a ghost, and pressed a bank slip into my hand. Five million dollars. “Sweetheart, if you spend it, just ask your Aunt Clara for more.” (I was quickly given a new ‘aunt’.) “You’re not like those other vultures. I like spending money on you.” I hadn’t even figured out how to politely refuse the funds when Mrs. Worthington called. “Sweetheart, my son isn’t dead! You two can be reunited!” Good news: The playboy, Ryder Worthington, had been missing for a year and had total amnesia. He wouldn’t be able to call me out. Bad news: I actually knew him. After all, I’d spent three years dating his uncle. 1 The crowd had barely dispersed before I cornered Ryder in his family’s opulent sitting room. “I need to be honest with you,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m not your girlfriend.” He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of obvious relief. “Well, that explains it.” “I was just… crying at your gravestone. Your mother mistook me for someone who actually cared.” “I knew it,” he said, leaning back. “I mean, I just didn’t think I’d ever date someone like you.” He immediately sensed the faux pas. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not saying you’re unattractive. You’re actually beautiful, in a… very clean-cut, innocent way. Just not my usual flavor.” He flipped through a checkbook with a casual air. “Let’s be frank. How much do you want to walk away?” He glanced up. “I heard my mother offered you five million. The fact that you haven’t touched a cent—is that a sign you think you deserve more? Don’t get greedy, sweet thing.” I knew this type of man. They were conditioned to believe every problem, including a person’s dignity, could be solved with cash. Still, his bluntness hurt. Ryder had a reputation. His temporary partners were all glamorous, high-maintenance beauties. He’d tired of yacht parties and street races, so he’d gone exploring in a foreign rainforest and suffered an accident. They hadn’t found him for six months, so the Worthington family had given up and held a funeral, burying an empty casket. Now that he was back, safe and sound, the entire family was thrilled. They’d all cooed over me. “Audrey, we were so worried after seeing how distraught you were at the cemetery. You two must promise to never be separated again.” They all believed I was his dedicated, secret girlfriend, so heartbroken I could only hold his tombstone and cry. But I wasn’t. I was just having a bad day and picked a random tombstone. Bad luck chose Ryder Worthington’s. Worse luck, his mother showed up to mourn that very day. I was finishing up my crying jag when she embraced me. “Sweetheart, I’m so moved you haven’t forgotten him.” She patted my back. “It’s okay. Ryder may be gone, but I’ll take care of you.” The entire thing was a colossal misunderstanding. Maybe I should have just taken the money and left. I held out a trembling hand. “Five hundred dollars?” I asked sheepishly. “I had to take the day off work. Call it compensation for lost wages.” Ryder’s face broke into a smirk, though he fought to contain his laughter. “Audrey, is it? You clearly don’t know who I am. My gifts start in the six figures.” I gave a weak, awkward smile. “I wasn’t actually dating you, so no need for you to break the bank.” He agreed readily enough. But as he went to transfer the money, his expression shifted. He glanced nervously at me, turned his back, and pulled out his phone. “Mom, why did you freeze my credit cards?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. His mother’s reply was a roar I could practically feel vibrating through the room. “Why do you think, you idiot? The minute you disappeared, every one of those tramps vanished. Only Audrey remembered you!” Ryder was speechless. “She’s a rare, good girl,” Mrs. Worthington continued. “You are not going to break her heart. If you want to spend money, you use Audrey’s card. I’ve raised her limit to ten million.” Ryder hung up, turning back to me, his tone suddenly laced with an oddly appealing, boyish plea. “How about we fake it for three months?” he suggested. “You can’t just stand there and let me become a pauper.” 2 Ryder Worthington was undeniably beautiful. His features were perfectly sculpted, not a flaw to be found. His eyes, though sharp, carried a constant air of casual indifference. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he saw right through everyone. But when he did smile, there was a fleeting resemblance to someone I used to know. I quickly looked away. “Mr. Worthington, I truly don’t want to cause you trouble, but I have a genuinely unavoidable situation that prevents me from cooperating…” He cut me off, resolute. I wrestled with the decision. Money? Or dignity? I chose the former. “If I absolutely have to play your girlfriend, can we keep it strictly between you and your mother? And when we break up, it’s going to be entirely my fault.” The deal was sealed. Ryder promised I would only ever meet his mother and no one else in the family. He was totally unreliable. On the third day of being his fake girlfriend, he took me to a high-end department store. He pointed his finger at a display case. “That one, that one, and that one. Box them all up. Three of each.” I was astonished. Ryder explained, completely unconcerned. “Can’t be helped. If I shortchange any of them, they’ll raise hell.” I nodded knowingly, then swiped the credit card. Watching nearly a million dollars vanish in a single transaction left me reeling. A smooth, familiar voice spoke from right behind me. “Feeling better? What are you doing out already?” My body went instantly rigid. I fought the urge to turn, but Ryder clamped onto my wrist. He smiled playfully at me. “Come on, say hello to Little Uncle.” I heard a tremor in my own voice as I uttered the single word, my mind blank. “Alistair.” Seven years had passed, but Alistair Worthington’s face was almost unchanged. Still defined by elegant, clean lines, deep-set eyes, and a shade of black so intense it seemed to swallow the light. His gaze swept over my face, lingering for only a second. But his expression was perfectly neutral, as if he didn’t recognize me at all. I shrank back into a corner of the velvet sofa, watching the two of them converse easily. When Alistair had walked past me, I’d caught the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood. The same cologne he always wore. A wave of dizziness washed over me. After all these years, how was it possible that I still remembered such a minute detail? Human memory was a terrifying, vicious thing. It was like the storm I’d been waiting for had finally arrived, but I’d forgotten my umbrella. I stood there, feeling exposed and weak, yet there was a strange, grim relief. The storm had finally broken. Alistair’s eyes fell upon the mound of designer boxes piled on the counter. “Why so much?” Ryder didn’t hide anything. “You know how they are. They love to compete with each other.” Alistair looked at his nephew with a familiar, weary patience. He cleared his throat and asked, as if simply making conversation, “Audrey… is she okay with this?” 3 Ryder hadn’t actually introduced me by name. But Alistair had said it, and Ryder didn’t even notice. Ryder clapped me lightly on the shoulder. He grinned at his uncle. “Don’t worry. She’s very obedient.” Alistair finally looked at me. His gaze was intense, almost burning. “Audrey, are you ‘obedient’?” Caught completely off guard by Alistair’s sudden focus, my mind went blank. I could only offer a mumbled response. “Yes. I have no objections.” The atmosphere suddenly felt suffocating. Ryder seemed to sense a shift but couldn’t place the cause. He scratched his head, then picked up one of the handbags and handed it to Alistair. “Little Uncle, they said this is a limited edition. Only three in the country. Take it for your girlfriend.” Alistair raised a single, questioning eyebrow. “My girlfriend?” Ryder blinked, confused. “Didn’t Mom tell me? You and your girlfriend are getting officially engaged next month.” So, Alistair had a fiancée. A sharp, momentary pang of bitterness struck me, then immediately flattened out. Hiding behind Ryder, I watched Alistair turn and walk away. I thought, Seven years, and neither of us stayed still. That’s good. After we finished with the shopping, Ryder was supposed to take me to dinner, but his phone rang. A syrupy, feminine voice called out, “Babe!” He broke into a look of indulgent affection. As he was leaving, he checked with me. “I’m not dropping you off, Audrey. You can get home on your own, right?” “Of course,” I said. But it was rush hour. Ride-share apps were slow to assign a driver. I stood outside the mall for a while. The cold wind bit through my thin coat, and I shivered. My phone chimed unexpectedly. A message from an unknown number: “Get in the car.” I looked up and saw a black Roll-Royce Cullinan parked nearby. The window rolled down slowly. Moonlight traced the sharp lines of Alistair Worthington’s face, his eyelashes casting a shallow shadow. My composure shattered. My phone buzzed again. “Don’t make me wait.” When I still didn’t move, the phone rang. His voice, when he spoke, was impossible to read. “Do you really want me to wait? Or is it that you’re scared of me, Audrey?” Then, the final blow. “You weren’t so cowardly when you dumped me seven years ago.”

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The college reunion was the last place I expected to see him. Rhys Beaumont, my ex-husband, a man I hadn’t spoken to in three years. One of our mutual high school friends didn’t hesitate to launch the first volley of mockery. “Willow, this is a university alumni event,” Amber sneered, tossing back her blonde waves. “Didn’t you only go to, like, a local state college? Don’t you think you’re reaching a bit?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that carried perfectly. “Honestly, girl, have some dignity. Rhys got married—are you really still chasing him?” I held my gaze steady and offered a level statement. “I’m here to pick up my husband.” Rhys looked up from across the room, his expression caught somewhere between pity and discomfort. He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low. “Willa, we haven’t been married in three years.” I knew that, of course. And I hadn’t actually said I was here to pick him up. 1 “Pathetic. Still trying to ride on his success even after the divorce.” Dustin Cole lit a cigarette, his eyes scanning me with casual contempt. “First time I’ve seen someone actively audition for the role of the side chick.” Dustin used to be Rhys’s best friend and, once, the second best person in my world. We were a trio in high school. But when my marriage with Rhys imploded, he’d sided with Rhys instantly. Why? Because the woman Rhys eventually cheated with—the woman Rhys eventually married—was the girl Dustin had always secretly loved. And Dustin, it turned out, had spent months helping Rhys keep their affair a secret. I’d been the only fool, blind and happily clueless until the very end. “Dustin, enough,” Rhys cut in sharply, his lips pressed into a thin line. Dustin bristled, flicking the cigarette butt away impatiently. “What? I’m just speaking the truth. A clueless mess like Willa could never compare to someone like Verity Shaw. She’s brilliant, sophisticated, everything you deserve. You let this idiot drag you down for years.” Rhys met my gaze, his voice firm, “Willa isn’t dumb.” Willa isn’t dumb. Coming from the mouth of Rhys Beaumont—the certified genius, the Ivy League grad, the tech mogul—it sounded almost ridiculous. A patronizing relic of a forgotten time. But sixteen-year-old me, the naive girl I once was, had believed it wholeheartedly. My mother and Rhys’s father formed a new family the summer I finished middle school. Rhys and I were the same age and ended up at the same ordinary high school. We even shared a homeroom. He was dead last in class rankings; I was firmly in the middle. Rhys hated me. He never spoke to me. I constantly saw him in trouble for fighting, followed by the inevitable disciplinary action. Then, it would be my mother’s turn to arrive at the principal’s office, head bowed, quietly accepting the humiliating lecture. One night, I went to the kitchen for water and saw her sitting alone on the sofa, silently weeping. “Willa,” she whispered, her voice laced with despair. “How can I make Rhys accept me?” I didn’t know. All I knew was that after that night, the tentative truce between Rhys and me broke. Our relationship became a series of petty wars. I’d spike his juice with mustard, dump dirty water in his backpack, or slip laxatives into his lunch. Rhys had finally cornered me, his jaw clenched with fury. “What else you got? Listen up, Willa, if you don’t manage to kill me, I swear I will make your mother’s life a living hell!” We went on like that for nearly a year, locked in a toxic, bitter stalemate. I honestly thought I would hate Rhys Beaumont for the rest of my life. Yet somehow, he eventually became the only person in the world who truly loved me. 2 Our endless feud came to a violent stop after a single, defining night of trauma. Rhys’s father beat my mother so badly she ended up in the emergency room. As the paramedics wheeled her onto the gurney, his father was still shouting vile accusations. “I chased you for a year! All you are is a pretty face, completely useless, zero ambition, zero capability!” My mother was nearly forty, and she had spent the first half of her life pampered and protected by my own father. She was indeed, as he screamed, unskilled in the ways of the world. Rhys’s cold, arrogant expression shattered the moment he heard those words. He stared at me in shock, muttering under his breath, “It wasn’t your mom… she didn’t chase my dad…” Rhys had always hated my mother, convinced she was the aggressive interloper who broke up his original family and caused his own mother to leave. But it didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother either. I went to the hospital with a bouquet of the white lilies my mother loved most, only to find out she had run. She hadn’t taken a single belonging. And she hadn’t taken me. Willa Reid had no home. I didn’t know where to go. Wandering aimlessly on the street late that night, I was found by Rhys. His eyes were red-rimmed, full of a fierce, silent anger. I was so afraid he was going to hit me that I immediately curled into myself. In my fear, his arms wrapped around me in a warm, solid hug. For the first time, he spoke to me with genuine tenderness. “Willa, come home with me.” “From now on, I’m your whole world.” I reached for the hand he offered and gripped it tightly. And so, from the age of sixteen, Willa Reid’s world contained only Rhys Beaumont. 3 After my mother left, Rhys’s father’s temper became more erratic and violent. Fearing for my safety, Rhys took me and we moved out. Our lives continued, but the dynamic had fundamentally changed. I stopped acting out, and the severity in Rhys’s eyes softened. He began spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You never liked books or classes before.” He looked at me, his gaze intensely serious. Finally, he gave my cheek a gentle, helpless squeeze. “Willa, I want to give you a better life.” I watched the flush creep up his neck and color the tips of his ears, and I nodded resolutely. Willa would never hold Rhys back. I threw myself into studying with a newfound fervor. But while Rhys climbed from dead last to the top of the class, ultimately becoming the state’s top scorer, I was still stuck stubbornly in the middle. Rhys tutored me until midnight. I would stare at the calculus problems and just shake my head. He’d sigh. “Willa, you really are such a fool.” “But,” he’d add, his tone softening as he kissed my forehead, “I love that sweet, clumsy way you are. You’re adorable.” As sleep overwhelmed me, the pen slipped from my exhausted fingers. I remember mumbling, half-awake: “Rhys, can you slow down? I’m going to lose you.” Rhys had replied that I never had to chase him; he would wait for me forever. He didn’t. Later, that sweet, clumsy way I was became the very thing he grew to despise. 4 “See? I told you she was dumb. You practically killed yourself tutoring her, and she still only managed to get into a pathetic local college, didn’t she?” Dustin played with his zippo lighter, seizing the opportunity to jump back into the conversation. I glanced around the room, trying to spot my actual husband, Ethan Wells. Ethan did attend this university, but he was in a different, non-academic college. He shouldn’t be here. I figured he must have sent me the wrong address. I couldn’t be bothered to prolong the argument over old history. “My apologies for the intrusion,” I said, and turned to leave. I’d texted Ethan, but he hadn’t replied, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I decided to head home. Just as I reached the car, a hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Sweetheart, please forgive me.” Rhys lowered his eyes. His expression held an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. Sweetheart. That familiar, infuriating nickname. It used to make me blush, a fun, flirtatious jab between us. But later, that simple, intimate greeting became the signal that sent my life spiraling into ruin. “Rhys,” I yanked my hand free, my face an impassive mask. “Are you acting? Because I’m not playing this game anymore.” The tension was cut by a light, contemptuous chuckle. “Willa. Fancy seeing you here.” Verity Shaw clicked her heels as she approached, as arrogant and haughty as she always was. In the past, I would have been instantly intimidated by her sheer presence. I would have felt a surge of admiration, maybe even an uncomfortable rush of inadequacy. But after the years of mental anguish and emotional turmoil, all that history had settled into a hard, cold, unremarkable calm. “Willa, why don’t you just come home with Rhys and me?” Verity suggested, her smile condescending. “Your mother misses you very much, you know.” I couldn’t believe how easy it was to say, three years later. “I don’t have a mother.” My brother. My mother. They all chose Verity Shaw. And I had chosen to let them go. Verity grasped my wrist, then nonchalantly shifted her pose, ensuring I couldn’t miss the thick, vintage gold bangle she wore. It was Rhys’s mother’s heirloom. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. And ten years was the exact length of my relationship with Rhys. 5 Dustin was right: I was truly a fool. Despite Rhys’s superhuman effort to tutor me, I barely scraped by with acceptance to a state college. Rhys, on the other hand, was the state’s top scorer and went on to the Ivy League—a star at Columbia. We both stayed in the NYC area, not terribly far apart. Though we couldn’t be together all the time, our days were sweet, close, and blissful. It was the simplest kind of happiness, and a memory I would cherish forever. Rhys was handsome, brilliant, and constantly pursued. But he always gave me all the reassurance I needed. I would often visit him at Columbia. He was so famous on campus that every little rumor about him would spread like wildfire. Soon, comments started popping up on the forums: She doesn’t deserve him. No talent, no connections, just a face. The idiot shouldn’t even look at the great Rhys Beaumont. Rhys had already made our relationship official. These posts enraged him. He said they didn’t know the real me. So, on one of his final Political Science exams—a course where he was already a borderline genius—he changed every instance of the word “Materialism” to “Willa-ism.” He nearly flunked the course and was publicly reprimanded by the department for being “too obsessed.” The incident became an infamous campus legend. Rhys was so terrified of anyone not knowing I was his girlfriend. And yet, when it came time for us to finally get married, he said, “Willa, let’s keep this a secret for now. Let’s elope.” “Just wait a few more years,” he’d pleaded. “I’ll get to the top, and then I’ll give you the grand, public wedding you deserve.” I agreed. Four years into our marriage, Rhys was a wildly successful industry leader. I never got the grand, heartfelt wedding I’d been promised. What I got instead was his infidelity. 6 On our fourth wedding anniversary, Rhys threw a massive fit. Why? Because I had supposedly lost the heirloom bangle he’d given me. He was furious, slamming the door and storming out of the house. It was the first time he had ever spoken to me with genuine malice. It was pouring rain that night. I searched everywhere we’d been. Then, I remembered the small apartment we’d shared in high school. Rhys had bought it and kept it. The walls were covered with thousands of photos of us from those early years. The instant I pushed the door open, I saw it. Rhys had another woman pinned beneath him, their bodies colliding with brutal, desperate intensity. I knew her. Verity Shaw. Rhys had mentioned her, but only sparingly. He first told me her father had shoved her onto his team and that she was probably going to be a nuisance. Later, he said Verity was brilliant, hyper-competent, and a certified genius. It was around that time that Rhys began to feel that I was the slow, difficult one. Our shared interests dwindled. Rhys’s standard reply became: “Can you stop asking? You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it.” “Willa, you’re just so slow.” But I genuinely felt happy that he had found a partner who finally matched his intellect. Now, Verity was wearing the heirloom bangle, her eyes full of cold triumph. I had been wracked with guilt, searching frantically like a desperate dog for a thing I thought I’d lost. But I hadn’t lost it. Rhys had simply given it away. She stood up slowly, leaning into Rhys’s side, and spoke with deliberate cruelty. “What are you so shocked about?” “We’ve done it in your bed in the city, in your shower, in front of your floor-to-ceiling windows. We just wanted to try the very first place you two ever did it.” A ringing deafness overtook my ears. All the strength drained from my body. Acting purely on instinct, I grabbed the photo frame from the nearby table and hurled it. Rhys immediately shielded her, his eyes blazing red. “Willa, are you insane?!” The man who had promised to be my whole world brutally shoved me to the floor. My hand landed on the shattered glass. The photo—our very first picture together, the one where he had me wrapped in his arms, showing me off proudly—was now in pieces. And the eyes of the man above me held nothing but cold annoyance. Before I could process the pain, another bomb dropped, shattering what little composure I had left. “Willa, stop your childish drama! You’re being suffocating—no wonder your mother abandoned you!” My mother. She had remarried. She had married Verity Shaw’s father and had spent the last ten years doting on Verity, showering her with the love I had always longed for. My decade of hopeful fantasy turned into a nightmare in a single, devastating moment. Rhys later demanded a divorce. I fought him, determined not to give them the satisfaction. But I was fighting a losing battle. Everyone I loved, everyone I trusted, had switched sides. My husband. My best friend. And my mother. 7 Rhys locked me in our penthouse in the city. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his resentment and fury. “I won’t sign the papers. You want to marry her? In your dreams.” At the time, the marriage certificate was the only card I had left. I was desperate, stubborn, and acting like a lunatic. A week later, a heavily pixelated video surfaced. The audio, however, was chillingly clear. “Big Brother, I love you, but please save some love for Willa.” That was a clip from a private video he’d insisted we shoot when he was traveling. He’d said he needed a ‘consolation’ when I wasn’t physically there. Rhys was always intensely private and formal, so his request for the video had both stunned and embarrassed me. Rhys and Verity knew how to manipulate the narrative. That single, out-of-context line—“Big Brother…”—was enough to launch a massive social media scandal. The final touches of the disaster were added by my own flesh and blood and my supposed best friend. My mother publicly claimed I was incestuous, that I had seduced Rhys and forced her out of her home. Dustin claimed Rhys only ever treated me like a little sister, that I was an ungrateful person who wormed my way into his bed, forcing him to marry me out of misplaced obligation. But the final, crushing blow came from Rhys himself. I lay on the bed, numbly watching my family and friends’ accusations spread online, when Verity came to see me. She told me that she had confessed her feelings to Rhys back in college. Rhys had turned her down.

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Willow and Ezra had loved each other for a lifetime, only to be reborn together into the 1980s. To claim our destiny again, I waited two full years in the same community center social where we first met. Watching him walk toward me with that familiar, determined stride, my heart swelled with joy. I reached out my hand, ready to start our new life. But his steps carried him past me, stopping instead in front of Savannah Reed, the Director’s daughter. “May I have this dance?” It turned out he wanted to change partners. 1 “Willow, you’ve looked toward that door at least ten times. Who are you waiting for? So many handsome guys here, and you haven’t spared a glance for any of them?” I ignored Savannah’s chatter, my eyes fixed on the entrance. I had been reborn, and tonight was the night I first met my husband, Ezra Thorne. In our previous life, Ezra and I were the couple everyone pointed to. We started from nothing, building a life and a business over sixty years. We were poor, we fought, we struggled, we cried, we made up, and we complained—but we never once mentioned splitting up. In our toughest times, we shared a single roll, huddling together for warmth. After we made our fortune and moved into a house, we still supported our friends and family. We walked through life hand-in-hand, the enviable model couple. On his deathbed, I asked him: “If you could be reborn, would you still ask me to dance that night?” He kissed me without hesitation, and I ended that life with a smile. So in this life, I refused every man who showed interest, no matter how capable or handsome he was. I was waiting for Ezra Thorne. I was going to be his wife again. I avoided every social mixer at Talon Textiles & Design. I told my frantic parents I had a soulmate, and he would arrive at our company on this exact date next year. My parents thought I was losing my mind. I waited year after year. Ezra, who should have joined the company in 1986, finally showed up in 1988. It was then I learned he had spent two years in the military. Ezra had always lamented his biggest regret was never having served, yet here he was, having deliberately chosen two years in the armed forces. A guess formed in my mind: Had he been reborn too? When I heard Ezra was attending the social mixer, my excitement was uncontrollable. I was the first to sign up. Even two years late, I wore the same polka-dot red dress and had my hair styled just like the night we met. I turned down every invitation, sitting in the waiting area, staring intently at the door. Tonight, I would officially greet him. “That’s the new tech specialist at the plant.” “And I heard he just got back from the military—you can tell. The whole vibe is different.” Savannah nudged my arm, pointing toward the main entrance. That familiar silhouette entered my field of vision. The thumping music of the dance floor seemed to slow to 0.5 speed. His close-cropped hair, the sharp lines of his jaw—he scanned the room as if searching. The moment his eyes met mine, he gave a shy smile, revealing his signature dimple. He walked through the crowd, straight toward me, just like the last time. Twenty-four-year-old Ezra Thorne still made my heart race. I took a deep breath. My heart hammered faster as he approached. I raised my arm, ready to receive the happiness of this second life. My hand froze mid-air. He stepped past me, stopping in front of Savannah Reed, who was sitting just behind me. “Hello, miss. May I have this dance?” Savannah looked flustered, her face immediately flushing crimson. Colleagues around us started to cheer and egg her on. “Ezra’s the new guy, Savannah! Don’t crush his confidence!” “Yeah, go on! Just one dance!” Unable to refuse, Savannah placed her hand in his. Ezra took her hand, and they walked onto the dance floor. The crowd erupted in cheers. I sat there dumbfounded, the loud music now a meaningless buzz. Ezra didn’t spare me a second glance. He walked straight past me, his steps unwavering, toward Savannah. Had he wanted to ask Savannah to dance, even back then? I fled the venue. Rain poured down, and memories of the previous life flooded back. Last time, Savannah had invited me to the social. She had styled me from head to toe. The red polka-dot dress was one she often wore. The curls were a look she had copied from an old movie star. We were similar in height and build. When we were dressed up, standing next to Savannah, I looked a bit like her twin. I couldn’t dance, so I only dared to sit in the corner. Ezra had approached, lowering his gaze, and asked me in front of everyone: “Hello, miss. May I have this dance?” The stage lights were dim. He didn’t dare look up. Seeing my delay, he gathered his courage and added: “I’ve liked you for a long time. Please, dance with me!” That was the first time I had ever truly heard my own heartbeat. I’d silently been in love with Ezra for ages. Suddenly confessed to by the object of my affection, I panicked. My mind blank, I woodenly extended my hand and managed to reply, “I like you too.” The colleagues around us cheered. It was only then that Ezra looked up and our eyes met. At the time, I couldn’t read the shock in Ezra’s eyes. I thought it was surprise. After that one dance, I grew bolder and sought him out. Ezra never rejected me. The people at the plant quickly assumed we were a couple. Marriage and children followed, as if by simple momentum. Even though he was distant, I always believed he was just a naturally reserved man. But now, remembering the burning intensity of his gaze as he looked at Savannah in the dance hall— The truth hit me. Ezra had been aiming for Savannah all along. I remembered Savannah saying she had a soft spot for military men. That’s why he joined the military first thing in this life. His supposed regret from the past life was a direct reference to Savannah. Ezra’s purpose in being reborn was as clear as mine. Only our targets had changed. I went home, sick from the rain. My parents worried outside my door for days. Once I recovered, I said with chilling composure, “Mom, Dad, I’m ready to start dating.” In this life, Ezra seemed like a completely different person. The man from the past life was cautious and would consider every move carefully. But the man now practically moved his desk next to Savannah’s. It was as if he wanted everyone at Talon to know he was obsessed with Savannah. His aggression and passion were things I’d never seen. In the old days, if I got too close to him at work, he’d avoid me. “We’re in the same unit. People will talk.” I don’t know what ‘gossip’ he was afraid of then, but now, he’d been warned repeatedly by the Director and still hadn’t stopped pursuing Savannah. Savannah, my best friend, couldn’t stop venting to me about Ezra. “He’s so annoying! Ezra Thorne is like glue, everywhere I go, he’s there!” “You don’t like him? I noticed you kept the gifts and went to the movie he paid for.” “Keeping a gift means I have to date him? I get gifts from guys all the time.” Savannah had many suitors. Ezra, even with two years in the military, wasn’t particularly outstanding otherwise. Savannah shared the imported chocolate Ezra bought her with everyone. A pang of envy struck me as I looked at the piece in my hand. When I was pregnant in the last life, I desperately wanted a sweet piece of chocolate. But he said we were starting a business, and every penny had to be spent wisely. With a baby on the way, money was tight. No matter what I wanted, he always had a thousand reasons why not. Now, if Savannah just mentioned wanting some, he’d buy her so many boxes she couldn’t finish them. Love and disinterest were always obvious. It was just my own delusion that made me blind to it. Later, feeling a bit low on sugar at my desk, I unwrapped the chocolate Savannah gave me. “How could you eat that?” This was the first time Ezra had spoken to me since his rebirth. But his next action was to slap the chocolate out of my hand. “That’s for Savannah! Where did you steal that from?” The word “steal” chilled me to the bone. That was his opinion of me: a thief. “What is wrong with you! I gave that to Willow!” Savannah stepped in instantly to protect me. Ezra gave an awkward half-smile. “Oh, right. My bad.” He turned to Savannah, his tone shifting to pleading. “Savannah, that chocolate was expensive. It cost half my paycheck. You should really keep it for yourself.” “I’ll give it to whoever I want! It’s none of your business! Come on, Will, I’ll take you out to eat.” When Ezra had said “steal,” his eyes looked at me like I was a complete stranger. He never once considered that I might have been reborn, too. After all, we had been together for sixty years, started a business, built a home, and raised children. Even without love, surely there was family affection. His cold tone was laced with resentment. He was terrified of having any connection to me, even through a gift he had given to someone else. “So, Savannah, when are you going to make things official with Ezra?” Savannah sighed, pushing some mashed potatoes onto my plate. “His background is just too rough. Besides the military thing, nothing about him excites me. I’m still thinking about it.” Despite her words, within two months, the news of Ezra and Savannah’s relationship was all over the plant. Many speculated that Ezra was chasing Savannah because she was the Director’s daughter—a classic opportunist looking for an easy climb. But to prove his ‘true love,’ Ezra got Savannah’s face tattooed on his arm. In the last life, when our son tattooed a photo of me and Ezra on his arm, Ezra had shamed him relentlessly. I never imagined he’d use that same move to woo Savannah. Savannah’s parents hated the tattoo and Ezra’s perceived opportunism. They demanded they break up immediately. But with young people, the more you push, the tighter they cling. To show he wasn’t a gold-digger, Ezra swore he would buy Savannah the first fully paid-off condo in the city by next month. Listening to the gossip, a thought struck me: Ezra, from a poor background, where would he get the money to buy a house, let alone next month? Wait. Oh, hell. I suddenly remembered that next month, the city was hosting the first-ever National Bridal Design Competition. Last life, I entered a sketch just to try. My design won the gold medal and was bought by an industry insider for an astronomical fifty thousand dollars. In the 1980s, that fifty thousand became the seed capital for Ezra and my business. My brain spun. Last life, I only submitted the drawing. If I could actually sew the dress, I could get a lot more. I worked overtime for over a month. When I arrived at the competition venue, I heard waves of praise. “Who designed this? It’s practically art!” “This level is world-class!” “I totally underestimated Ezra Thorne! That heavy beadwork is simply divine.” … The applause was non-stop. I looked toward the cluster of people. A gown identical to my past life’s design was on a model. The elaborate beadwork, the jewelry choice, the lace pattern—everything was exactly the same. The only difference: the design was credited to Ezra Thorne. I had forgotten. In the previous life, he had seen that winning design hundreds of times and used it as the corporate showpiece for our company. I met Ezra’s eyes. I didn’t need to ask for an explanation, but his eyes were filled with provocation. He turned to the crowd of contestants and declared: “Competitions should be about sincerity. If you only bring a sketch, maybe don’t bother showing up!” “My finished work has been in process for over a month. Every stitch is my own blood, sweat, and tears!” He was certain I had only brought the sketch, just as I had the last time. The onlookers praised his dedication. The few who had only brought sketches lowered their heads in shame. My mother, who had come to help me, saw Ezra’s work and panicked. “Honey, how is his design exactly the same as yours?” Ezra and the people nearby overheard Mom’s words. A moment of silence passed. Ezra pounced as if he’d caught me red-handed. “Willow Sterling! We’re from the same firm. Were you spying on me while I was designing?!” “This is a competition! Are we really going to have plagiarism in the first year?” Ezra’s prepared accusations hit like a barrage. My mother, furious, opened my garment bag to argue with him. “This is what my daughter worked on for a month at home! Who copied who?” My gown was finished just this morning. The tailor’s basting stitches hadn’t been pulled out, and some threads weren’t trimmed. That made my alleged “copying” even more convincing. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, and people started demanding I be disqualified. Even Savannah, standing next to Ezra, looked at me like I was a thief. If I hadn’t lived a whole life before and seen every scenario, I would have fled right then. I was unperturbed, my expression calm. I registered, I filled out the forms. Seeing my attitude, Ezra adopted a posture of phony magnanimity. “Look, let’s go easy on her. I’m sure Willow was just blinded by ambition. We’re colleagues, so let’s have some mercy.” “Designs can be similar. I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose this time.” He was playing both the good guy and the victim. People’s goodwill toward him increased. “For the sake of fairness, Willow, your entry isn’t quite finished, and it’s a collision with mine. You really shouldn’t compete. You’ll only embarrass yourself.” I smiled. “Ezra, I never said this was my entry.”

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1 Four years after I left Matt, I flew back home for a reunion. It was snowing that day, the kind of thick, wet flakes that snarl traffic into a standstill. I was late. The moment I pushed through the door of the private room, someone called out with a laugh, “Look at you two, still playing games. What’s this new thing? Arriving separately to build suspense?” Every head turned, their gazes bouncing between me and him. Matt froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. I just smiled and found an empty seat, my movements calm. “Alright, Joyce, you know the rules,” one of our old friends chimed in, sliding a tray of shots toward me. “Latecomers owe us three.” Matt seemed to start to rise, as if to intervene, but I smoothly intercepted the glass and downed it in one clean swallow. “I’ll owe you the other two,” I said, setting the empty shot glass down with a soft click. “My husband will be here to pick me up soon, and he already thinks I’m a lush.” The hand he’d half-raised froze in mid-air before falling limply to his side. … A sudden, ringing silence descended on the table. The atmosphere hung thick and awkward for a few beats before someone finally broke it. “Oh, right! Haha, no problem. A family man, we get it, we get it.” “Yeah, totally understand. Just good to see you, man.” As if by silent agreement, no one mentioned the little slip-up again, the conversation quickly steering into safer waters. “So, Mr. Grey, you’ve really made it big. Don’t you forget about us little guys, okay?” “Seriously, man. You started out in pre-med, then jumped into tech and crushed it. That’s insane.” The praise for him was thick in the air, a mix of awe and genuine admiration. “Hey, I saw you in a tabloid the other day with some actress on your arm. So, you’re really playing the field now, huh?” A tight, humorless smile tugged at Matt’s lips. “Don’t believe everything you read. We’re just business partners.” As he spoke, his eyes slid sideways, landing on me. I kept my expression neutral, reaching for a cocktail on the table. But he was faster, leaning over to pass it to me himself. “Thanks.” His gaze was fixed on my hands as I expertly garnished the drink, a motion I’d perfected over the years. His throat seemed to tighten. “Joyce… when did you learn to do all this?” I took a sip, the cool liquid a welcome sensation. “I’m not obligated to tell you,” I said, my tone light but firm. In his memory, I was the girl who’d choke and turn beet-red after a single sip of beer. He didn’t know about the nights when my heart felt like it was being physically torn from my chest, when alcohol was the only anesthetic that worked. The nights I’d vomit until my limbs were weak and my mind was blessedly, temporarily, blank. But that wasn’t me anymore. Tonight, I was just happy to be with old friends. He looked stunned for a moment, then, in a clumsy attempt to please, he started picking the cherry tomatoes out of the fruit platter. “Here,” he said, offering them to me. “Your favorite.” “No, thanks. I got tired of them ages ago.” He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, Maya came over. “Joyce, can I talk to you for a sec? In private.” She was my college roommate, my best friend. After graduation, she’d left for a three-year humanitarian mission in South America, and to make a clean break, I’d cut off contact with nearly everyone, including her. I stood, and Matt’s eyes followed me all the way to the door. I didn’t look back. “Joyce, are you guys fighting?” Maya asked as soon as we were in the quiet of the hallway. “Nope,” I said with a small smile. “We’re divorced.” I used to think that if anyone brought him up after four years, I’d unleash a torrent of rage. But I was fine. My heart was a still lake. No ripples of grief, no waves of joy. “But…” she began, choosing her words carefully. “You two were so deeply in love. You were inseparable. How could you just… end it?” She was right. We’d been together for seven years, the couple everyone pointed to as proof that true love existed. He had been woven into the fabric of the brightest years of my life. How could I have borne to tear it all apart? It’s almost laughable now. Back then, I thought I couldn’t live without him. Even after he personally destroyed the one thing I cherished most, I still chose to forgive him. I wouldn’t have let go if I hadn’t been pushed to the absolute edge. I clung to the fantasy of our love until the very end. But now? The only thing I hoped for was to never cross paths with him again in this life. Meeting Maya’s questioning gaze, my mind drifted back, pulled into the current of a time I had tried so hard to forget. I slowly began to tell her the story. 2 The year I was a junior in high school, Matt and his mom moved into the house across the street. His mom, Helen, was always working, pulling double shifts at the hospital, which meant he was often home alone. My parents, bless their soft hearts, couldn’t stand the thought of it and started inviting him over for dinner. From then on, whenever Helen was home, a bag of fresh vegetables or fish would mysteriously appear hanging on our doorknob. And at our dinner table, the seat to my left was always reserved for him, a set of chopsticks and a bowl waiting. My parents, both professors, noticed his fascination with medicine and started borrowing books for him from the university library. I’d never met anyone who could speak about cellular biology with such passion. His enthusiasm was infectious. I started taking my own studies more seriously, inspired by his drive. Some afternoons, I’d be in the living room practicing my dance routines, and he’d be curled up by the window, lost in some dense medical textbook. Day by day, we grew closer, our lives intertwining seamlessly. When I went to New York for a summer dance intensive, he packed a bag without a word and came with me. “Mr. and Mrs. Davis, don’t you worry,” he promised my parents, his voice earnest. “I’ll take perfect care of Joyce.” And he did. He even followed me to the same university. My parents worried it would derail his own ambitions, urging him to follow his dreams. But his gaze was unwavering back then. “Westwood’s medical program is excellent, too,” he’d said. “And being with Joyce… that’s all I want.” Once we started college, he was terrified I’d skip meals. He’d wait for me outside the dance studio every morning with a thermos of hot coffee and a bagel. I just had to reach out, and something warm was always there, waiting in his hands. It didn’t take long for everyone to know him as my devoted boyfriend. They’d tell me how lucky I was. On days without classes, we’d walk across the campus green, his hand holding mine so tightly, his palm warm, the tips of his ears flushed red. I truly believed our life would just continue on like that, a sweet, simple melody. But life has a way of composing sharp, sudden discords. Helen, worn down by years of relentless work, was diagnosed with acute leukemia. The doctors said the first round of treatment alone would be nearly half a million dollars. Without a bone marrow match, it would be a bottomless pit of expenses. That night, I found him sitting on a curb, utterly lost, like his soul had been hollowed out. When my parents found out, they scraped together everything they had—three hundred thousand dollars—and transferred it to him that same night. “Matt, her health is what’s important,” my dad said. “Let us worry about the money.” When he saw the transfer notification, his hands trembled. He dropped to his knees right there in front of my parents, his voice choked with sobs. “This kindness… I’ll spend my entire life repaying it.” Not long after, he started walking me from class, and one day, there was a girl with a cherubic face trailing behind him. “Joyce, this is Lila. She twisted her ankle, so I was just helping her out.” She was sweet and bubbly, calling me “Joyce” with an easy familiarity. After that, Lila started seeking me out, asking for advice on her dance technique. I learned she was a freshman, two years behind me. Matt told me her life was tough, that her family demanded perfection in everything she did. I’ve always had a soft spot for younger students, so I shared my experience and tips freely. One day, she asked me out of the blue, “Joyce, do you think two people from totally different worlds, you know, financially, should even try to be together?” I didn’t think much of it. “Love can conquer anything,” I replied vaguely. She sent back a cute emoji of a bunny nodding enthusiastically. After that, whenever she saw me, she’d greet me warmly and recommend all these amazing restaurants for couples. I was so busy preparing for the state regionals that I never questioned it. I didn’t know that Matt had accepted her feelings for him long before. And all those restaurant recommendations? They were the places he had already taken her. The day before the competition, he gave me a gift—a pair of exquisitely crafted ballet slippers. A good luck charm. I trusted him completely. The moment I leaped into my first move, a rusted nail hidden inside the toe of the shoe pierced straight through my left foot. Blood bloomed across the satin. I lost my balance and fell, hard. And in that split second, as I lay crumpled on the stage, I looked out into the audience. I saw Matt, standing there silently. His fingers were laced with hers. Maya’s fists clenched, and she let out a sound of pure disgust. “We were there, in the audience. We all thought it was just a terrible accident.” “So it was all a setup by those two monsters!” She took my hand, her touch gentle, and sighed. “But Joyce… you knew. You knew he cheated on you, that he ruined your entire dance career.” “So why did you still marry him?” “Because,” I murmured, my lips barely moving, “his mother was dying.” 3 When they wheeled me out of surgery, Matt was sitting in the waiting area, rubbing his temples. I stared at the thick bandages swathing my foot, the doctor’s words echoing in my head. The nail wasn’t long, but it severed a nerve. You’ll likely never have full sensation in that spot again. I would never be able to dance on a stage again. Biting back tears, I looked at him and asked him why. Why was he with her? Why did he make that decision for me, stealing my chance to shine, without so much as a word? His expression was flat, detached. “I had no choice. Lila’s father was watching this competition very closely. If she didn’t place, he’d be furious with her.” “You’re her senior,” he continued, as if explaining something perfectly logical. “And you’re my girlfriend. It was only right that you help her.” “Dancing is just a hobby for you, Joyce. But it’s different for Lila. She carries the honor of the Vance family. She couldn’t afford to fail.” The way he said her name, “Lila,” over and over, sent a shard of ice through my heart. An eternity seemed to pass before I could force the words from my throat. “You’re both disgusting.” He was pouring a glass of water. He stopped, then deliberately, he flung the contents in my face. Cold water soaked the front of my shirt. I didn’t move. It was the first time he had ever shown me anger. And it was because I had insulted Lila. He never came back to the hospital after that. But the day before I was discharged, he appeared out of nowhere. “Joyce, I promised my mom I’d marry you after graduation.” “She’s not doing well. Let’s just… let’s get the license now. To give her one last wish.” He saw the hesitation in my eyes and, right then and there, deleted every trace of Lila from his phone. He swore to me it would never happen again. My resolve crumbled. I said yes. Deep down, I just couldn’t bear to let go of our seven years. After we were married, he switched careers to tech. It didn’t take long for him to find incredible success, but with every promotion, he grew more distant. He was always working late, always entertaining clients. He was rarely home. I took a quiet admin job at a large corporation, trying my best to leave the shadows of the past behind me. Sometimes, I’d see a dancer on TV, a flash of graceful movement, and the old ache would return, a dull throb in my chest. But then, a small miracle. I discovered something new to look forward to. On Matt’s birthday, I took the day off work, planning to surprise him. When I got to our apartment, the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and saw something I could never unsee. A woman was draped over him on the sofa, her soft moans filling the silent apartment. The voice belonged to Lila. A primal rage took over. I stormed in and slapped her across the face, the sound cracking through the air. The next second, a foot connected with my stomach, and Matt sent me flying. I stumbled backward, the sharp corner of the coffee table digging into my spine. A violent cramp seized my lower abdomen. A warm wetness spread between my legs. I saw the blood. Trembling, I reached a hand out to him. “Matt… the hospital. Get me to a hospital…” He stood over me, his eyes as cold and remote as they were that day in the hospital. “Why would you hit me, Joyce?” Lila sobbed, clutching his arm, her face buried in his sleeve. “Is it a crime to love someone?” “We were trying so hard to stay away from you,” she whimpered. “But you just had to come home at this exact moment.” He gently cupped her face, his voice a soft murmur as he examined the red mark on her cheek. “I’m here. She can’t hurt you. Don’t be scared.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. So they’d been seeing each other this whole time. And I, like an idiot, had been guarding the shattered remains of our relationship. My hand shook as I reached for my phone on the floor. He kicked it away. “You deserve this, Joyce.” I shook my head, my voice breaking. “Please… give it back.” “Matt, I’m pregnant. The baby… our baby…”

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1 For 365 days a year, my girlfriend would hire 365 different gig workers to go on dates with me in her place. All because of her insufferable ex, a man still playing his tragic game of winning her back, always using self-harm as his trump card. I suggested we move to a different city. But my girlfriend, Serena, just screamed at me. “If he dies, you’ll be a murderer!” “Why can’t you just tolerate him? You’re so petty!” It all came to a head on the day of our engagement party. She sent another proxy to stand in for her. This time, I slid the ring directly onto the proxy’s finger. “Fine,” I said. “New bride it is.” … I was just about to take off my suit jacket when Serena came through the door. She was propping up a man who was swaying, drunk off his feet. Her small frame strained under his weight, terrified he might fall. My hands froze on my jacket. “Go make Damian a hangover cure, and then cook me dinner,” she ordered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if I were her servant. Damian, his face flushed with alcohol, glared at me from Serena’s shoulder. “I’m not eating anything he makes. It’s disgusting.” “If Daddy’s not eating, I’m not eating either!” Ella, their daughter, shot out like a tiny cannonball, planting her hands on her hips and looking up at me with pure defiance. “Fine,” I said quietly. I had no intention of cooking for them anyway. Ella was Serena and Damian’s daughter, but I had been the one raising her since she was born. Five years of being the dependable man, the steady hand for this mother and daughter, yet in their eyes, I was still an outsider. Their world revolved around Damian. I turned and walked back to my bedroom. A few minutes later, Serena followed me in, holding a steaming mug. “Martin, I made you some coffee.” This was her pattern. She’d issue a command, then follow it with a small, placating gesture to soothe my feelings. It was our unspoken signal to move on. But this time, I just glanced at it. “Just put it down.” My flat reaction must have thrown her. Her expression grew complicated. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Today was our engagement party. Aren’t you forgetting something?” “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. She held out her left hand, fingers spread. “You need to put the ring on me.” My gaze followed hers to her ring finger, and a sharp sting went through me. There was already a ring there. Her eyes darted away, and she quickly pulled it off. “Damian forced me to wear this. He said he wouldn’t leave the bar unless I put it on.” She held her bare hand out to me again. I ignored it, walking right past her to hang up my suit. “Don’t bother. The proxy is already wearing it for you.” Serena’s voice instantly became shrill. “You gave my ring to a gig worker?!” “Weren’t we celebrating my engagement to her today?” I replied calmly. “What’s the problem with her wearing the ring?” I don’t know which part of that set her off, but she suddenly hurled her handbag at me. It wasn’t enough. She grabbed a vase from the entryway and threw that too. I instinctively raised my arm to block it. Ella appeared from nowhere, slapping at my legs, her little face a mask of fury. “Bad man! Bad man! Don’t you hit my mommy!” Seeing her, I worried she’d get hurt. I quickly wrestled the vase from Serena’s hands, but Ella sank her teeth into my calf, hard. She clung to my leg, screaming toward the living room. “Daddy, come quick! Mommy’s being attacked!” A drunk man has little self-control, and I was already the person he hated most in the world. The next thing I knew, there was a sharp pain, and warmth trickled down the side of my head. Serena froze, her hands tightening into fists. Only Ella was clapping. “Yay! The bad man is down! The bad man is bleeding!” Serena rushed to get a first-aid kit, pressing a piece of gauze to my wound. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” She held the gauze firmly against my head. I tried to push her away, but she just kept pressing, guiding me out the door. A flicker of warmth touched my cold, numb heart. “Martin,” she said as she started the car. “I want to talk to you about something.” “I want to change Ella’s last name back to Vance.” My breath caught in my throat. That fleeting moment of gratitude, of feeling cared for, felt like a cruel joke. I looked at her and laughed, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Ella is your child. She should have your name. You don’t need my permission.” A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “You agree?” Before today, I would have fought for them, cherished them as my own, tried to tuck them away from the world and protect them. But now, I was just tired. I was done fighting. “She’s your daughter, Serena. It’s your decision.” A joyful light filled her eyes. “I knew you’d think of what’s best for Ella! This way, she’ll have two daddies.” My head was pounding. I didn’t reply. She chattered on for a while before focusing on the road. We were halfway down the winding mountain road when her phone rang, playing a custom ringtone I knew was for Ella. The moment she answered, Ella’s panicked voice filled the quiet car. “Mommy, Daddy’s cutting his wrist with a knife again! You have to come back!” Serena immediately slammed on the brakes and spun the car around. “Serena,” I said, my voice low. She shot me an irritated look. “This is a matter of life and death! Can you not be so dramatic right now? Have some compassion, for God’s sake! Don’t be so cold-blooded!” I shook my head, my own voice eerily calm. “Just do me a favor and call me a car.” Only then did she seem to remember the blood matting my hair. A sliver of guilt appeared on her face. She quickly made a call. “I’ll just go check on him, and I’ll come right back for you. Wait for me at the hospital.” I watched her car disappear into the darkness, a single thought echoing in my mind. I won’t be waiting for you anymore. 2 I met Serena five years ago. It was on a desolate stretch of highway, just like this one. She had collapsed on the side of the road. I took her to the hospital, where the doctor told me she was pregnant. For two whole days, I couldn’t reach any of her family. Finally, a man claiming to be her fiancé showed up, but he only accused her of faking the pregnancy and called me an actor she’d hired. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. In the weeks that followed, I watched as Damian’s first love, a woman named Victoria, tormented Serena, framing her for things she never did. Eventually, Serena’s spirit broke. She begged me to take her away. Damian, of course, tried to win her back. But Serena, her heart shattered, refused him. I remember her saying that a broken mirror can’t be put back together. Once it’s cracked, the pieces will never fit the same way again. Naturally, after that, Serena and I fell together. And I came to love Ella as my own daughter. I woke up with a pounding headache, pressing my hands to my forehead as if trying to hold the pieces of a bad dream together. A man with a grim face was standing by my bed. “You’re awake? Good. Pay your fare.” “If I’d known you were a hospital case, I never would’ve picked you up. What a waste of my damn time.” I looked at him, finally recognizing the rideshare driver Serena had called for me last night. I opened my banking app, but all I had was the small amount of grocery money Serena had transferred to me. It wasn’t nearly enough. I had no choice but to call her. The driver’s impatient stare was burning a hole in me. I called twice. No answer. “Come on, kid, hurry it up,” he grumbled. “I’ve got other fares to pick up. Stop wasting my time.” Desperate, I called my daughter. The second I spoke, Ella’s voice, sharp with scorn, shot through the phone. “You’re pathetic! So pathetic you have to call a kid for money. You might as well just go die!” She was shouting so loudly that the quiet hospital hallway went silent. Patients passing by shot me strange, pitying looks. Just then, a nurse walked up to my bed. “Bed 102? You need to go down and settle your bill. The total is four thousand, three hundred and sixty-two dollars.” My face fell. That was it. The driver was now certain I was broke. He grabbed the front of my shirt, the flesh on his face jiggling with anger. “You piece of crap! You take a private car with no money? I’ll beat the hell out of you!” Seeing the commotion, the nurse’s tone hardened. “Sir, please pay your bill immediately. You’re disturbing the other patients.” Everyone was staring, whispering. I felt completely cornered, helpless. Suddenly, a young woman appeared, pulling the driver’s hand off my shirt and stepping in front of me. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, looking at me with feigned exasperation. “It’s my fault for letting you spoil me so much. You never leave any spending money for yourself.” She then turned, all business. “Sir, you can scan my QR code right here. And Nurse, I’ll be down to pay the bill as soon as I’m done here.” “Oh, so he’s just one of those guys, wrapped around his wife’s finger,” someone muttered. “Hey, kid, sorry about that. We misunderstood.” The crowd, suddenly enlightened, dispersed, their judgment turning into murmurs of approval. Later, in the hospital cafeteria, I looked at the woman with the chic, chin-length bob and it finally clicked. “You were the proxy from the engagement party.” She extended a hand. “Let’s start over. My name is Claire. I’m a lawyer with the Sterling Firm.” I let out a dry laugh. “A lawyer who does proxy work?” “A side hustle,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t judge. Since we ran into each other, I wanted to give this back to you.” She held out the ring. “No, thank you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “It’s not mine.” Even the engagement ring had been bought with Serena’s money. I felt like a complete clown. “I don’t like owing people favors,” Claire said. “So, how about this? In return, I’ll help you get your job back at Apex Airlines.” I looked up, shocked. “You know who I am?” “The legend of Captain Jiang,” she replied with a small smile. “The man who saved an entire plane. Of course, I know you. I just never understood why you quit at the peak of your career.” The world thought it was psychological trauma. No one knew that Damian had systematically destroyed my career, pressuring every airline until none of them would dare hire me, all as part of his twisted campaign to win Serena back. I gave a bitter laugh. “Tell me how.” I didn’t believe for a second she could change anything. She crossed her arms. “The person who created the problem is also the key to solving it.” Before she left, Claire gave me her card and told me to think about her offer. I went back to the villa. For the next two weeks, I didn’t see Serena at all. Then, one night, I got a call from her best friend. “Serena’s drunk. She needs someone to take care of her.” “Let her sleep it off at your place,” I said calmly. “Or call Damian.” God is my witness, I was genuinely thinking of what was best for her. But Serena, who was supposed to be dead drunk, came home and threw herself at me, sobbing. She buried her face in my chest, her nose red. “Why didn’t you come get me?” “That bastard Damian… his precious Victoria is coming back, and he still won’t let me go. What does he think I am? A dog he can just summon whenever he feels like it?” I looked down at her. This time, I didn’t offer my usual comfort. I just said, softly, “Serena, you still have feelings for him. Maybe you should give each other a real chance.” Her face changed instantly. “What are you trying to say? You’re pushing me away? You’re pushing me onto someone else? I’m with you now! Are you trying to dump me and be the bad guy?” “I’ve already booked the wedding venue! Besides, where would you go without me? Begging on the streets? Don’t be ridiculous!” I checked the message on my phone. She was serious. She’d booked a venue for three weeks from now. I was stunned. Could she actually want to marry me? That very night, that foolish hope was brutally crushed. I was staring, numb, at the pregnancy test I found in her drawer. In the five years we were together, I had respected her boundaries. I had waited, never once touching her. She had told me she wanted to have a daughter with me, one just like Ella. She’d said her biggest regret was getting pregnant out of wedlock, letting Ella suffer the judgment of others. My head started to buzz, my breathing grew ragged. It was all a one-sided fantasy. She would rather have child after child with Damian than let me, her supposed partner, even touch her. My years of devotion felt like one long, sick joke. After that day, Serena threw herself into wedding planning with a manic energy. I felt nothing. No one could have guessed that I had also hired a proxy for the wedding day. On the day of the wedding, I sat in the audience, a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes, and watched Serena walk down the aisle in a flowing white gown. I had picked it out for her myself, ensuring it would be comfortable and place no pressure on her belly. The time for the ceremony drew near, and I still hadn’t appeared. Serena called my phone several times. I didn’t answer. She walked over to my best friend, Marco. “Marco, can you get ahold of Martin?” Marco shook his head, hiding his phone behind his back. “Serena, maybe you should just call it off. Everyone in the city knows Martin’s a player. Who knows what kind of diseases he might have? I don’t think you should marry him.” “Yeah, Serena, listen to us,” others chimed in, rallying around her. Just then, a voice called out from the entrance. “The groom has arrived!” Serena’s head snapped up. She lifted her dress to run toward the door, then froze. “Damian?” I took off my cap and walked onto the stage. “Congratulations to you both,” I said, my voice ringing through the silent hall. “Serena, this is the exclusive proxy I hired just for you. How does he compare to the 365 you hired for me? Are you satisfied?”

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1 A sudden windfall, and I was a lottery-rich, nouveau-riche caricature overnight. Three days later, my wife was kidnapped. The kidnappers demanded a ransom of three million dollars. I refused to pay. My wife’s parents, in a fury, clawed and scratched at me, screaming that I was a heartless monster. To save a little money, I was willing to sacrifice my own wife’s life. My own parents pleaded with me to pay the ransom, to buy my wife’s safety. I refused again. A few days later, having received no money, the kidnappers released her anyway. She was covered in bruises, bleeding from between her legs, and had completely lost her mind. The moment she saw me, she launched herself at me like a rabid animal, trying to bite me. The feral look in her eyes was one of pure hatred, as if I were the man who had murdered her entire family. Looking down at my torn and bloodied shoulder, I stated with cold indifference, “This marriage is over. I’m divorcing you.” CRACK! My father-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared, “You bastard! Are you even human?” … In the living room, a crowd of relatives from both sides of the family stared at me in disbelief. Sarah had been tortured into this state. Not only did I show no sign of sympathy, but I was also demanding a divorce. In their eyes, I wasn’t just inhuman. I was worse than an animal. Ignoring the furious glares from the Hall family, I continued to speak to Sarah in that same cold tone. “My lawyer will handle all the details of the divorce.” “Aaargh!” A shrill, piercing scream ripped from Sarah’s throat. She swept everything off the coffee table in a frenzy, then stormed into our bedroom. Our wedding photos, the makeup I’d bought her—all of it was smashed to pieces. I watched her rampage with unnerving calm. “My poor, sweet daughter,” her mother, Mrs. Hall, cried, rushing to wrap her arms around Sarah. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of grief. “Agh… ahhh…” Sarah struggled violently, her features twisting into a grotesque mask of madness. Mrs. Hall tried to restrain her, but Sarah’s strength was manic. She shoved her mother to the floor and then, unbelievably, grabbed a heavy wooden chair to bring down on her. The room erupted in shocked cries as people scrambled to intervene. Mr. Hall bellowed, “Sarah, that’s your mother!” For a split second, her movement paused. The next moment— THUD! The chair crashed down onto Mrs. Hall, who writhed on the floor, howling in agony. But Sarah, seemingly lost to all reason, began kicking her mother’s writhing body. She only stopped when Mr. Hall finally managed to tackle her, pinning her arms. “Mom!” Sarah’s younger brother, Leo, rushed to help his mother up. “Sarah, are you insane? Why would you attack Mom?” Sarah didn’t answer, just thrashed wildly in her father’s grip, too weak to break free. The onlookers could only shake their heads in dismay. She was perfectly fine before the kidnapping, and now she was a raving lunatic. Inevitably, all eyes turned to me. They had found their monster. “Do you see this, Alex?” one of them spat. “Because you wouldn’t pay the ransom, the kidnappers tortured her until she broke! She’s your wife, and you cared more about money than her life. You’re not a man.” “Even an animal isn’t as cold-blooded as you!” “Marrying you was the biggest mistake of her life.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend myself. My own mother begged me to take back my words. She believed I was in the wrong for not paying the ransom. And now, with Sarah in this state, to demand a divorce? It was like pushing her off a cliff. I just shook my head. “The divorce is final.” “You monster!” Mrs. Hall’s grief and rage exploded. She lunged at me, nails bared like claws. I sidestepped her, and she stumbled, falling flat on her face and knocking out a front tooth. “My tooth…” “Mom!” “Alex, this is all your fault! I’m going to kill you!” Leo charged at me, his face contorted with rage. I simply lifted my leg and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling. That was the spark that ignited the powder keg. In an instant, a dozen of Sarah’s relatives swarmed me. I was hopelessly outnumbered. Within seconds, I was on the floor, curled up, trying to protect my head as fists and feet rained down on me. A few moments later, I staggered to my feet, blood streaming from a cut on my forehead. I pulled out my phone to call the police, but my father snatched it from my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Calling the cops.” The Halls froze. They had all taken a piece of me. If I called the police, none of them would walk away clean. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Suddenly, Sarah collapsed, unconscious. Mr. Hall frantically called for an ambulance. At the hospital, after a series of tests, the doctor delivered another shock: Sarah was pregnant. “Doctor, terminate the pregnancy,” I said immediately. “What did you just say?” my father stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. The Hall family was equally stunned. They thought they had seen the depths of my cruelty. Now, my decision had shattered their understanding of how heartless a person could be. Refuse to save his wife, and now refuse to save his child. “Alex, have you lost your mind?” Leo screamed, grabbing my collar. “That’s your baby in my sister’s womb, and you’re telling the doctor to get rid of it?” He looked like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. “Sarah is insane,” I explained calmly. “What right does she have to be a mother? It’s better to end it now than to bring a child into a world of suffering.” “You son of a bitch!” Leo’s fist connected with my jaw. “You animal!” Mr. Hall lunged as well, his reason gone. Doctors and nurses rushed in to separate us. “This is a hospital! Please control yourselves! Who is the child’s father?” “I am,” I said. “Sir, could you please come with me?” “Alex, don’t you dare make a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life,” my mother pleaded, terrified I was serious. “You’re a man,” my father said, his voice low and dangerous. “You have a responsibility as a husband and a father. Sarah might not be like this forever. What if she gets better? You’d better think very carefully about what you do next.” A few minutes later, I returned. They all stared at me, their faces tense. My mother asked me what I had decided. I told them I had signed the papers, authorizing the doctor to terminate the pregnancy. The words hit them like a lightning strike. For a few seconds, they were frozen. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Hall charged at me like wild animals. This time, I didn’t let them touch me. I took two steps back. “If any of you lay a hand on me,” I warned, my voice like ice, “I will call the police immediately. If you’re not afraid of going to jail, go ahead.” “You bastard!” my father snarled, then turned and stormed out. “Alex… you… you foolish boy,” my mother sobbed, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe her own son could become so depraved over money. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Then she, too, was gone. The Halls were seething but didn’t dare touch me. “You murderer!” Mrs. Hall shrieked. “You killed her baby without her consent! We’ll sue you for murder!” “Be my guest,” I said with a careless shrug, and walked out of the hospital. On the way home, I called an old friend, Marco, a former MMA champion who now owned a gym. “Hey, kid,” he said. “My guys looked into it for you. The kidnappers are all local crew. And they’re tight with your brother-in-law, Leo. Same gang.” “They got spooked after they messed with your wife, so they went to ground. My boys are looking for them. I’ll call you when they’re found.” “Thanks, Marco.” I hung up, my eyes narrowing. Leo was a hothead and an idiot. All brawn, no brains. He wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate this kidnapping on his own. He was probably just the contact. The real mastermind was someone else. Could it be… Sarah herself? To find out, I needed to talk to those kidnappers. Next, a childhood friend in the… collections business called me. He told me he’d checked with a few other loan sharks. Leo was keeping two live-streamers as mistresses. To maintain his big-spender image, he’d borrowed half a million dollars. “Leo’s unemployed. Who would lend him that kind of money?” “He put up his family’s house as collateral.” “No wonder he’s been dripping in gold lately. Do me a favor, check if anyone else in his family is in deep with loan sharks.” “On it.” At first, I thought Leo was just a pawn in this scheme. But now… maybe I had underestimated him. The next morning, Mr. Hall called, his voice a furious roar. He told me to get to the hospital. Sarah had woken up, found out the baby was gone, and was now on the roof, threatening to jump. “Okay, got it,” I said, and hung up. I closed my eyes and dozed for another few minutes until my father kicked my door open and hauled me out of bed. “Your wife is about to jump off a roof, and you’re sleeping?” “She’s not going to jump. It’s an act.” “You monster,” my father hissed through gritted teeth. When I got to the hospital, it was just as I’d expected. Sarah was standing near the edge of the roof. But she wasn’t jumping. “Sarah, honey, Alex is here! Whatever you have to say, say it to him! Just don’t do anything stupid!” Mrs. Hall was a mess, her eyes swollen from crying. “Don’t you dare provoke her,” Mr. Hall whispered menacingly in my ear. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.” I walked over. Sarah seemed to have regained some of her sanity. She stared at me with pure despair. “Alex, why did you let the doctor kill our baby?” she wailed. “Everyone saw you. You’re insane. You’re not fit to be a mother.” “I’m not insane! It was because you wouldn’t pay the ransom! They kept torturing me! I can forgive you for what you did to me, but how could you be so cruel as to murder your own child?” “The kidnappers wanted too much. If I paid, I’d be broke.” My words enraged her family, but they kept their distance. “You’re not human! You’re worse than a monster! You’re a cold, heartless demon!” “Are you going to jump, or what?”

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I’ve always been the type to get straight to the point. So when I found a photo of a strange girl sleeping in my sniper husband’s private album, I didn’t hesitate. I slid a set of divorce papers across the table to him. Either sign them, or cut ties with her for good. Aiden Pierce rubbed his temples, cutting me off, his voice laced with irritation. “She was just a hostage I rescued on my last mission. The kid’s got PTSD, I can’t just abandon her. Do you have to make a federal case out of this?” He leaned back, his tone hardening. “Besides, without me, where would you even go? You’d have nowhere to land.” His words struck me dumb. I just stood there, frozen. He must have seen the look on my face because he immediately realized he’d crossed a line and started to backpedal. But before he could spin some half-hearted apology, I asked softly, “Does ‘taking care of a hostage’ include holding her while she sleeps?” … My voice was barely a whisper, but it hit Aiden like a sniper’s bullet. His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. The casual arrogance vanished, replaced by a cold, guarded alertness. He took a half-step back. “How do you know that?” How did I know? Because his dear Miss Sierra couldn’t wait to come and tell me herself. Before I could answer, Aiden’s posture softened completely. “Clara, Sierra’s not like the others.” “You don’t need to go after her,” he said, his voice almost pleading. I guessed he was afraid I’d do what I’d done before—hunt down any woman who got too close, just as soon as I caught a whiff of rumor. Afraid I’d leave Sierra a social pariah, just like all the others. But not this time. This time, I was done. I genuinely wanted a divorce. The way he was protecting her was proof enough that this girl was different. After all, he’d always let me deal with the other women from his past scandals however I saw fit. He called her “well-behaved”? If she were so innocent, why would she have sought me out? But I wasn’t going to be the one to expose her. Aiden would find out the truth on his own soon enough. “If she’s so perfect, wouldn’t it be better for you to just divorce me and marry her?” I suggested, my voice even. Aiden shook his head, his answer swift and absolute. “Clara, you will always be my wife. I will never divorce you.” A flare of anger ignited in my chest, but it was quickly extinguished by his cold, matter-of-fact tone. “So, you don’t have to bother Sierra. She’s no threat to your position.” The calculated way he said it, the way he reduced our marriage to a “position,” made my stomach turn. When had he started measuring love in terms of profit and loss? He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that when we first married, he was just a junior officer living in a cramped little house on the base. “Aiden,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “If all I ever wanted was your power and status, why would I have married you back then?” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Clara, before you say something like that, take a look at what you’re wearing.” His eyes raked over me. “Without me, could you afford those five-figure outfits? That six-figure jewelry?” He closed the distance between us, pulling me into a rough embrace. His warm breath ghosted against my ear. “My paychecks go to your account, and my heart is with you.” The faint, metallic scent of gunpowder still clung to him from the training grounds. “As for where my body is… don’t be too demanding, alright?” I struggled against his grip, but he held me fast, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my futile efforts. Finally, he let me go with a low chuckle. He leaned in close, his dark eyes boring into mine. “People who get too greedy, Clara… they end up with nothing.” Just then, his phone buzzed. Sierra. The call shattered the tense standoff and, in a way, saved me from further humiliation. He was right. On my own, I could never afford this life. Without him, I really had nowhere to go. Ever since my mother died and my father remarried, I hadn’t had a home to call my own. I twisted the diamond ring off my finger. He’d had it custom-made after his last commendation ceremony. I remembered the price tag clearly: seventy thousand dollars. The necklace I was wearing was part of the set, another two hundred twenty thousand. The dress I had on was nearly six thousand. Money I could never earn in a lifetime. But so what? I didn’t need jewelry. I could wear simple clothes. Instead of making me reconsider, Aiden’s words only strengthened my resolve. Over the next few days, I made the rounds of every law firm in the area. Each one turned me down. When I tried to file for a contested divorce directly, the clerks at the courthouse were tight-lipped and unhelpful. I dragged my exhausted body back to our house on the base one evening to find Aiden sitting in the living room, calmly reading the newspaper. “Find a lawyer willing to take your case, Clara?” he asked without looking up. His single question confirmed it. He was the one pulling the strings, making sure my efforts were fruitless. “I told you,” he said, folding the paper. “This divorce isn’t happening.” He held out a handkerchief. “Wipe your face.” I slapped it out of his hand. He just chuckled, unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. You’ve forgotten that the world isn’t black and white.” I said nothing, just turned away with a cold smirk. He wasn’t wrong. The past few days had certainly been an education. “Sierra had a moment of weakness, that’s why she bothered you,” he said, his tone turning conciliatory. “I promise she will never appear before you again.” “And you?” I challenged, meeting his eyes. “Can you promise to cut ties with her completely?” He sighed. “Clara, don’t be so naive. If it’s not Sierra, it’ll be someone else…” I let my gaze drop, tuning him out. My eyes fell on the plush, custom-ordered rug, but my mind was already elsewhere, mentally packing a suitcase for a volunteer trip. That morning, I’d seen a recruitment notice for the Spring Blossom Foundation’s “Classroom Project.” On my way to another failed lawyer’s appointment, I’d submitted my application. I’d just received the email—I was accepted. If I couldn’t get a divorce here, maybe leaving was the next best thing. When the volunteer term was over, I could find a lawyer in another state. Seeing that I was no longer arguing, Aiden stopped his lecture. After a moment of silence, he tried again. “I can’t cut her off completely, but I promise she will stay out of the public eye. She will never threaten your position,” he said. “All my money is yours. Why get worked up over something as meaningless as feelings?” He reached for me, but I stepped aside. A frustrated hiss escaped his lips. “What more do you want? Look at the guys in my unit. Which one of them isn’t living like this?” I knew. Of course, I knew. The men he worked with were far worse. One of his buddies who got promoted at the same time now had a string of women on the side. But just because everyone else did it, did that mean we had to? Seeing the irritation etched on his face, I swallowed the words. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m going to bed.” The constant running around and hitting brick walls had left me emotionally and physically drained. I was asleep within fifteen minutes. When I woke again, the setting sun was bleeding across the horizon. My phone was lit up on the nightstand—a friend request from the Spring Blossom Foundation. I accepted, and a message came through almost immediately. [Ms. Evans, we’ll be meeting at the airport in one week to fly out as a group.] After confirming, they sent over a packet of documents and a list of things to prepare. It had been a long time since I’d dealt with this kind of paperwork, and it was a struggle, but for the first time in months, a feeling of lightness settled in my chest. It wasn’t until I saw Aiden at the base hospital a few days later that I understood why he’d been so scarce. He was with Sierra. They were walking into the OB/GYN clinic together. I glanced at my own appointment number on the screen. It would be a while. I found a seat a discreet distance away and watched. After some time, Sierra emerged from the exam room, her face glowing with a joy she couldn’t hide. A cold premonition washed over me. Sierra was pregnant. But Aiden… Aiden had a low sperm count. We’d been married for years without a child. If she was really pregnant, would Aiden finally agree to the divorce for the sake of his child? I stood up and walked toward them, no longer trying to hide. The thought of a potential divorce brought an involuntary smile to my face. But that smile froze on my lips. “Get rid of it.” I was only a few feet away when I heard Aiden’s voice, as cold and sharp as ice. Sierra clearly hadn’t expected it. The joy drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She swayed on her feet. She looked at him with pleading eyes, but he remained unmoved, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at her silent disobedience. “I will not acknowledge this child. And you will not have it,” he stated flatly. “I, Aiden Pierce, will not have an illegitimate child.” But Sierra seemed to misinterpret his meaning entirely. Her eyes landed on me. Without a second thought, she rushed over and dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Pierce, I know I’m shameless, I know I’m filth,” she cried, her hands clutching at my legs. “But please, I’m begging you, let me have this baby.” I couldn’t shake her off. I stood stiffly, afraid to move in case I fell, my eyes shooting daggers at Aiden. This is what you call not bothering me? “Mrs. Pierce, please, it’s a life,” she sobbed. “Please, I’m begging you.” A crowd was starting to form, their whispers filling the sterile hallway as they pieced together the drama unfolding before them. With every pointing finger and hushed comment, the blood drained from Aiden’s face, his expression growing darker by the second. And Sierra? Her shamelessness was breathtaking. Of the three of us, I was the only one drowning in humiliation. “Sierra.” Aiden’s voice was a blade of ice from behind me. The kneeling woman flinched. She turned her tear-streaked face to him, a desperate hope for pity in her eyes. Impossible, I thought. This was Aiden Pierce, the man who had clawed his way up from a grunt to a commander in the Special Forces. His heart was harder than anyone’s. But I was wrong. Aiden looked at Sierra, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something shift in his eyes. He let out an almost inaudible sigh before stepping forward and helping her to her feet. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice softer now. “We’ll talk about this back home.” He gently wiped her tears, his arm circling her shoulders to support her. Was this really Aiden? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. By the time I snapped out of my stupor, they were gone. I was left standing alone in the hospital corridor like a fool, the murmurs of strangers ringing in my ears. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears back. What a waste. The whole spectacle had made me miss my appointment. I’d have to get back in line. It was nearly dark by the time I finished my own medical check-up and got home. I stepped inside but didn’t turn on the lights, standing in the entryway and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Every corner of this house was decorated to my taste, but now, it all just made me feel sick. Every surface was tainted with the memory of him. “You’re back?” Aiden’s voice came from the bedroom. He emerged a moment later, a glass of water in his hand. He offered it to me, a gesture that felt sickeningly familiar—the prelude to him asking for something. “Sierra won’t terminate the pregnancy,” he began, placing the glass on the table in front of me. He watched me, testing the waters. “I was thinking… we could let her have the baby, and you could raise it as our own.” I turned to look at him, and he flinched, his gaze darting away. As if realizing his own cowardice, he forced himself to meet my eyes again, his expression hardening into one of righteous justification. “The Fletchers did the same thing, didn’t they? The son who runs their company now was the one they brought home from the outside.” My heart sank into a black abyss. The Fletchers. They were the laughingstock of our entire circle. The illegitimate son was brought home, and he ended up driving the legitimate heir out of the family. Now, the wife and the mistress live under the same roof. I remembered the first time Aiden had told me about them, the disdain thick in his voice. And now, he had become the very thing he once despised. Perhaps my stare was too intense because he suddenly changed the subject. “What were you at the hospital for today? Are you feeling sick? Your physical last month came back completely normal.” … I lowered my eyes, ignoring his hollow concern. “Fine,” I said softly. The fake pleasantries stopped instantly. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Aiden, if Sierra wants to have that baby, let her.” His face broke into a wide, relieved grin. He’d completely forgotten to ask about my health. He’d completely forgotten that I had never said I would raise the child. He was the one who couldn’t have children, not me. With my “permission,” Aiden’s visits to Sierra’s apartment became more frequent and less discreet. Soon, the day to leave for the volunteer trip arrived. Aiden came home unexpectedly early that morning. When I got out of bed, he was already sitting in the living room, looking like he’d been there for hours. As I made breakfast in the kitchen, I heard him speak from behind me. “Clara.” “I just… have a bad feeling about something.” My hand, holding the knife, paused for a fraction of a second. I was silently grateful I’d moved my packed suitcase into the bedroom the night before. I hadn’t intentionally hidden the trip from him, but I didn’t want him to know either, fearing he’d create some new obstacle. I continued preparing the food, ignoring the unease in his voice. His soliloquy eventually died in the face of my silence. After breakfast, just as he was about to leave for the base, I called out to him. “Aiden, come back here after work today.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning back in surprise. I forced a small, unfamiliar smile. “There’s something I need to give you.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of pleasure in his eyes at my sudden initiative. But all I wanted was for him to be here to see the divorce papers I’d be leaving for him. By the time our plane landed at the Westbrook regional airport, my phone was long dead. The teaching site was in the most remote mountain area of the county. Most of the young adults had left for work in the cities, leaving only the elderly and children behind. After an afternoon of being jostled around on winding roads, the bus finally rumbled onto a smoother path. Chloe, the young woman who had first contacted me and was now our team’s logistics coordinator, was sitting next to me. “Clara, are you okay?” I managed a weak smile and a small shake of my head. I hadn’t realized how bad my motion sickness was. “We’re almost there. Just hang on.” As the road smoothed out, my nausea began to subside. I peeked through the curtain at the scenery outside, and a strange sense of familiarity washed over me. When we finally arrived at our destination, I knew why. We were only a few miles from Aiden’s hometown. The very next town over. I couldn’t believe the coincidence. Still, I wasn’t worried about running into anyone I knew. I had only stayed here for a month when we first got married. Aiden’s grandfather had insisted we hold the wedding on home turf. Our base housing in Riverton hadn’t been assigned yet, so we’d stayed in his old family home. “Clara, would you mind sharing a dorm room with me?” Chloe asked after she finished assigning the rooms. I nodded. “Of course.” After unpacking, with the unique chorus of country insects as a lullaby, I fell into the deepest sleep I’d had in months. The next day, I was up at dawn. Chloe was still asleep, so I tiptoed out to wash up. After a simple breakfast, I walked with the other teachers to the school. The four large characters above the school building made me stop in my tracks: The Pierce-Evans Project. It was from a lifetime ago. Back when Aiden had just been promoted to commander, he received his first significant bonus. His comrades used theirs to buy things for their families. Aiden used his to start this project. He said he wanted every child from his hometown to have the chance to get an education. But somewhere along the way, between our endless fights and growing distance, the project had been forgotten. Maybe that’s why I felt an instant connection to this place. I was filled with energy all day. When school let out, the gate was crowded with parents picking up their children. I stood to the side, observing. The area was poor, but the parents clearly valued education. Almost every child in the lower grades had someone waiting for them. The kids were bright and cheerful, waving goodbye enthusiastically even to us, the new teachers. As the crowd thinned, I prepared to head back. Suddenly, a booming voice called out from behind me. “You’re old man Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law, aren’t you?” “Old man Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law.” I hadn’t heard that title in a decade. I never thought I’d actually run into someone from his past here. I turned to see an elderly woman with white hair and neat clothes, likely one of Aiden’s grandfather’s old friends. I was about to deny it—who would know the difference out here?—but before I could speak, she let out a triumphant cry. “It is you! It really is old Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law!” Her shout drew the attention of everyone nearby. “City life must be good for you. It’s been over ten years, and you’re still as young and beautiful as ever,” she said, bustling over and grabbing my hand. “We have you and your husband to thank for this wonderful school.” …

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I slid the signed divorce papers across the table. He picked them up, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Don’t be upset,” he said, his voice smooth and condescending. “It’s just a formality. As soon as Seraphina’s depression is under control, we’ll remarry immediately.” I kept my head down, refusing to meet his eyes. “What about the compensation you promised me?” He slid a credit card toward me. “You’ve been a good girl. I’m even doubling the reward.” He leaned back, the picture of magnanimity. “Don’t worry. Even after the divorce, you can still live in the house. Nothing will change. I would never abandon you.” A cold, bitter laugh echoed in my mind. I knew exactly what this “fake divorce” was. It was a sham designed to keep me tethered to him, a glorified nanny for our child, while he and Seraphina could finally be together, officially. He wanted a new wife, and he was using this lie to keep me placid and cooperative. But what he would never, ever know… was that I had been dreaming of this divorce for a long time. … I took the card without another word, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door. My mother was stunned when I arrived at my parents’ house. “What are you doing here at this hour? Did you two have a fight?” she asked, bustling to help me with my luggage. “Every couple argues. His circumstances are so good, can’t you just learn to put up with it?” I was silent for a moment. “Gaten and I are divorced.” The color drained from her face. “What?! How could you make such a huge decision without even talking to us?” My father chimed in from the living room. “She’s right. Divorce isn’t a game. Do you know how rich he is? Where are you ever going to find another man like that?” I set my suitcase down and turned to face them. They were both frowning, their expressions a perfect mirror of disappointment, as if I were a foolish, disobedient child. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Only tears. “What are you crying for?” My mother’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Just tell us what happened!” I snapped my head up, and the words tore from my throat in a raw scream. “My daughter is dead! My daughter is gone!” The force of the cry buckled my knees. I crumpled to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself as a storm of sobs ripped through me. “What… what did you say?” My mother’s voice was a choked whisper. Seeing their instantly ashen faces felt like another knife twisting in my heart. “We were on vacation,” I gasped between sobs, “on a private island.” “Lily suddenly clutched her chest, said it hurt, that she couldn’t breathe. I knew right away—it was her congenital heart condition.” “But there was only one doctor on the entire island!” “I looked everywhere for Gaten, I called him over and over, begging him to get the doctor. But him?” The memory of that day flooded back, as sharp and cruel as it was in the moment. “He didn’t answer my calls. Seraphina’s son, his dog had fallen into the pool and swallowed some water.” “She made one call to Gaten, and he immediately sent the island’s only doctor away… to perform CPR on a dog.” My father shot to his feet, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “How could he just abandon his own daughter?” “I begged him, but it was useless!” My voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “I couldn’t reach him, the doctor never came, and I just held her… I held my daughter and watched the life leave her body right there in my arms…” I couldn’t go on. I curled into a ball on the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably. My mind was a roaring storm of memories, images from the past bubbling up, chaotic and cruel. I was seventeen, a top student from a desperately poor family. I was the pride of my school, but I spent my lunches eating dry bread in a classroom with no heat, my hands often too cold to even hold a pen. Then one day, my principal called me into his office. A wealthy entrepreneur wanted to sponsor a student in need. He had chosen me. The first time I saw Gaten Thorne, he was standing in the principal’s office. He wore a black overcoat, tall and imposing, his eyes slightly downcast when he looked at me. “Nancy Heaton?” His voice was deep and smooth. “I’ve decided to sponsor you through the completion of all your studies. From now on, I will cover all your expenses.” “All you need to do is focus on your education. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” Just like that. A monthly deposit started appearing in my bank account, enough for food, books, and even medicine for my grandmother. The year I was preparing for my college entrance exams, his assistant came to my school with imported snacks and nutritional supplements. “Mr. Thorne asked me to bring these. He said to take care of your health.” The night before the exams, I was too nervous to sleep. My phone lit up. It was a text from him, wishing me luck. I clutched the phone to my chest and cried. He was the only light in my gray, colorless life. I knew he had someone else, the one that got away. Her name was Seraphina. She was from a family that was his equal, and they had grown up together. I’d seen pictures of them in magazines—the perfect, beautiful couple. I buried my own hopeless crush so deep it could never see the light of day. In my second year of college, I heard Seraphina had married a foreign tycoon. On a whim, I sent him a text. Mr. Thorne, are you okay? It took him a long time to reply. Why wouldn’t I be? Focus on your studies. His tone was unreadable. Two months later, he was in my city on business and asked me to dinner. Afterward, he drove me back to my dorm. He didn’t immediately tell me to get out. The night air was cool. “Nancy,” he said, turning to look at me. “Marry me.” My mind went completely blank. I never, ever imagined he would propose to me. “I… I’m not worthy of you.” “It’s not a question of being worthy.” His voice was calm, leaving no room for refusal. “I’ve always liked you. You’re quiet, you know your place. Marry me. I’ll be good to you.” My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to break free. The light I had worshipped from afar for so many years was now offering to shine on me. I nodded, my voice trembling. “Okay.” Our wedding was a grand affair. I wore a dress worth a fortune, but I felt like a wooden doll, completely out of place. His family was polite but distant. The first time my parents met his mother was just before the wedding. My parents wore their best, most respectable clothes, but they were so nervous they didn’t know what to do with their hands. His mother smiled, her eyes flicking over their frayed, faded collars. She didn’t say anything. But that night, I passed by the study and heard her talking to Gaten. “From such a common family. They’ll never have any class. If it weren’t for Seraphina… you never would have had to stoop to this level.” Gaten didn’t respond. I pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. After we were married, he was incredibly generous. He gave me a black card with no limit, a mansion to live in, a driver and maids to see to my every need. It was a life I could never have imagined. But I always felt like a guest. I couldn’t contribute to the conversations in their social circle. They talked about equestrian sports, art auctions, and financial terms I didn’t understand. I could only stand by and smile. Once, at a gala, someone asked me, “Mrs. Thorne, what are your hobbies?” I opened my mouth, but my mind was a void. Was I supposed to say I loved reading, or helping my grandmother on the farm? Gaten wrapped an arm around my shoulder and smiled faintly. “She’s rather introverted. She prefers to stay home.” The person gave a knowing, slightly pitying “Oh.” After that, I made a point of shrinking into the corners at those events, trying to be invisible. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I took classes in flower arranging and tea ceremonies, desperate to fit into his world. But his mother could shatter my confidence with a single sentence. “A pale imitation,” she’d sniff. Gaten would just frown and say, “Mom, that’s enough.” That was all. I kept telling myself it was okay, that he loved me. He remembered my birthday and sent extravagant gifts, though he never stayed to watch me blow out the candles. He’d send the driver to pick me up when it rained, though he never came himself. I was guarding a beautiful, empty box, telling myself it was full of treasure. The day our daughter was born, he did come to the hospital. He held the baby, a flicker of novelty on his face at being a new father. His mother glanced at the baby and sniffed. “Just a girl.” Our daughter, Lily, grew up to be a sweet child. Almost too sweet. In that grand, cold house, she learned to read the moods of everyone around her. The day Seraphina came back, divorced and with her son in tow, I was in the garden with Lily, playing with blocks. Gaten’s mother was ecstatic, rushing out to greet them, cooing over Seraphina’s son, Leo, as if he were a prince. She took Seraphina’s hand, her eyes full of adoration. “Oh, just look at you. This is what a Thorne daughter-in-law should look like! If only you had…” She trailed off, but everyone knew what she meant. Leo was a few months older than Lily and spoiled rotten. He snatched Lily’s doll and pushed her to the ground. Lily picked herself up, dusted off her dress, and offered him her other doll. “You can have this one too, big brother. Please don’t push me, okay?” It felt like a needle in my heart. That night, I said to Gaten, “Could you talk to Leo? He’s always bullying Lily.” He was leaning against the headboard, reading a report. He didn’t even look up. “It’s normal for kids to squabble. You’re too sensitive.” “But Lily, she…” “Enough,” he cut me off. “Seraphina just got back, she’s in a fragile state. My mother asked me to take extra care of them. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” I looked at his cold, indifferent profile and swallowed the rest of my words. It only got worse. Lily fell and scraped her knee, crying her eyes out. Leo stood beside her, clapping and laughing. Gaten came home from work at that moment, and Lily held out her arms, wanting her daddy to pick her up. Instead, he ruffled Leo’s hair first. “What are you doing, little man, teasing your sister?” he asked, his tone playful. Only then did he look at Lily. “It’s just a little fall. Don’t be so dramatic.” Lily’s outstretched arms slowly fell to her sides. She looked down, wiped her own tears, and whispered, “It doesn’t hurt, Daddy.” She never asked him to hold her again. That is how my heart slowly turned to stone. Until the vacation. Until my daughter clutched her tiny chest, her face turning blue, and died in my arms.

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My husband was broken. And at his own birthday party, he didn’t even bother to hide it. “You’re a therapist,” he sneered. “Why don’t you psychoanalyze yourself before you make a scene?” He was right. I am a therapist. And I know exactly how to make a faithless man repent. 1 The sight of Charlie, my husband, his arms wrapped tightly around another woman, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, made my world shrink to a single, sharp point. I strode forward, my voice tight. “Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” The woman flinched, burrowing deeper into his arms like a frightened animal. Charlie’s face hardened, his tone dripping with annoyance. “Isn’t it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out for you?” He then softened his voice, cooing at the woman in his embrace. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared.” My eyes burned. “This is how you treat me?” I choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. “You swore to me. You said it would only ever be me.” Charlie’s hand, which had been stroking the woman’s back, paused. He looked up at me, his eyes cold with scorn. “Those were just words. I’m bored of you now. I wanted to try something new. Is that a crime?” He added, as if tossing me a scrap of charity, “You can keep the title of Mrs. Tinkcom. But only if you don’t make a scene.” The words were like daggers to my heart. He once whispered, “My Dahlia, you should always shine this brightly. I swear, I’ll never let you down.” “You’re a treasure,” he’d said. “You’ll always be my Mrs. Tinkcom.” A tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. Charlie’s face twisted in disgust. “You never used to be so melodramatic. All you do now is cry. It’s my birthday, for God’s sake. You’re ruining it.” I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt. “You forgot your promise! You said you would love me for the rest of your life!” That seemed to be the final straw. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, and flung me away from him. “What promise?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “Are you done yet? Don’t force me to humiliate you in front of everyone.” “Besides,” he added with a cruel smirk, “so what if I found someone else? You’re a therapist, aren’t you, Clara? Can’t even fix your own broken heart?” I collapsed to the floor, the world blurring around me. I watched their backs as they walked away, my mouth open but no words coming out. It was Charlie’s birthday. I couldn’t let him lose face in front of his guests. 2 I staggered to my feet, my soul feeling as battered as my body, and brushed the dust from my dress. A sharp sting made me look down at my palm. I’d scraped it open, and tiny beads of blood were welling to the surface. My gorgeous evening gown was now streaked with dirt, its elegance ruined. Just like my marriage. Once beautiful, now utterly stained. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I fought back a fresh wave of tears. “I’m a therapist,” I whispered to myself. “Does that mean I’m supposed to calmly accept my husband’s betrayal?” Before I could sink further into my despair, the house manager found me. His eyes were filled with pity as he took in my disheveled state. “Ma’am, you should go change. You’re expected back at the party soon. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of gossiping about you.” Dressed in a fresh gown, I made my way to the backyard patio where the party was in full swing. The chatter and laughter died down as I appeared, a wave of silence rippling through the crowd. A sweet, cloying voice broke the tension. “Oh, Mrs. Tinkcom, you’re here! Perfect timing! Charlie was just about to cut the cake. He almost asked me to do it with him, he thought you weren’t coming back.” She pouted playfully at Charlie, a gesture that was less of a complaint and more of a flirtation. “It’s all your fault, Charlie. I almost overstepped. People might have thought I have no manners.” I recognized her. It was the woman from before, the one in Charlie’s arms. Scarlett Vance, a rising starlet his company was promoting. I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference, and mimicked her saccharine tone. “Oh, I think your manners are perfectly clear. In fact, anyone would be forgiven for thinking you were Mrs. Tinkcom.” Scarlett’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Before she could let out a single sob, Charlie leaped to her defense. He stepped in front of her, his gaze burning with fury. “Clara, have you not caused enough trouble for one night? Was that sarcasm really necessary? When did you become so vicious?” “Maybe you need a little shock to clear your head.” With that, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards the swimming pool, ignoring the cumbersome weight of my gown. I struggled, I screamed, but not a single person moved to stop him. “Charlie, I’m afraid of the water! Let me go!” I thought that would make him stop. I was wrong. A cruel smile touched his lips as he released his grip. “How else am I supposed to know if you’re telling the truth, Mrs. Tinkcom?” My heart turned to ash. I closed my eyes, bracing for the icy plunge. But instead of cold water, I fell into a pair of strong, warm arms. My eyes flew open to see a handsome face looming over mine. He looked familiar, but my mind was too scrambled to place him. He gently set me down in a nearby lounge chair before turning to Charlie with a mocking eyebrow raise. “My dear nephew,” he drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm. “The first thing I see upon my return is you manhandling your own wife. Does your grandfather know about this?” Charlie’s face darkened. “Uncle Ethan,” he bit out, his jaw tight. “It’s good to see you. But this is a private family matter. If you’re here for the party, you’re welcome. Otherwise, stay out of it.” Ethan let out a sharp laugh, as if Charlie had just told the funniest joke in the world. “You know what they used to call men like you? Weak. Unfit to lead. Choosing your mistress over your wife.” I watched as Charlie’s face turned a blotchy red, as if Ethan had struck a nerve. He finally exploded. “All you ever do is use Grandpa to put me down! You call me unfit? What about you? You’re a damn psycho! If it weren’t for—” He cut himself off, his voice fading as if he remembered who he was talking to. The party ended abruptly. The cake was never cut. Charlie sent everyone home, including his uncle, Ethan. I knew Charlie despised his younger uncle. He’d once told me, hissing the words, that Ethan was a genuine, certifiable lunatic. As the last guest departed, a profound sadness washed over me. A near-stranger had defended me more fiercely than the man who had sworn to protect me—the very man who was the source of all my pain. I didn’t offer Charlie my usual comfort. I simply turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when his voice, low and laced with anger, stopped me. “The way that psycho Ethan was staring at you… his eyes were practically glued to you. Are you planning on cheating?” I summoned the last of my patience. “I have never once thought about cheating. You’re the one parading your starlet around. And for the record, I wasn’t even looking at him.” Charlie’s brow relaxed slightly. “Parading her around? Don’t be so dramatic. I already told you, you’ll always be Mrs. Tinkcom. What more do you want?” I couldn’t talk to him anymore. It was like speaking to a brick wall. “Happy birthday,” I said, and walked away. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, still offering him that small kindness after everything. 3 The next morning, I escaped to my sanctuary: the therapy studio I had built from the ground up. Only here, immersed in my work, could I forget the wounds Charlie had inflicted. Here, I felt valued. Here, I felt needed. But today, my sanctuary was invaded by two unwelcome visitors. My husband, and his employee. Or more accurately, the woman who had shattered our marriage, Scarlett Vance. They walked in holding hands, Charlie playing the part of the doting partner. He shooed away my scheduled client and stood over my desk, looking down at me with an air of command. “Clara. Scarlett needs a session. She’s been dealing with a lot of online harassment.” Even at my lowest, I had my limits. I would not treat my husband’s mistress as a patient. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cold. “This clinic is too small for a ‘goddess’ like her. You should try a major hospital.” Charlie’s face turned to thunder. “What did you just say? You’ll see her, right now. Or I’ll make sure this place loses its license.” Scarlett immediately clutched his arm, her voice a tremulous plea. “Charlie, don’t be angry. I’m sure Mrs. Tinkcom is just afraid she won’t be able to help me. That’s why she’s refusing.” “It’s all my fault,” she whimpered, tears already glistening in her eyes. “I never should have suggested coming here. Please, don’t fight because of me.” As a tear rolled down her perfectly sculpted cheek, Charlie melted. He pulled her into his arms right in front of me, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances. “Shh, don’t cry, don’t cry. My Scarlett is the most beautiful. Don’t let someone like her upset you. The company needs you.” His voice was so gentle it felt like a physical blow. I drifted for a moment, remembering all the times I had cried to him. “Clara, you’re Charlie Tinkcom’s wife,” he would say, his tone impatient. “You need to be strong. Crying doesn’t solve anything.” I used to think he was just emotionally distant. But now I knew the truth. I just wasn’t the right person. I wasn’t worthy of his comfort. It had all been in my head. Because of his words, I had stopped crying in front of him long ago. I learned to soothe my own wounds, to be my own counselor. My silence seemed to infuriate Charlie further. He snatched a potted plant from my desk and smashed it on the floor. “See her now!” he roared. “Or I’ll tear this place apart. I paid for it, after all.” I looked up at him, my own tears threatening to spill. “You promised,” I whispered. “You promised you would never interfere with my work. That you would always support me.” “I…” For a split second, a flicker of unease crossed his face. He looked almost… panicked. But before he could process it, Scarlett’s voice cut through the tension. “Charlie, I don’t feel well. If Mrs. Tinkcom doesn’t want to, we shouldn’t force her. Let’s just go.” “No. You’re getting your session today.” He knelt beside her, all his attention focused on her distress. “It’s okay, Scarlett. I’ll make sure you get the help you need.” He stood up, his mouth opening to threaten me again. But I beat him to it, turning my gaze to Scarlett. “I’ll see you.” 4 I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced myself to see Scarlett as just another patient. After running a series of diagnostic tests, I stared at the results, a deep frown creasing my forehead. Charlie burst into the room without knocking. “Clara, how is she? What’s the verdict?” I didn’t answer. The data on the report was too clean, too perfect. The scores were so extreme they looked deliberately fabricated. Charlie snatched the papers from my hand. His eyes scanned the page and landed on the conclusion: Preliminary diagnosis: Severe Major Depressive Disorder, compounded by severe affection deprivation. “Charlie, these results are questionable,” I said, trying to remain professional. “We need to run more tests. And Miss Vance,” I added, turning a skeptical eye on her, “were you completely honest in your responses?” She flinched as if I’d struck her, letting out a series of soft whimpers. She swayed, looking as if she might faint at any moment. Charlie’s hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “What kind of therapist are you?” he raged. “You screw up the diagnosis, and then you have the nerve to accuse Scarlett of lying!” I stood there, stunned. He had never, ever laid a hand on me before. But for this woman, he would cross any line, humiliate me in any way. From the safety of Charlie’s arms, Scarlett peeked at me. A triumphant, vicious smile played on her lips as she mouthed two silent words: You lose. Something inside me snapped. With a guttural scream, I shoved them both out of my office, out of my sanctuary. Charlie, startled by my feral rage, simply stared for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, before scooping Scarlett into his arms and leaving. I looked at the wreckage of my office—the shattered pot, the scattered soil. And then, a laugh escaped my lips. A wild, unhinged sound. “Hah… haha… hahaha…” It was the kind of laughter that comes when sorrow becomes so immense, it can only curdle into madness. 5 When I got home, Charlie was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. I tried to ignore his intense gaze and head upstairs. In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling me into his arms. He nuzzled my neck, his voice a placating murmur. “Clara, baby, I’m sorry. I was just so worried about Scarlett today, that’s why I hit you. It was a mistake.” “Her situation could really hurt the company,” he continued, as if that explained everything. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time, I promise. Forgive me? Look, I even made you dinner.” The casual way he tried to erase the day’s events made me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I was about to speak when his phone rang. He answered, and a woman’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Tinkcom, you have to come quick! Scarlett’s having an episode! She’s locked herself in her room, she’s hurting herself, and we can’t get the door open!” Charlie’s hand, which had been holding mine, dropped away. He grabbed his car keys and was gone in a blur. I looked at the cold bowl of noodles on the table. Of course. I should have known. Charlie had drained me of so much energy, so much love. I didn’t know how much longer I could sustain this marriage. One last chance. I would give him one last chance. If he failed again, I was done. I knew I had a tendency to love too much, to let my heart rule my head. Falling for him had been my own foolish mistake, but who can control matters of the heart? Later that night, as I lay in our empty bed, my phone buzzed. It was a picture. A naked picture of Scarlett and Charlie, tangled together in bed. A text followed immediately. Mrs. Tinkcom, Charlie won’t be coming home tonight. We just finished, and we’re both a little tired. He’s so gentle, you know? Wouldn’t want me to feel a second of pain. He even cleaned me up afterwards. He says it’s a shame you could never give him a child. Do you think I’ll get pregnant with his baby? My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, then shattered into a million pieces. Charlie was never gentle with me. After sex, he would simply roll over and fall asleep, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone. He never once showed me such tenderness. When I asked him to be softer, he’d just say he wasn’t good at it and tell me to bear with it. The irony was so cruel it was physically painful. As a professional, I knew the name for this feeling: broken heart syndrome, a real condition where intense emotional stress causes the heart to malfunction. This time, Charlie had extinguished the very last spark of love I had for him. The healer cannot heal herself. What a pathetic joke. This title, Mrs. Tinkcom… I didn’t want it anymore. To hell with it. I typed out a reply. Then I wish you two a long and happy life together. Try not to ruin anyone else’s. My training, my very instinct for self-preservation, was screaming at me. I had to get out of this marriage, or I would become one of my own patients. My mind made up, I drafted the divorce papers, ready to send them as soon as I had all my documents in order. But before I could make my move, a tidal wave of filth came crashing down on me. 6 The internet exploded with the news: beloved starlet Scarlett Vance’s depression had worsened significantly. The cause? A botched diagnosis from a “black-hearted” therapist. And that therapist, of course, was me. I wasn’t surprised. Overnight, I became the villain of a national witch hunt. Scarlett’s fans descended like a pack of rabid dogs, tearing me to shreds online. “What kind of quack clinic worsens a patient’s condition?” “BOYCOTT THIS PLACE! I’m posting this therapist’s info everywhere, go see for yourselves!” “And she’s the CEO’s wife? So she just bullies a regular person like our Scarlett? Despicable.” The comments were endless, each one more venomous than the last. Even for a seasoned therapist like me, the sheer volume of hatred was overwhelming. I told myself to hold on, to wait for the right moment to strike back. The online firestorm brought Charlie home. But there was no concern in his eyes, no questions about my side of the story. Only pure, unadulterated rage. “Clara, do you think having red eyes is going to fix this? Do you have any idea how much money you’ve lost the company?” he yelled. “We’re holding a press conference tomorrow. You will be there, and you will apologize to Scarlett.” “She said if you apologize, she’ll let the whole thing go.” By now, my heart was numb. I no longer felt pain, only a cold, clear calm. “How generous of her,” I said, my voice flat. “But I have news for you, Charlie. Scarlett is faking it. And I am not apologizing for something I didn’t do.” Charlie, who was pacing in front of the sofa, went rigid with fury. He swept a glass off the coffee table, and it shattered against the floor. “The evidence is overwhelming, and you’re still lying! Don’t push your luck, Clara. The Tinkcom family will not tolerate a wife who brings shame to our name. One more stunt like this, and we’re done. Divorce.” A shard of porcelain flew through the air, slicing into my calf. He froze, his eyes fixed on the trickle of blood. For a moment, he looked like he was about to rush over to me. I clutched my leg and instinctively recoiled. I didn’t want his touch. Divorce. He had the gall to threaten me with divorce. This was it. This was my chance. “I’ll apologize,” I said, my voice steady. “But on one condition.” The anger on his face was replaced by a flicker of triumphant relief. “Name it.” “Give me a divorce.”

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Five thirty PM. I was just packing up to leave when a message from my colleague, Karen, popped up on my screen. It was a document, followed by a pleading emoji. Then, the text: “Kathy, I have to run and pick up my son from school. Could you just finish this little bit for me?” I glanced at the progress bar on the document she’d sent. My brow furrowed. “Karen, this is a lot more than a ‘little bit.’ I have plans tonight.” I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. She appeared at my desk, her voice sharp and laced with a grating, matter-of-fact entitlement. “Kathy Kim, are your plans more important than me picking up my child? Besides, it’s not like you have kids. You’re just going home to an empty house. Just stay and do a little overtime for me.” 1. Karen’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was pitched to carry across the entire open-plan office. The room fell silent. A few pairs of eyes, glinting with schadenfreude, landed on me. My fingers tightened on the mouse until my knuckles were white. “Karen, this is your work.” Her volume shot up instantly, her face a mask of disbelief as if I had committed an unforgivable sin. “Why are you being so selfish? This is for my child! For the next generation! What’s the big deal with helping out? Have you no compassion?” Another mother from a nearby desk immediately chimed in, her words dripping with passive aggression. “Yeah, Kathy. Karen’s son, Cody, is so adorable. It’s not easy being a mom.” A third colleague covered her mouth, whispering in a stagey, sympathetic tone, “People without children probably can’t understand that feeling. They can be so cold-hearted.” Every word was a needle, pricking at me from all sides. I took a deep breath and shut down my computer. “I told you. I have plans.” I grabbed my bag and, under Karen’s stunned gaze, clocked out right on time. As I stepped out of the building, the evening breeze on my face did little to clear the knot of frustration in my chest. A black sedan was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Liam Carter’s face. “Get in.” I slid into the passenger seat, and he handed me a warm corn juice. “Getting guilt-tripped again?” I didn’t answer, just wrapped my hands around the warm cup. The car pulled smoothly into the evening traffic. “She’s dumped the quarterly data on you three times now,” Liam said, his voice flat. He was my father’s most trusted executive assistant, the man who had practically watched me grow up. “Her son’s birthday is this month,” I recited, leaning back and watching the city lights blur past the window. “Next week is a parent-teacher conference, and the week after that is a field trip.” “So she’ll always have another excuse,” Liam finished for me, glancing over. “What are you going to do?” “What can I do? When I can’t take it anymore, I’ll fight back.” I managed a tired smile. Liam didn’t press further. When I got home, I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. It was the department group chat. Karen had posted a long, tear-jerking monologue. “It’s so sad how cold young people are these days. As a mother, all I did was ask for a little help with some finishing touches so I could pick up my son, and she just stormed off. When we were new, we did everything for our seniors—got them coffee, made copies, you name it. Now? There’s just no sense of team spirit.” A few replies popped up immediately. “Don’t be angry, Karen. Some people just have no sense of responsibility.” “She’s not a mom. She can’t understand your struggles.” “I’ll mention it to the manager for you tomorrow.” I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask. Liam walked over and gently took the phone from my hand. “Stop looking at that. She’s a buffoon.” “She’s not. She’s a mirror.” I looked up at him. “One that reflects a lot of people.” 2. The moment I stepped into the office the next morning, I knew something was wrong. My desk was buried under a mountain of files, far more than a day’s worth of work. Karen sauntered over, a smug smirk on her face and a coffee in her hand. “Kathy, darling. The manager noticed you left early yesterday, so you must have plenty of energy. He said you can handle all of this today.” The manager poked his head out of his office. “That’s right, Kathy. It’s a blessing for young people to work hard.” I ignored them, sat down, and turned on my computer. Then, I stood up. I gathered the tallest stack of files from my desk and walked, step by deliberate step, over to the large office trash can. With a thunderous crash, I dumped the entire stack inside. Paper scattered like snowflakes, a few sheets drifting to rest at the manager’s feet. The office fell dead silent. Karen’s coffee cup slipped, splashing hot liquid on her hand. She let out a sharp cry. “Kathy Kim! Are you insane? Those are important documents!” “Important documents?” I turned, my gaze pinning her in place. “If they were so important, why were they piled on my desk instead of being properly filed in the archives?” I advanced on her, the click of my heels on the linoleum floor sounding like a death knell. “In this pile, there were three sets of old data that should have been archived last month, five procedural forms from other departments, and two of your own personal expense reports. Am I wrong?” Karen’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and a sickly green. “You… You’re lying!” “Am I? We can just dig through the trash and find out.” My eyes swept over her, then landed on the terrified manager. “Or, we could call down someone from the Chairman’s office to help us assess the value of these ‘important documents’.” The manager’s face turned the color of liver. He shot Karen a venomous glare before forcing a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “A misunderstanding! It’s all a misunderstanding. Kathy, don’t get worked up. Karen was just joking with you.” He scurried over to the trash can, pathetically trying to salvage the papers. I didn’t stop him. “A joke?” I looked at him, the contempt in my eyes palpable. “Joking with company work? Is that your management style?” His hands froze mid-air. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I… of course that’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” I pressed, my voice low but every word a dagger. The other colleagues didn’t dare breathe, desperately trying to merge with their computer screens. The ones who had cheered Karen on in the group chat last night looked like they wanted to crawl inside their monitors and disappear. Karen stood frozen, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. Finally, the manager broke. “It’s my fault. My management was lacking. Kathy, please, calm down. I promise I will give you a proper resolution to this.” He yanked Karen into his office, and the door slammed shut with a resounding boom. I returned to my desk. The world was finally quiet. During my lunch break, a message from Liam came through. Heard you went on a rampage this morning. I replied: Just taking out the trash. A few minutes later, another message. Well done. But now they’ll just move their attacks from the open to the shadows. I stared at the screen and typed back. I’m waiting. 3. After being reprimanded, Karen kept a low profile for a few days. She stopped openly pushing her work onto me, but the whispers and gossip about me in the office multiplied. “She thinks she can challenge her seniors and the manager just because she’s young and pretty.” “I heard she has connections. How else could she be so arrogant?” “It’s always the ones who look innocent. They’re the most calculating.” I ignored it all. That afternoon, our department was given an urgent, high-stakes assignment: design the invitation for a major charity gala. The deadline was tight, and the manager put Karen in charge. The first thing she did was come to me. This time, her posture was different. She was humble, almost pleading. “Kathy, I know you’re the strongest designer we have. This invitation is incredibly important; it’s our whole department’s reputation on the line. Can you please help me?” She paused, then added the clincher. “I’m begging you. You know I have Cody to take care of. I just don’t have the energy for something this big.” I saw the glint in her eye and asked calmly, “Help you? Does that mean I lead, or you do?” “You lead, of course!” she said quickly. “I’ll be your assistant! And the credit will all be yours in the end!” I nodded. “Fine.” I took the project and dove in headfirst. This wasn’t just an invitation; it was a representation of the entire corporation’s image. I researched extensively, and inspired by the gala’s theme, “A River of Stars,” I developed a concept that blended a celestial night sky with silhouettes of ancient architecture. To achieve the perfect effect, I even asked Liam to connect me with a master artisan, a specialist in the traditional craft of silhouette cutting. He handcrafted the silhouette portion, which I then scanned for digital post-processing. For three straight days, I practically lived at the office. Karen, my supposed “assistant,” did nothing but leave on the dot every day to pick up her son. She’d occasionally pop by my desk to ask, “How’s it coming along?” before snapping a few pictures of me hard at work. She’d then post them in the department group chat with captions like, “Kathy is working so hard! Let’s all cheer her on!” On Friday, the final proof was ready. The exquisite, hollowed-out star map, paired with the elegant, classic silhouette, was breathtaking. The manager was effusive with his praise. “This is brilliant! Karen, you’ve really hit a home run this time!” Karen beamed. “Oh, it was nothing. I just had a good initial concept, and Kathy helped out a lot, of course.” I stood to the side, silent. Karen clutched the design proofs as if they were her newborn child. “Sir, I’ll take this over to the project lead at corporate headquarters myself. It’ll be a good chance to explain my design philosophy in person.” The manager nodded eagerly. “Excellent idea, excellent.” I watched her stride triumphantly out of the office, a cold smile playing on my lips. Liam was right. They had just moved their methods into the shadows. And I had already built the stage for their performance. I opened my laptop and sent an encrypted file to Liam. It contained every draft of my design from the past three days, my inspiration notes, the communication records with the silhouette artist, and, hidden in the bottom right corner of the final design, my initials—CV—encoded in Morse code. I sent him a message. Fish is on the hook. He replied instantly. The net is ready.

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