Author: Momo Chan

I ran into my parents for the first time in ten years while taking my daughter for a low-tide stroll on the beach. Lila was sprinting toward a statue for a photo with her favorite limited-edition plushie, when she ran straight into my mother. Lila looked up to apologize, and the moment my mother saw her face, she froze. A stunned silence hung in the humid air. “Rob, look at her,” my mother murmured, her voice thin. “She’s Seraphina. Exactly like our Sera at that age.” I pulled my sunhat lower, hurried forward with a quick, generic apology, grabbed Lila’s hand, and spun to walk away. But my father’s voice, unchanged, harsh, pinned me in place. “Seraphina Prescott! Ten years! Why haven’t you come home?” He stepped closer, his face a mask of practiced hurt. “Do you have any idea how much money we spent trying to find you? We looked all over the world.” He took one look at my weathered linen shirt and the simple life stretching behind me on the sand. “You’re still so willful, so much less grounded than Briana!” I turned back, my voice flat, calm, and definitive. “Sir, Ma’am, you have the wrong person. My home is right here.” The home they were talking about, I had left behind a decade ago. 1 “Seraphina! What is this attitude? You don’t recognize your own parents?” Seeing my silence, my father’s face flushed a deep red. “It seems the lesson we gave you wasn’t enough!” Before I could speak, five-year-old Lila stepped forward, throwing her arms out wide to shield me. “Mommy is a good person! You are mean people, and you can’t bully my mommy!” My father’s hand shot out, his finger trembling as he pointed at me. “Is this your daughter? Fine! No wonder you didn’t come home. You ran off with some lowlife!” He raised his hand. “I’ll beat the willfulness out of you, you ungrateful girl!” The sharp crack of his palm against my cheek echoed the sound that had once shattered my childhood. When Lila realized I’d been hit, she wailed and threw herself at my father’s legs, punching and kicking him with tiny, desperate fists. “Mean man! Don’t hit my mommy! My Daddy will fight you!” Ignoring the stinging heat on my face, I yanked Lila back. “Lila, we’re going home. Now!” My mother rushed up, grabbing my arm. “Sera, stop being dramatic! Your father is just upset because he’s missed you!” “He missed you so much a few years ago that he had a heart attack—he almost… Just apologize to him and come back with us.” I snatched my arm free. My voice was ice. “My name is Ava Jensen, not Seraphina Prescott. If you follow me, I’m calling the police.” With that, I scooped Lila into my arms and walked toward the small inn, not once looking back. Back at the inn, I collapsed onto a stool behind the bar, feeling hollowed out, unmoored. Lila, still sniffling, ran into the kitchen and dragged my husband, Owen, out by the apron strings. “Daddy, kiss Mommy! A mean man hit Mommy today!” Hearing this, Owen quickly wiped his hands on his checkered apron and strode over to me. He pulled me into a fierce hug, then gently cupped my face, turning my head from side to side. “Where? Does it hurt? Come on, I’ll take you to the clinic.” I caught his hand and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just ran into a couple of people I’d rather not see.” Owen understood. He didn’t ask for details, just pulled me tighter, stroking my back, slow and steady. “Don’t worry, Ava. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you again.” Lila stretched up on her tiptoes, her soft, little hand patting my forehead, mimicking the way I comforted her. “Mommy, be brave! Don’t worry, Lila protects you!” Owen joined the chorus, pitching his voice to match our daughter’s sweet, silly tone. “Ava, be brave! Don’t worry, your husband protects you!” Watching them, the edges of my vision blurred. A long, long time ago, I had been cherished that way, too. I was afraid of the dark, so my parents covered the hallway between their room and mine with glow-in-the-dark stickers. Dad told me the flower fairies would guide me to them. I was afraid of thunderstorms, so on rainy nights, they’d set up a small tent in my bedroom. We’d all three squeeze in, me sandwiched safely between them. “Sera, my girl, be brave! Don’t worry, Daddy and Mommy will always protect you!” All of that ended the year I turned seven, the day my mother brought home her best friend’s daughter. “Sera, this is Maureen’s daughter, Briana Weaver. She’ll be your sister now.” I was thrilled. I took her hand and led her on a grand tour of my princess room. I gave her the music box my father had brought back from Europe. I pulled out the designer sundress, the one I treasured most. “Bree, this was my birthday gift from Mom. It’s custom-made. The only one in the world!” Briana took the dress, looked at it for a second, and then violently flung it on the floor, stomping her foot down hard on the delicate fabric. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, pushing her away. The crisp, new fabric was ruined with muddy footprints. Briana sat down instantly and erupted into dramatic, gasping sobs. Her cry brought my mother running. She rushed in, picked up Briana, and hugged her close, soothing her. “Bree, darling, what happened? Tell Aunt Victoria.” Hiding in my mother’s embrace, Briana choked out a lie. “Sera called me a charity case and said I wasn’t allowed to touch her things…” “Aunt Victoria, where is my Mommy? I miss her. Did she really leave me?” My mother’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She hugged Briana tight. “Bree, sweetheart! I’m your mother now.” Then, she turned and yelled at me, her voice sharp and unfamiliar. “Seraphina Prescott! How could you be so insensitive? Apologize to Briana, right now!” I pointed at the ruined dress on the floor, my own eyes swimming. “But she stomped on my dress first!” “A silly piece of cloth is more important than your sister’s feelings? You are so spoiled!” “But you made it for me…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I haven’t even worn it once.” “Seraphina, we have clearly spoiled you rotten,” my mother sighed, rubbing her temples. “You will stay in your room tonight and think about what you’ve done.” She took Briana to The City Grille, the upscale restaurant I had been begging to visit. That night, she brought me back a small slice of stale carrot cake. Mom told me Briana was a poor, sad girl. She had lost her father, and now her mother. I had to be the understanding one. I needed to let her have things. Eating the cake, I nodded dumbly. But that single allowance cost me everything I owned. If Briana wanted it, my mother would simply say, Sera, let Briana have it. My dolls. My bedroom. Even my passion. When I was ten, the painting I’d worked on for six months was entered into a prestigious national competition by Briana, who won first prize. I confronted my mother, demanding to know why. “You’ve won so many awards, what’s the harm in letting her have this one? Bree needs this prize to secure her apprenticeship.” “But I worked on that for half a year!” I screamed at her. “Enough!” My father emerged from his study, his face thunderous. “If it takes you six months to finish one painting, you have no talent anyway. Stop this nonsense!” That evening, I ran a dangerously high fever. While I lay burning up, delirious, they were out at a lavish dinner party for Briana’s new mentor. It was my grandmother, who drove in from the country the next day, who found me and rushed me to the hospital. The doctor said an hour more and the fever would have caused brain damage. Grandma lost it. She took me back to her simple farmhouse, ignoring my parents’ protests. They tried to call me home, but every time they planned a trip, Briana would conveniently fall ill or run away. Eventually, they stopped calling. And I stopped asking. The years with Grandma were the most peaceful of my life. She didn’t call me Seraphina; she called me Ava. She said I was her best girl, her top-notch granddaughter, the best girl in the world. But Grandma’s health failed. When I was a senior in high school, she was hospitalized again, and she insisted my parents take me back for my final year of school. I carried a massive bag of Grandma’s famous buttermilk biscuits, full of anticipation, and burst through the door. Grandma said Mom loved these biscuits when she was little. The housekeeper, however, informed me my parents had taken Briana on a trip to Europe. For three days, I kept the biscuits warm, waiting. “Sera, Mommy missed you so much!” My mother rushed in and hugged me the second they got home. My father ruffled my hair. “Kid, you’ve grown taller!” I was about to hand over the bag of biscuits when Briana let out a sharp, dramatic shriek. They instantly dropped me and rushed to her. “Mommy, Daddy, I wanted to give Seraphina a gift, but I pinched my hand on the suitcase latch!” Briana wailed, her eyes overflowing with tears. “I’m so clumsy!” My mother blew gently on her fingers. “Silly girl, how will you paint now that you’ve hurt your hand?” “Look how red it is! Come on, we’re going to the emergency room.” My father’s face was etched with concern as he grabbed the car keys. “Sera, Briana’s hurt. We’re taking her to the hospital.” As they walked out, my mother glanced at the biscuits in my hand. “Those things are pure carbs, Sera. You’ll pack on the weight and get zits.” I looked down at the blister on my own hand, where hot grease had popped during the baking. I sat down and slowly ate every single biscuit. That night, I told my parents I was moving into the campus dorms. They initially refused, but after Briana’s saccharine, “good-hearted” suggestion that I needed space to study, they consented. The day I received my university acceptance letter, I flew home to pack. Grandma’s greatest regret was never having seen the ocean. I chose a college right on the coast. I was going to take her there. I pulled my suitcase to the front door, my hand on the knob, when my phone rang. It was the county hospital. “Is this Seraphina Prescott? Your grandmother… she’s in critical condition. You need to come quickly…” The phone slipped from my fingers and smashed on the floor. I stumbled out the door. My parents were standing there, their faces pale and distraught. “Mom… the hospital called… Grandma… she’s dying…” I collapsed into my mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Take me… take me to the hospital… I have to see her… one last time.” “Sera, your grandmother will be fine. We’ll take you right away.” My mother held me close, stroking my back. “But first, promise Mommy one thing. Please?” “What?” I looked up through my tears. “Help Briana!” My mother gestured behind my father. Briana peered out, smelling strongly of alcohol, shaking like a leaf. A cold wave of dread washed over me. “What’s wrong with her?” “Briana… she was drinking tonight, and she drove… she hit someone. She panicked and left the scene.” My mother’s voice was shaking. I instantly understood, but I forced myself to ask. “What do you want me to do?” My mother gripped my arm tightly. “Sera, help her. Take the blame for her, okay?” “Briana is still so young. She has no parents left, her life has been hard enough. She can’t have a criminal record. It would ruin her. She would kill herself!” I yanked my arm away, my voice a raw scream. “What about me? Is my life disposable? Can I be ruined?” “How can you even think that?” My mother looked genuinely wounded. “You are our daughter, a Prescott! Even with a stain, you’ll always be our cherished Seraphina. We can afford to take care of you forever!” “This will not affect your future!” I looked at her, and a strange, terrible laugh escaped me. “I can’t help you with this.” “If you won’t take me to Grandma, I’ll go myself!” I grabbed my suitcase and rushed for the door. “Stop right there!” My father bellowed. Two bodyguards appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me, holding me fast. “If you don’t agree today, you won’t take one step out that door!” I looked from him to my mother standing behind him. “Mom, that’s your mother! You don’t care if she lives or dies?” “Sera, your grandmother has doctors. But Briana? If we don’t help her now, it’s a death sentence!” My mother began to wail. “Briana said she’d die if she went to jail! Seraphina, please, just pity your mother. Save her life!” As she screamed, she snatched the car keys from my hand and tossed them to the lawyer standing nearby. Then she pulled out her phone and, right in front of me, dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime. The person who committed the hit-and-run on Coastal Road was my daughter, Seraphina Prescott.” When she hung up, I looked at them, tears streaming down my face from laughter. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you truly are pillars of the community.” I stopped struggling and spoke calmly. “Fine. I agree to take the fall for Briana Weaver.” “But you must immediately take me to the hospital. I have to see my grandmother.” When we arrived, it was too late. Grandma had stopped breathing thirty minutes earlier. I knelt by the hospital bed, unfolding my university acceptance letter and placing it where she could see. “Grandma, look! Ava got into college. Ava can take you to the ocean now!” The police escorted me out of the hospital shortly after. At the station, I tried to recant. But my parents, with the help of their high-powered lawyer, had already manufactured a flawless chain of evidence. The day of the trial, my parents sat in the front row of the gallery. Briana was nestled in my mother’s arms, weeping theatrically. My mother stroked her back, her eyes full of pity. My father sat beside them, whispering comforts. I never looked at them again. I was convicted of hit-and-run and sentenced to three years in prison.

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The guys who wanted her treated me like a prized stepping stone. The guys who wanted me were usually her faded leftovers. I had spent my entire life trying to escape my sister, Victoria. Until her favorite ex-boyfriend looked at me and asked, “Marry me?” Staring into the sharp, perfectly sculpted face of Rhys Thorne, I heard myself say, “Yes.” Six years into our secret marriage, Tori came home. Everyone waited for their epic reunion. I calmly booked a flight. “I have other plans. You’ll have to excuse me.” 1 I heard about Tori’s return in our old high school alumni group text. Liam Chase, the class president, posted screenshots of their chat, excitedly announcing: “Our queen, Victoria Sterling, is coming home! Who’s in for a welcome party?” Tori was always adored. Within ten minutes, the thread was at 99+ messages. I don’t know who started the frenzy, but the next message that caught fire was: “We have to get Rhys in on this!” And just like that, the entire group exploded. “Rhys and Tori were the Northwood High power couple.” “I still remember them winning the State Debate Championship—Rhys on first argument, Tori on second—they wiped the floor with the competition.” “And that campus promotional video they shot? Every frame dripped with pure gold.” “They were so perfect. How did they break up right after college?” “I heard they’re both single. The Golden Girl and the CEO, maybe they can finally pick up where they left off.” They shared memories. Someone recalled Tori playing her violin on the rooftop at sunset, claiming all the world’s beauty gathered just for her. Someone else remembered countless girls crying over Rhys, only for him to remain completely unmoved. What none of them knew was that Rhys, the untouchable golden boy, was my husband. My secret husband. My old lab partner, Mia, was the only one who remembered me. But her @ was a complaint. “Eliza, you’re awful.” “You’re the goddess’s sister! You didn’t give us any heads-up? Those of us out of state barely have time to fly back!” I stared at the screen, speechless. Was I supposed to tell her that Tori and I were practically strangers, and my relationship with our parents was colder still? My sister’s homecoming was news to me, too. My parents hadn’t bothered to call. I started to type a reply, but stopped. I hadn’t asked Rhys what he thought. This year marked Tori’s seventh year abroad, and my sixth year married to Rhys. I wanted to text him, but decided to wait until he was home. What would I even say? Your Golden Girl is back. Do you want me to gracefully exit? The silence of the house became heavy with anticipation. I started dinner. Rhys likes his rice slightly softer than average. The scallops and bamboo-pith soup needs to be just-off-the-boil. The soup wasn’t ready when my phone rang. It was Rhys. “Your mother called me,” he said. “She mentioned feeling under the weather. If you have a moment, could you check on her for me?” He used the phrase “for me,” not “you should.” A small kindness, and I was grateful. Rhys knew my relationship with my mother was fractured. In the last few years, he’d paid more attention to her than I, her own daughter, had. It made sense. He and Tori were childhood sweethearts. Our families were intrinsically linked. When they dated, everyone celebrated. When they broke up, everyone mourned. When Tori left for her advanced studies in Europe, my mother tearfully declared, “It is the great regret of my life that I won’t see Rhys as my son-in-law.” If she knew her greatest regret was that I was the one who married him—the daughter she barely tolerated—she’d probably be even more devastated. 2 I picked up a few groceries at the corner market, walking slowly toward my childhood home. As I tapped on the door, I heard a light, melodic voice from inside. “Rhys, you made it!” Tori’s radiant smile vanished the moment she saw me. My parents peeked out from the kitchen. “We called Rhys,” my mother, Anne, said, a note of disappointment sharp in her voice. “Why are you here?” I placed the bag of groceries on the floor, vaguely replying, “I just came home to check in.” I was still their daughter. No one could legally tell me I wasn’t allowed inside. My mother sighed, taking the bag from me. “All this time, and you bring these?” The hallway wall was stacked with gifts, clearly from Europe, that Tori had brought back. My humble store-bought fruit was instantly pathetic. I ignored her look of disdain. “Rhys said you weren’t feeling well, but he’s swamped, so he asked me to come instead.” My mother didn’t pause to wonder why Rhys would contact me at all. She simply turned and called out to my father, Robert. “Call Rhys again, honey.” “Tori is finally home. He simply has to see her.” That’s when I noticed the table. It was laden with all of Rhys’s favorite dishes. This wasn’t an ailing parent’s request; it was an ambush. A carefully orchestrated family meeting to reunite Rhys and Tori. My mother pulled me aside, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Eliza, when Rhys gets here, you need to behave. Don’t you dare mess this up for your sister, or I swear I’ll skin you alive.” I couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “What if Rhys isn’t single anymore?” My mother glared at me. “Don’t you speak such nonsense.” “Your sister has carried a torch for him all these years. Her returning now is her attempt to get him back.” A heavy feeling settled in my chest. Before I could speak, my father had already placed the call. Rhys’s polite refusal was audible. But then Tori snatched the phone. “It’s me. I’m back.” “Rhys, I need to see you.” Her voice was soft, yet the slight tremor in her tail end held a dramatic vulnerability that was impossible to ignore. The line was silent for a moment. Then Rhys’s simple reply: “I’m stuck at the office. I’ll be there in an hour.” Tori hung up. She ran a practiced hand through her long hair and smiled at my mother. “See? I knew he wanted to see me, too. He’s just too proud to admit it.” “We were young and stubborn back then. We let small things tear us apart.” Her eyes were bright with absolute certainty. “But I’ve learned to compromise.” Tori had always been the famously spoiled princess. But Rhys was equally sharp-edged and self-possessed. Their combined intensity had led to inevitable friction. I sat on the sofa, quietly eating a handful of strawberries, trying to disappear. The doorbell rang again. Everyone rushed to greet him. Over their heads, my eyes met Rhys’s. 3 He still wore the black suit he’d worn to the office, which only accentuated his height and his cool, reserved demeanor. Rhys was the kind of person who projected a faint, untouchable aura even in the most crowded room. Few were ever allowed into his inner circle. My sister, clearly, was an exception. We sat at the round dining table. Tori strategically placed herself closest to him. She was naturally beautiful and always the center of attention. But the three years she’d spent in Europe had polished her sharp edges. Every gesture was thoughtful, every word perfectly placed. She smoothly transitioned from discussing her European travels to his recent business dealings. When she brought up funny old memories, I saw the hard line of Rhys’s brow relax slightly. I sat in the corner, a transparent presence. But that was how it had always been for over a decade. I was accustomed to it. My mind drifted to a childhood memory: I was huddled in the hallway, twisting my dress hem, watching Rhys and Tori, constantly surrounded by well-wishers and admiration. They were born to stand in the light. A dull ache started in my stomach. My grip slipped, and my teacup crashed to the floor. Rhys was the first to snap out of his conversation with Tori. His gaze landed on my bleeding finger, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’ll take you to get that bandaged.” But my mother immediately stepped forward, pressing Rhys back into his chair. “You two stay and talk. You haven’t seen Tori in so long, you must have so much to catch up on.” She dismissed me with a wave. “Eliza is clumsy. Let her handle it herself. Don’t pay her any mind.” It wasn’t a deep cut, but the pain felt profound, cementing my silence. The dinner ended quickly and unpleasantly. Rain was falling outside. Rhys announced he had an early flight and had to leave. I vaguely recalled his business trip was scheduled for tomorrow. Had it been moved up? I stood up, too. “Rhys, I’m leaving with you.” Before I could reach him, my father grabbed my arm. “I’ll take you. Let your sister see Rhys out.” I understood. They were desperate to manufacture a moment for the two of them. I clenched my fists and slowly released them. I watched them both disappear into the entryway. “Dad,” I said, defeated, “just drop me off at the subway station.” He thrust an umbrella into my hand. “Walk yourself. It’s late; I don’t want to go out.” My throat tightened, a familiar, acrid burn. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. I had known my place in this house since I was four. When I was little, I had snuck out to play. Tori went looking for me and was tragically abducted. She was found three years later. My parents spent the next two decades compensating her for the trauma. I was the careless initiator of her suffering, and therefore deserved to be cold-shouldered. In that house, I wasn’t allowed new clothes or toys; I took Tori’s hand-me-downs. I couldn’t object to anything she told me to do. If I did, I was punished. Once, she tried to use a toilet brush to clean my teeth. I begged my parents for help. They only shook their heads. “You are the sinner in this house. Did you forget?” 4 I walked into the downpour without opening the umbrella. The night was a thick, ink-dark blur. When I got back to my apartment, my clothes were soaked through. Rhys wasn’t home. I thought about texting him, asking when he would return, but decided against it. Let it go. He was reconnecting with his past. I shouldn’t be the one to interfere. I took a long bath, then tidied the kitchen. Rhys finally returned. It was impossible to read his face; his typical aloofness made it hard to tell if his time with Tori had been enjoyable. I kept my head down, pretending to be busy. But he walked over and gently touched my wet hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I truly was busy today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sent you.” “And your parents… they gave you a hard time again, didn’t they?” The tears I’d held back all day finally spilled over. In that moment, I knew Rhys did care about me. But how much did he care about Tori? That thought felt like a rusted saw blade, scraping against my most fragile nerves. I was afraid to ask, but the words slipped out anyway. “Rhys, Tori is back. Are you… going to get back together with her?” When we got married, we’d agreed not to ask questions about each other’s past. But if I didn’t know the answer now, I thought I might actually lose my mind. Rhys abruptly took a lock of my hair, his voice serious, as if speaking a vow. “I would never do something that disrespectful.” “Eliza, you can trust me.” The heavy breath I’d been holding finally released. I watched silently as he used a towel to dry my hair. He gently pulled me into his arms, his fingers tracing my face. From my brow bone to my lips. Then lower. My face flushed, and I tried to pull away. He held me tighter. “Don’t move.” Rhys was rarely so forceful. It was difficult to resist. And then, as my world began to spin, I heard his low murmur. “I don’t want her anymore.” “Eliza, you are enough.” … I was still wide awake when the city finally went quiet. I was three years younger than Tori, yet I’d been forced into her class. When she was finally recovered, she was mentally fragile, sensitive to noise and bright lights. My parents, unable to constantly monitor her, ordered me to skip two grades to be her academic companion. I was too young to keep up. My grades plummeted, my physical education was the worst in class, and I made no friends. I cried myself to sleep countless times. But my parents needed me to keep tabs on Tori. In those years, my academic record was always at the bottom. Tori’s was always at the top. When people asked, my parents would beam. “Our elder daughter is exceptional.” “Our little one simply can’t compare.” My entire adolescence was spent in that kind of suffocating shadow. 5 The year I was supposed to graduate, Tori was accepted into a prestigious music conservatory in Vienna. My own grades were abysmal. I had to repeat the year before I finally got into a decent state university. I thought my mother would finally be happy for me. She merely said, “Repeating a year and still only managing that school isn’t exactly a badge of honor.” I should have known. I was not meant to be favored. I didn’t argue. I went straight to a nearby coffee shop and applied for a job. Over the next four years, I paid for my tuition and living expenses entirely on my own, never asking my family for a penny. I was too busy, and I rarely went home. I saw Rhys less often. In those days, he was a big brother figure. He helped me correct my math. He lent me inspirational books. If we took a nice photo together, he’d send me a copy. But most of the time, his attention was fixed on Tori. Once, on a rare visit home, Rhys looked at my wind-chapped hands and tired eyes. His brow furrowed. “Eliza, I never see you. What are you always doing?” I told him I was working three part-time jobs and my schedule was completely full. Rhys looked at me for a long time, his voice barely a whisper. “Aren’t you tired?” My eyes instantly welled up. No one had ever asked me that. My parents occasionally muttered, “Our younger daughter is sensible, she doesn’t cost us anything.” They never wondered how hard it was for a college student to maintain decent grades while working constantly. I was exhausted. I was holding on by sheer willpower. That’s the thing about a wound—you can bear the pain alone. But the moment someone offers a single word of genuine care, all the walls collapse. Looking back, that was probably the moment. That one sentence from Rhys. I stammered through some incoherent response. He actually smiled at my panic. “My company needs an administrative assistant. Why don’t you come help me?” Rhys had started his own company in college. It was small, but profitable. Every Friday, my job was to run out and buy the team afternoon treats. One time, I bought the pastries and went to deal with something else. When I came back, the platter was empty. I was staring at the crumbs when Rhys called my name. “I saved you the strawberry one. Your favorite.” I hid in the corner and ate that slice of cake. It tasted sweeter than anything I’d ever had. But soon after, Tori showed up at Rhys’s office. She smiled brightly. “Eliza is too clumsy to help you. Let me take over.” Just like that, I lost the job. It had always been this way. The moment Tori appeared, anything that was mine was taken. Now, she was back again. Would Rhys be taken from me too? 6 Rhys left for his business trip. I fell back into a routine of managing the apartment and my own freelance work. Something felt wrong. Before, no matter how busy he was, Rhys always found time to text me, a brief update on his status. This time, my messages vanished into a void. Days went by with no reply. The silence made me uneasy. Finally, I called his assistant, Mr. Davies. Rhys was a private, measured man. He didn’t believe his marriage was public business. Mr. Davies was the only person who knew we were secretly wed. Per Rhys’s instruction, he always referred to me as “Ms. Thorne” externally. I rarely interfered with Rhys’s affairs, but Mr. Davies was usually upfront when I asked. This time, he only said, “I need to check with the CEO and then I’ll call you back.” Moments later, his voice was apologetic. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Thorne had a minor car accident. He didn’t want to worry you, so he kept it quiet.” “When he’s feeling better, you can come see him.” I couldn’t wait. I went to every major hospital, using the vague details I had. I finally found him at the third hospital. A group of nurses was clustered around the station, whispering excitedly. “They’re so in sync, are they really just friends?” “Their energy together is insane. The mogul and the violinist, and they were high school sweethearts…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The answer I’d been dreading was right there. Through the slightly ajar door, I saw Tori spooning food from a thermos into a bowl. Rhys had a bandage wrapped around his forehead. His voice was flat. “Thank you for your effort, Tori, but you don’t need to do this for me.” “Besides, you just returned. You must have a lot to do.” Tori’s eyes were full of unconcealed tenderness. “I do have a lot to do. But, I can’t focus on anything until I know you’re okay.” I stood frozen in the doorway, a clumsy, abrupt intruder. Rhys finally saw me. He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?” Tori looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a dramatic sigh. “Did Mom and Dad tell her about this, too?” I forced myself to stand still, my insides churning. “Rhys, how did you get hurt?” 7 Rhys didn’t answer. Tori answered for him. “I was meeting a friend nearby and happened to run into him.” “Then… we got into an accident.” The hospital room window showed the reflection of Tori and me. She was wearing an elegant, fitted designer sheath, poised and graceful. I was in a messy sweatshirt and jeans, my hair wild from running, my makeup smeared. The contrast was brutal. I had a ridiculous thought: I want to know if the way Rhys looks at me is different from the way he looks at her. But I couldn’t get an answer. Rhys looked down at the documents he was reviewing, not meeting either Tori’s eyes or mine. I hadn’t been in the room for long when Tori urged me to leave. “Rhys is tired and needs rest. I’ll stay. Eliza, why don’t you go?” I turned to Rhys, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you want me to stay?” Our eyes locked. Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He said, “Yes.” Tori immediately positioned herself in front of me. “Rhys, don’t. You have me. She’s too clumsy and useless to take care of anyone.” But then, Mr. Davies knocked and walked in, saying a video conference was about to start. He politely asked us both to wait outside. Tori and I stood in the small waiting room. I felt awkward. I reached for a cup of water, but Tori suddenly stepped in front of me. She tilted her head back, looking down her nose. “Eliza, you are so stupid.” “Don’t think I haven’t figured out what you’re trying to do.” “But you need to look at yourself. I may have been apart from Rhys for a few years, but all it takes is one word from me, and he’ll stop liking you.” I clenched my fists. “Would you say that in front of Rhys?” Tori let out a cold laugh. “Do you think I wouldn’t?” Rage pulsed through my chest. Then, an interruption. Mr. Davies opened the door, smiling politely. “Ms. Eliza, Mr. Thorne would like to see you.” Tori looked genuinely shocked. “Her? Not me?” Mr. Davies’s smile became even more courteous. “That is the CEO’s request. I wouldn’t presume to question it.” Rhys was alone in the room. He looked at me, his voice soft. “I had Mr. Davies send your sister home. Stay and eat something with me.” I followed his gaze. A thermos sat on the bedside table. It wasn’t the one Tori had brought. Rhys explained. “I know you don’t eat their food. I had the staff send a different one.” 8 I had no appetite. Rhys, however, was patient. He scooped up a spoonful of soup and brought it to my lips. “Just a little. Your lips are completely drained of color.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. Seeing this side of the usually distant, self-controlled man was heartbreaking. My eyes burned, and I burst out, reckless with pain, “When are you going to tell Tori, and my parents, that we’ve been married for years?” The smile vanished from Rhys’s face. He stared at me intently. “Eliza, we had an agreement.” Years of suppressed emotion came boiling up. I asked, my voice trembling, “Then why did you marry me in the first place?” Rhys didn’t speak for a long moment. He chose his words carefully. “Why did you say yes?” “Eliza, over the years, you’ve started wanting more.” He was right. I was greedy. At 19, I only wanted Rhys to notice me. Now, I was greedy enough to want to walk fully and completely into his world. Rhys must despise me for this. He had to. Something dense and painful lodged in my heart. I looked down, choked up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put you in this difficult position.” But Rhys gently stroked my hair. “I’m the one who failed to consider your feelings.” “I will choose the right time to tell your parents about us.” Rhys’s voice held a natural certainty, the kind that could instantly relax my coiled tension. I forgave him in a rush. I leaned my head against his shoulder and cautiously asked, “Can you promise me not to see Tori again?” He didn’t hesitate. He kissed the top of my head. “Yes.” Rhys kept his word. He went home to recover the next day. I don’t know what he told Tori, but after that, she was silent for a few days. The peace didn’t last. The class group chat suddenly exploded again. Tori’s welcome dinner was finalized. A dozen local classmates would attend. Even I, the perennial wallflower, received an invitation. I held my phone and asked Rhys, “Are you going? Tori will be there.” He was in a rare, good mood, and he pinched my cheek playfully. “No.” “Someone told me I’m not allowed to.” 9 I hadn’t expected the scale of the reunion. Liam Chase had rented the hotel’s largest private room and ordered a bespoke cake. The room was noisy. Everyone was gathered around Tori, showering her with praise. She wore a classic white silk blouse and a pencil skirt—elegant and poised. Someone nudged her playfully. “We heard Rhys said he’d seen you already! You’ve only been back a few days.” “Spill it. What’s the status?” Tori smiled lightly, feigning embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that we’ve actually seen each other every year for the past seven years.” My mind went instantly blank. The words burst out before I could stop them. “You’re. Ly. Ing.” The atmosphere instantly plummeted to freezing. Mia tugged at my sleeve under the table. “What are you doing? That’s your sister!” I knew she was my sister. But why was she lying? Tears stung my eyes. My voice was stubbornly defiant. “Victoria Sterling, do you have proof?” Tori glanced at me, a mocking smile playing on her lips. She opened her phone, pulled up a picture, and handed it to me. “Does this count?” The photo showed Tori and Rhys standing side-by-side by a river. They weren’t touching, but they were both smiling at the camera. Tori spoke with a nostalgic sigh. “We’ve met up in Paris, in Switzerland.” “He even flew to Vienna to hear me play at the Golden Hall.” “This one is from the apartment I rented. He came to visit, and we took this picture.” My heart felt like it had been violently ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. I suddenly remembered Rhys’s laptop wallpaper—a similar landscape photo. Every time he opened his computer, he was looking at a memory I’d never been part of. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to find logic. Maybe the photo was taken before we got married? Maybe it was right after, when he hadn’t fully fallen for me. Maybe he never fell for me. Maybe he married me just to survive that difficult time. That year, he had broken up with Tori, endured the sudden death of his parents, and had to keep his massive company afloat alone. He was desolate. And I happened to be there. A man as reserved and controlled as him, once he’d been intimate with me, felt obligated to give me a name. … The dinner was half over, and Rhys still hadn’t shown up. The group decided they needed a plan to force him to appear. Liam called him. “Get here now! The goddess is drunk, you have to take her home.” The phone was on speaker. Rhys sounded like he was at a loud business dinner. He asked, “Is Eliza there?” 10 Liam looked momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered and played along. “Yes. She’s drunk, too.” Rhys didn’t hesitate. “Fine. I’m coming to pick her up.” The phone went silent, and the entire room erupted in excitement. “Rhys still cares about Tori!” “He’s just playing hard to get.” “I think we’ll be drinking their wedding wine this year!” But a few people still whispered, “Why did he even bring up Eliza?” A brief, heavy silence descended. All eyes slowly turned to me. Tori’s face was a mixture of triumph and confusion. Liam suddenly slapped the table and burst out laughing. “Why would he? Because Eliza is Tori’s sister!” “When you love a woman, you put her family first.” Is that what it was? I poured myself another glass of wine and took a silent, bitter drink. I overheard a couple of classmates chatting, saying Liam had really splurged on this dinner. Liam’s smile was wide and sincere. “It’s nothing. Tori’s story has always inspired me! Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am.” He was talking about Tori’s high school speech, the one that made her a campus legend. She’d detailed her abduction experience. It was rousing and tear-jerking, cementing her status as a genuine “goddess.” But soon after, someone found out that Tori had been kidnapped because she was searching for me after I’d wandered off. Furious students left a bloody knife on my desk. I was too terrified to attend school. It was Tori who publicly intervened. “My sister was only a child then,” she said. I truly believed she had forgiven me. But later, I stumbled upon her diary. It read, starkly: If only I didn’t have a sister. Those words felt like a dull blade, carving me to pieces. I hated myself for being alive.

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They all applauded the day I left Crest Harbor. It was a relief, really—a madwoman like me would no longer monopolize the city’s headlines. Until, three years later. I was back on the front page. It was because of the first thing I did upon my return. It wasn’t a trip home; it was a visit to the cemetery. That day, I happened to run into my brother, Rhys Beaumont. He asked me: “All these years, why didn’t you come home?” I tightened my grip on the flimsy oncology report in my hand. I managed a strained smile. “I’ll be home soon.” 1 I hadn’t expected the reunion with my brother, Rhys, to be so utterly flat. There was none of the old, razor-sharp animosity. Three years ago, we were notorious tabloid fodder—the siblings known for pure, unadulterated hatred. “When did you get back?” I looked at the sprig of jasmine in his hand—Mom’s favorite flower—and felt a momentary lapse in reality. “Yesterday.” “Yesterday was Dad’s birthday.” His voice was as cool and distant as ever. “Since you were back in Crest Harbor, why didn’t you come?” “Because I didn’t want to.” Rhys’s brow furrowed as he stared at me. “Ranna, are you still holding a grudge against us?” I shook my head slightly. How could I hold a grudge? The moment I left Crest Harbor, the hatred I felt for anyone here dried up. I simply figured Dad wouldn’t want to see me at his birthday dinner. He and Rhys hated me equally. Because I was the one responsible for Mom’s death. If I hadn’t thrown a tantrum for a birthday cake on my eighth birthday, Mom wouldn’t have gone out. She wouldn’t have fallen into the hands of our family’s rivals and been brutally tortured and killed. I still remember Dad cradling her body, his agonizing sobs echoing through the foyer. I remember Rhys kneeling on the floor, his eyes bloodshot as he screamed at me to get out. That day, Dad lost his beloved wife. Rhys lost his mother. They withdrew every ounce of love they had given me. And they started to hate me. Rhys’s gaze softened, a complicated expression flitting across his face. He leaned closer. “Ranna.” He paused, then continued, “You look… different. You’ve become much quieter.” I offered a weak smile. If I had changed, it was only that I’d stopped expecting anything from them. Not long after Mom died, they brought Savannah Davies home—the impoverished student Mom had been sponsoring. They didn’t give her cold shoulders, didn’t ignore her, and certainly never told her to get lost. The glaring disparity in treatment drove me to hysterics, to desperate acts of demanding attention. I was too young then to understand why their hatred for me was so absolute. By the time I did understand, I had already started leaving score marks on my wrists. Still, I couldn’t stop antagonizing them. At least that way, they saw me. A gentle breeze lifted the cuff of my sleeve, revealing the pale, permanent scars that were no less prominent than they had been years ago. The silence grew heavy until Rhys finally said the phrase I’d been waiting for. “Come home with me.” I stared down at my shoes. What home? What place was left for me in that house? For years, even the society columns had been referring to Savannah as the Beaumont heiress. My own name had long been blacklisted by the city’s media. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a certifiable madwoman. It wasn’t enough that I’d publicly humiliated Savannah countless times in a pathetic bid for attention. They truly believed I’d crossed the line into depravity by orchestrating her brutal kidnapping and assault by a local gang. Rhys had arrived just as the ordeal ended, cradling an almost lifeless Savannah. He’d spun around and slapped me hard across the face. We had hurled the most vicious curses at each other, but he had never laid a hand on me before. “Ranna, are you sick? What kind of monster are you?” The sound of his hand connecting with my cheek drowned out my single, desperate syllable: “I—didn’t—” He wouldn’t believe me. Because Savannah shrank back in fear, tears streaming down her face, and cried, “Rhys, I’m sorry! I’ll never compete with her again! Please, can’t you just let me go?” My father, who rushed in right behind them, didn’t believe me, either. He forced me to my knees to apologize to Savannah. When I refused, he didn’t hesitate. He took out his handgun and fired right into my shoulder. Blood spattered across the marble floor. But not one of them looked at me. To exact their revenge for Savannah, they had me tied up and institutionalized in a psychiatric ward. When I was released six months later, Dad treated me like I was invisible. Rhys looked at me like a stranger. They both said the same thing, with the same cold finality: “I don’t have a daughter named Ranna.” “My only sister is Savannah.” I haven’t had a home for a long time. So how could I go back? I was about to refuse, but my phone screen flashed. It was a text from the cemetery: [Ms. Beaumont, please finalize the paperwork soon if you’ve decided on a plot.] Over the years, to pay for my treatment, my savings had dwindled. I couldn’t afford the plot closest to Mom. I needed to go back and retrieve the last two things Mom left for me. I ended up following Rhys into the car. Midway, he suddenly reached out toward me. Out of pure reflex, I flinched and ducked my head. Rhys’s hand froze mid-air. “Ranna, I just saw a leaf in your hair.” “I’ve got it.” The rest of the drive was silent. The car pulled up to the old Beaumont estate. Savannah, who must have heard about my return, didn’t seem surprised. She greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She probably thought I was here for revenge, judging by my old, petty nature. But she was wrong. The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I granted myself a pardon. I pardoned them, too. Dad saw me from a distance, gave me a long look, and then walked into his study. Business as usual. I headed straight to my room to retrieve the dowry savings account Mom had prepared for me years ago. But when I reached the bottom of the trunk, the wedding dress she had handmade was gone. I found Mrs. Davies, the long-time housekeeper, and asked. She stammered nervously: “Ms. Savannah is set to marry into the Sterling family… The dress, well, it was given to… to Ms. Savannah.” How dare they? The dress Mom had been working on since before I was born. How could they so easily give it to Savannah? Even if I were dying, I intended to take it to the grave with me. “Which Sterling is she marrying?” “The second son, Mr. Grayson Sterling.” I froze. Grayson. My childhood anchor. The boy who had sworn to protect me forever. When Dad and Rhys hated me the most, he was the only one who stood firmly by my side. When someone asked him if he was afraid of catching fire, he just raised an eyebrow and said, “She’s my childhood friend. I know exactly who she is.” But ever since that fabricated kidnapping, Grayson had slowly, subtly, started to distance himself. His nickname for Savannah changed to a soft “Savvy.” I once cried and asked him what was wrong. He recoiled slightly, pushing me away, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. He said, “Ranna, Savannah is a good person.” A good person? But she stole my father and my brother. And she framed me. Why wouldn’t you believe me, too? I should have known then. The moment Grayson started taking Savannah’s side, I was truly alone in Crest Harbor. The notification about the successful grave plot booking pulled me out of the memory. I shook my head bitterly. I turned to go find Savannah. But just as I stepped out of the room, my arm was violently grabbed. I spun around to find a breathless Grayson. He must have rushed here; the corners of his eyes were red. “Ranna, you… you finally came back?” I didn’t answer. I just watched his guilty gaze slide down to my right leg. I had almost forgotten. Three years ago, when Savannah faked falling down the stairs, missed her big dance competition, and threatened suicide, an enraged Grayson sent people to break my leg. He knew how many years I’d trained for that international competition, how much Mom’s dream it represented. I was so close to the stage. But everything had shattered with the crack of a baseball bat. When I was lying in the hospital, Grayson came from Savannah’s room. He looked at me coldly. “Ranna, bad deeds must be punished.” I stopped trying to explain and just wept. He mistook my tears for remorse and softened his tone. “Ranna, once your leg heals, I’ll take you to Arch Point.” I’d always wanted to see that famed coastal spot. I never expected the trip to be bought at such a horrific price. I stopped crying. I quietly pulled out my phone. He probably thought I was checking flights to Arch Point. In reality, I was looking at a ticket for a ferry out of Crest Harbor. Seeing my silence, Grayson’s expression grew more pained. “Where have you been all these years? Are you… doing okay?” “I’m fine.” After leaving Crest Harbor, I went to the Lowcountry, the place Mom always talked about. As soon as my leg healed, I started cooperating with my doctors. One for severe depression, the other for Stage IV gastric cancer. The day I was diagnosed, the doctor told me, “Ranna, get your family to spend time with you. Being loved is beneficial for depression.” I looked at the fresh scratches on my wrist. I forgot to tell the doctor that I had no family. He saw my silence and then grew serious. “Stage IV gastric cancer gives you a maximum of three years, Ranna. I hope you can find some joy in your last days.” But I hadn’t genuinely smiled since Mom died. So, whether my final days were happy or not seemed irrelevant. “You—” Grayson’s words were cut off by the sudden appearance of Savannah. “Grayson, what are you doing here? Dad’s been waiting for you in the study forever.” Grayson seemed to snap out of a trance. He looked at me with a complicated, regretful expression, but yielded to Savannah’s urgency and turned to leave. The moment he was gone, Savannah turned to me. “Ranna, you actually dared to come back?” Her voice was hard. “Are you here to ruin my wedding?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Why? Are you scared now that I’m back?” The venom in Savannah’s eyes was unleashed; the act was over. “I got rid of you once. What makes you think you can win this time?” She hadn’t changed at all over the years. Innocent in public, a viper behind closed doors. Too bad. This time, I was going to be outside of her plan. I wouldn’t be leaving. I skipped the pleasantries. “Give me the wedding dress.” Savannah was stunned for a few seconds, then let out a peel of triumphant laughter. “Ranna, Dad and Rhys gave the dress to me ages ago. What right do you have to ask for it back? Besides, I’m marrying Grayson soon.” She held out her hand, showing off the Sterling engagement ring on her finger, and taunted, “Ranna, everything that was yours is mine now.” I was expressionless. She seemed so pathetic. From the moment Savannah was adopted, she started taking everything that belonged to me. My clothes, my room, my family… even the title of Beaumont Heiress. But who cared anymore? Perhaps my sheer indifference was what finally broke Savannah. She ordered a servant to bring the dress. Before I could even react, she grabbed a pair of tailoring shears and viciously slashed the gown twice. “You want to come back, Ranna? You have to pay a price!” I watched Mom’s last personal relic fall to the floor like torn rags. My blood ran cold. She wasn’t finished. She leaned in, her voice low and saturated with cruelty. “If your mother hadn’t died, I’d still be stuck in a trailer park, and I wouldn’t be able to steal your things! So, thank God she died!” “You should have died with your mother that day!” My eyes burned. In a surge of pure, blinding fury, my stomach cramped, a dizzy spell washed over me, and I felt the irresistible urge to vomit. I raised my hand and swung it, putting all my failing strength into the hit. CRACK! Savannah’s head snapped sideways, but she just cackled. “I’m going to find out whose life is more important to them now!” She plunged the scissors deep into her own abdomen. Blood instantly gushed out. She yanked the shears free and threw them at my feet. Hearing the commotion, Rhys burst into the room. He shoved me away—a brutal, full-body rejection. “Ranna!” The roar of his voice came just as the blood surged up my own throat. “Are you completely insane?” Insane? Yes. The moment they sent me to the asylum, I went insane. Savannah’s eyes were brimming with fake, wronged tears. “Rhys, it’s my fault! Ranna just got home, and I shouldn’t have provoked her!” Then, she conveniently fainted. Rhys looked down at the swelling bruise on Savannah’s cheek and the rapidly blooming red stain on her dress. He bellowed at me: “I thought you were different! I thought you had changed!” “Ranna! I swear, I regret letting you step back into this house!” At that, my hand—reaching out to gather the torn remnants of the dress—froze mid-air. I stumbled, using the wall to pull myself up. Just then, Dad and Grayson walked in. One look, and their judgment was sealed. Dad ignored me as he always did, dialing the doctor from ten feet away. Grayson rushed to cradle Savannah, his eyes filled with bottomless disappointment when he looked at me. This sight crushed the last shard of hope I held. My entire body was screaming in pain. The blood surging in my throat could no longer be contained. I covered my mouth to cough, but sticky, thick blood immediately oozed between my fingers, splattering onto the floor. One drop. Two drops. Then, a whole pool. Rhys’s eyes widened. Grayson gasped and shouted my name. Even Dad paused, his phone halfway to his ear. Rhys took a hesitant step toward me. I violently pulled back, avoiding his touch. “Why won’t you ask me if I hurt her?” My voice cracked. “Every time something happens, you only listen to Savannah’s word! You never once bother to hear mine!” “You always accuse me, always nail me to the cross! Why? Because you think I owe Mom a life, and I deserve to die!” Tears that had been dried up for years finally spilled out, crashing onto the floor along with the blood. Rhys was silent. But Dad ended his call, looking utterly calm as he returned the question. “And aren’t you?” The room fell into a terrifying silence. I laughed, the sound hollow and manic. More blood surged from my stomach, pouring out. “Yes. I am the sinner.” “One life, right? I’ll pay you back!” The next second, I coughed up a final, massive mouthful of blood and collapsed heavily onto the floor.

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My adoptive father, Rhett Callahan, was the biggest rancher in the entire state—a true land baron of the West. The day he found out I was the lost heiress, he held me close, his eyes full of the vast, quiet sorrow of the plains. “You listen to your new parents, little Aura,” he’d rumbled, using the nickname only he used. “The people in Manhattan are sharper than your old man, a rough-cut cowboy. They’ll mold my Nu-nu into a delicate little princess.” I nodded, trying to be brave. I hauled the cooler filled with the prime, dry-aged beef he’d butchered himself and stood at the gates of the Prescott estate in Greenwich, Connecticut. When Evelyn Prescott, my biological mother, saw me, she wrinkled her nose. Jonathan Prescott, my biological father, scowled. Skylar Prescott, the girl who had taken my place, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at my chest and sneered that I was a savage from the sticks. My new parents ordered the housekeeper to use a scrub brush—I swear, it felt like steel wool—to scour the smell of the range off me. They forced me to sit through endless etiquette lessons and kept me hungry, claiming it would make me “delicate.” The Prescott world was nothing like I’d imagined. My eyes stung, and I finally sat down in the attic room they’d given me to pen a frantic letter. A week later, Dad’s reply arrived. “The measly Prescott Industries? Your Abba could buy and sell them for a coffee tab with the longhorns I own. Do not suffer their foolishness, Aura. Your Abba will be there in three days!” 1 Skylar snatched the thick envelope from my hand, the rough texture of the paper crinkling under her perfect grip, and then she slapped me. Hard. This time, I remembered Dad’s words. I wouldn’t stand for it. I clenched my fists and focused my eyes, locking onto Skylar like a lone wolf tracking a weak calf on the open range. My gaze made her skin prickle. She clutched the letter, taking a hesitant step back. “What are you doing? This is the Prescott house! If you dare to touch me—” Warm-up complete. I slid my right foot, dropped my center of gravity, and put all my core strength into my arms. With a yelp of pure panic from Skylar, her body traced a sharp, clean arc in the air before hitting the antique Persian rug with a sickening thud. A perfect, textbook hip-toss. Jonathan and Evelyn rushed in. Skylar’s expression twisted into a caricature of pain faster than a spooked mustang. “Mom, Dad, I only asked what Autumn was reading! She just… she tried to kill me!” They automatically ignored the bright red print of Skylar’s hand on my cheek. “Autumn Reed Prescott! Were those etiquette classes completely wasted? You resort to such crude violence against your sister?” My blood-stained year of experience in the Prescott house told me one thing: the more I argued, the more severe the punishment. I stayed silent, staring at my worn boots. Skylar wasn’t done. She dramatically waved the letter. “Look, Mom, Dad! She got a letter from her savage father!” My heart squeezed tight. If they saw Dad’s proud dismissal of their “measly” empire, their fragile upper-class egos would shatter. Jonathan and Evelyn squinted at the rough, looping script, which was written in Dad’s private ranch code—a language only we spoke. They couldn’t decipher a word. They tossed it to Skylar, who claimed to know “simple Western dialects.” Skylar read the characters, her voice dripping with venom. “Her poor adoptive father is clearly after the Prescott fortune! He’s telling her to steal as much cash as she can!” That was it. My dad was the largest landowner and stockman in the state, a bona fide hero of the range! He would never be reduced to a common thief! “You’re lying!” I managed to choke out half a word. Smack! Jonathan’s palm slammed across my face, the impact sending a ringing echo through my ears. “Haven’t you disgraced us enough? A Prescott heiress acting like some common brute who throws people around. You’ll skip dinner tonight. You can spend the evening kneeling in front of your sister’s room.” They guided a tearful Skylar away, their voices thick with exasperation and disappointment. “They’re the same age—barely ten. How can their personalities be so different?” Evelyn sighed. “If the whole adoption scandal hadn’t been picked up by the news, damaging our stock, I would never have brought Autumn back.” “Honestly, I wish she’d just been lost forever when she wandered off at six months.” As they comforted each other, Skylar twisted her head around and gave me a wicked, triumphant smirk. In this house, I was Autumn Reed Prescott. Only Dad called me Aura. I sucked in a shaky breath, my fingernails digging hard into the soft flesh of my thigh. Dad said girls raised on the range don’t cry easily. That night, I knelt outside Skylar’s polished oak bedroom door. My knees were starting to swell, and my stomach growled a miserable complaint. A sliver of moonlight fell through the window, and a big, ugly whip scorpion crawled next to me. I remembered being bored while watching the herd, and Dad teaching me how to find scorpions and race them. When that was boring, he’d teach me how to count our livestock—a cow for twenty grand, until I reached thirty million—and then I’d fall asleep, safe on his wide, warm shoulders. Just two more days. I’d see Dad soon. Drifting off, I gently cupped the whip scorpion and curled up, exhausted, by the door. 2 The next morning, Skylar’s piercing scream jolted me awake. She was staring at the whip scorpion in my hand, her face paper-white, tears streaming down her face. “Autumn… I didn’t make you kneel! Why would you bring this… this thing to scare me!” I saw the flash of cunning in her eyes and knew the performance was for someone else. Sure enough, a dark shadow fell over me. A large hand snatched the insect away. The next second, the whip scorpion was a two-part corpse on the polished marble floor. Jonathan Prescott’s face was grim. “Autumn, we have been too lenient with you.” Before I could speak, he waved his hand and summoned the head groundskeeper. “Bring Shadow over.” At the name Shadow, my pupils contracted, and an involuntary tremor ran through my body. A smug smile played on Skylar’s lips. “See, Autumn? Dad is just applying your rules. You can’t accuse him of favoritism.” I instantly dropped to my knees, clawing at Jonathan’s bespoke trousers. “Dad, I wasn’t trying to scare Skylar! I know I was wrong!” He glared at me, annoyed, and kicked my hand away. “We gave you a chance! Skylar even hand-stitched you a welcoming doll, and you deliberately tore it to shreds and told her to get lost!” “We assumed you inherited the superior Prescott genes and would adjust quickly, but it’s clear the rotten ideologies of your dirt-poor upbringing are ingrained in you!” The groundskeeper approached, respectfully leading a massive, heavily-muscled Rottweiler named Shadow. The man’s face wore a sickeningly eager smirk. I looked up at the dog. The last time, my ankle was shredded—the tendons barely healed. A familiar, throbbing pain started in my foot. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of the first day, when the Prescott family had collectively ripped apart any hope I had for a new home. They had thrown away the special, cured side of beef Dad had prepared. Skylar had brought the doll, pretending to be sweet, but the minute Jonathan and Evelyn left, she snatched the eagle feather Dad had tied to my belt—a mark of honor on the range—and snipped it into tiny pieces with her scissors, calling me a country bumpkin. I lost it. I tore her handcrafted doll to shreds. When the Prescotts sided with Skylar, I protested. “Where I come from, adult grievances don’t cross into the children’s arguments! We fight it out in the corral, and then it’s done! No hard feelings!” Dad had taught me that the vast land gave us the right to love freely and hate openly. Jonathan sneered. “Oh, you like to fight, do you?” He tenderly lifted Skylar, called the groundskeeper, and had me thrown into the kennel where Shadow was kept. Jonathan and Evelyn had stood by while the dog tore at me for a full day and night. I spent half a year recovering in the hospital. The groundskeeper gripped the back of my collar. “Miss Prescott, let’s go.” No matter how I thrashed, he didn’t slow his pace. Jonathan seemed deaf to my pleas. I was suddenly weightless, falling into the kennel. Shadow, the Rotty, immediately bristled, bearing its teeth and issuing a deep, guttural warning. I moved cautiously, playing a terrifying game of chase with the dog inside the chain-link enclosure for several dizzying rounds. Skylar gave a fake, fearful yelp from outside. Shadow, startled and agitated, lunged. Its jaws locked onto my forearm. Canine teeth pierced skin, sinking into the flesh and tearing, hot blood spurting out. The intense pain nearly made me black out. Skylar, spoiled and sheltered, had never seen real blood. She collapsed into Jonathan’s arms. “Daddy, I’m scared.” Jonathan tenderly covered her eyes. “It’s alright, my precious Skylar. Daddy is here.” Clutching my profusely bleeding arm, I felt a familiar haze of pain and delirium, and then, I heard Dad’s voice. “If the livestock goes mad, you tame it!” “Abba, I’m afraid.” “I’m here, Nu-nu. Don’t be afraid.” “Get on its back!” I spun around and scrambled onto Shadow’s back, clamping my legs tight around its torso. “Wrap your arms around its neck! You don’t let go until it stops struggling!” I seized Shadow’s neck, pulling back with all the power I could muster. Under the stunned stares of Jonathan and Skylar, the dog’s violent struggle turned to whimpers, then a pathetic gasp, before it finally collapsed, foaming at the mouth. Evelyn rushed over, muttering, “What a sin, what a sin.” Jonathan just scoffed, spat out the word “Crude,” and stalked off, clutching Skylar. I stood in the metal cage, covered in my own blood. My last sight before passing out was Skylar’s face, a mask of pure, ugly defiance. When I next woke up, Evelyn was crouched beside me, dressing the wound. Half the muscle on my forearm had been ripped away; I was a hair’s breadth from seeing bone. She gently blew on the wound as she applied ointment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why is this child so stubborn? Where did she get this temperament?” “Mommy is so heartbroken for you. But Skylar is the only child I’ve known since she was an infant. Listen to me, be a good sister to her, okay?” I reached out my small, bloody hand and hooked my little finger around hers. “Mom, I want my Abba.” Her expression instantly froze, turning cold. The ointment tube clattered to the ground. “Abba, Abba, it’s always your damn Abba! You are so ungrateful for the life we’ve given you!” She stormed out. The housekeeper cautiously inquired. “Mrs. Prescott, what about the wound…” “It’s bandaged. The school gala is tomorrow, and the media will be everywhere. We can’t afford any rumors of child abuse. It would be too much trouble.” I listened to the click-clack of her heels fading away. 3 The housekeeper applied some miraculous ointment that stopped the bleeding, then ordered the makeup artist to slather my face with unnatural rouge. I was stuffed into a hideous, frilly couture disaster, a sad attempt at a delicate princess. I was compliant. Dad would be so happy to see me looking… safe. At the Charity Gala, my classmates whispered into their parents’ ears. “That’s the bumpkin who just arrived. She stole Skylar’s parents and bullies Skylar every day.” “No class whatsoever. That blush looks like a baboon’s rear.” “Good thing Skylar’s parents saw through her tricks. Skylar didn’t have to turn into a poor orphan.” Was that really the truth? I watched as Jonathan and Evelyn crammed themselves into a single seat, preferring to hover over Skylar than give me a sliver of their attention. Out of every child in the room, I was the only one standing alone in the center. When reporters asked, Jonathan and Evelyn forced a strained smile. “She’s not close with us. We respect her privacy.” The gala dragged on into the evening. I bit my lip until it went white, my burning eyes fixed on the school entrance. “Abba… are you going to break your promise to Aura?” On the stage, the Headmaster was thanking each corporate sponsor. The highest donor would receive the coveted Diamond Tiara—a social prize. Skylar was ignoring me. She had worn the Tiara for three straight years, and this was her favorite moment of glory. But today, after thanking Prescott Industries, the Headmaster paused, and the Tiara remained on the velvet cushion. A flicker of annoyance crossed Skylar’s face. “Headmaster, where is my Tiara?” The Headmaster looked genuinely embarrassed. “This year, the largest corporate donation… was not the Prescott family. It was from a private philanthropist named Rhett Callahan.” My stunned mind suddenly clicked, and a bolt of pure energy shot through me. “It’s my Dad!” Every single eye in the crowded ballroom snapped to me. “What? I thought they said the Prescotts found this kid in a backwater town? How could he be richer than the Prescotts?” “The kid’s just distraught from being neglected at the Prescott house. She’s probably making things up.” Skylar was furious at the sudden shift in focus. She charged at me, grabbing my ugly dress collar. “Autumn Prescott! You’re not just a nobody, you’re a liar!” “I am not! The Headmaster is talking about my Dad!” The rough tug-of-war ripped the delicate sleeve, exposing the horrifying, concave scar on my forearm. A collective gasp swept through the room. “Good God! Has this child been abused at the Prescott house?” “No wonder she’s talking nonsense—she’d rather go back to the country than stay here.” Cameras flashed furiously. Jonathan and Evelyn rushed over, and both slapped me. “It was bad enough that you tried to push your sister into a kennel! Now you’re faking injuries for sympathy!” “I’m not faking—” Their own parents’ betrayal was a poison I couldn’t combat. “Autumn Reed Prescott! Your father and I are taking you to a treatment center tonight to fix your twisted brain!” They grabbed me, trying to drag me toward the exit.

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My husband and his identical twin brother were in an accident out of town. One dead, one injured. When the news reached us, my sister-in-law was already red-eyed from crying. When I saw my husband walk through the door, alive, the knot of terror in my chest finally loosened. I started toward him, but he stopped and handed me the urn he was carrying. “Ava, I’m so sorry. The hospital… they got it wrong. It was Michael who died.” Beside me, my sister-in-law’s sobs hitched to a stop. I pressed my lips together, suppressed a smile, and dutifully clutched the urn to my chest and began to wail. 1 Michael had come home prepared for my questions, my disbelief. He never expected me to accept his death so easily. After all, the initial report had said that Matthew, his twin brother, was the one who hadn’t made it. Now, hearing me cry out his name with such heart-wrenching grief, Michael looked visibly unnerved. He made a show of steadying me, and I seized the opportunity, my fingers digging into his arm. A thick bandage was wrapped around his forearm. He’d really gone through the trouble. To get rid of the prominent birthmark that so clearly distinguished him from Matthew, he’d carved away his own flesh. My nails sank into the muscle beneath the bandage. Michael flinched in pain, but when he met my tear-filled eyes, he didn’t dare pull away. He just offered a dry, hollow comfort. “Ava, please, try to be strong. Michael… Michael wouldn’t want to see you this devastated.” I wiped away a tear. “You’re right. I need to pull myself together.” After all, from this day forward, I, Ava, was a widow. My in-laws passed away years ago, and my husband was “newly deceased.” That meant if I wanted to get rid of the baby in my belly, I didn’t need to tell a single soul. 2 People always said the two brothers were impossible to tell apart. Michael probably thought impersonating his brother would be child’s play. He was wrong. Even after removing the birthmark, even after mimicking Matthew’s every mannerism, there were subconscious habits that would always betray him. Besides, I was his wife. We’d shared a life, a bed. I knew the moment he walked through that door that the man who came back was my husband. I could recognize him. In this life, and the last. Unfortunately, in my previous life, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Michael would pretend to be his brother. So I’d stubbornly insisted to everyone that he was, in fact, Michael. He vehemently denied it. His sister-in-law, Amy, called me a shameless homewrecker, accusing me of coveting her man the moment mine was in the ground. But they both knew the truth. They both knew the one who survived was Michael. The way people looked at me slowly shifted from pity to disgust. They thought I’d lost my mind, unable to accept my husband’s death. Michael’s constant denials sent me spiraling into despair. It wasn’t until I discovered I was pregnant that a flicker of hope reignited within me. 3 I thought, if I just had this baby, Michael would have to acknowledge his own child. He couldn’t possibly deny who he was then. And during my pregnancy, Michael did seem to soften. He stopped pushing me away. He even started coming over to take care of me. He still wouldn’t admit he was Michael, but I took it as a sign that things were getting better. I gave birth to a boy. Michael was ecstatic. For a split second, he forgot his act and blurted out, “You did so well, Ava!” Exhausted from labor, I finally felt a wave of relief wash over me. He’d finally admitted it. A brother-in-law would never call me by my pet name. When I woke up again, the baby was gone. The first thing I saw was Michael’s grief-stricken face. He told me our son had suffered from sudden respiratory distress. The doctors tried, but they couldn’t save him. Once again, he uttered those hollow words. “Ava, please… try to be strong.” 4 I left the hospital. And I truly went mad. Michael moved to the city with Amy. I became the town crazy lady, the one everyone avoided. My days were spent sitting on a stone by the crossroads, staring into the distance. Whenever someone passed, I’d shout, “Michael’s back! Michael’s back!” Mischievous children would trail behind me, mimicking my cries in their high-pitched voices. “Michael’s dead! Michael’s long dead!” Hearing their laughter, I’d reflexively chase after them, screaming, “My baby! Where’s my baby!” They would scatter like birds. I lived in that hazy nightmare for years. Until one night, in a fit of madness, I ran out of the house and straight into the path of a passing car. By the time I was found, I was barely breathing. The townspeople had no choice but to call Michael, to tell him to come back and arrange the funeral for his “sister-in-law.” On my deathbed, I saw him one last time. Maybe it was guilt from seeing the wreck I’d become, or maybe he just figured a dying woman was no longer a threat. But at my bedside, Michael confessed everything. He told me it really was Matthew who had died in the crash. He just couldn’t bear to see Amy become a widow at such a young age, so he decided to take his brother’s place. The three of them had grown up together, and both brothers had fallen for Amy. When she chose Matthew, Michael had never gotten over it. The accident, while tragic, had presented him with a twisted opportunity to fix his lifelong regret. How laughable. He couldn’t stand to see his white moonlight in mourning, so he let me bear the agony of losing a husband? Then what were all his promises to me when we were dating, when we got married? Were they just him trying to convince himself to let Amy go? Just a way to numb his own pathetic pining? But the final blow, the one that shattered what was left of my soul, was when he told me my baby hadn’t died. Amy was too frail to have children of her own. So he had taken our son and given him to her to raise. He even had the audacity to explain, “I just thought it would be better for him to grow up in a complete, healthy family.” Was I supposed to thank them? Thank them for giving the child I bore a “complete home”? Michael thought I was delirious, that I couldn’t hear him. But in that final surge of life before death, my mind was terrifyingly clear. Tears of bitter regret slid from the corners of my eyes. I had wasted my short, miserable life on a man like this. I didn’t even have the strength to lift my hand and slap him. I just lay there, my heart full of hatred, and breathed my last. 5 “Ava, the most important thing right now is to arrange Michael’s funeral.” Michael’s voice pulled me back from the horrifying memories. I lifted my gaze to meet his, but his eyes darted away, unable to hold my stare. After a long moment, I finally spoke, enunciating each word with chilling precision. “You’re right, little brother.” “It’s time to let Michael rest in peace.” Since he wanted to be with Amy so desperately, he could spend the rest of his life as Matthew. 6 At the funeral, I was the picture of a heartbroken widow. My cries were so raw they moved everyone present. They thought I was mourning the dead Michael. In truth, I was mourning the woman I had been in my last life. Michael and I met in college. We fell in love, and our relationship had always been strong. We first saw each other in a small noodle shop behind campus. I’d ordered a bowl of soup but forgot to tell the owner to hold the green onions. As I was meticulously picking them out with my chopsticks, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked up and met a handsome face. His gaze was intense, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning. After a few more chance encounters on campus, he started pursuing me, and I quickly fell for his gentle, attentive nature. Picking the green onions out of my food became his habit, something he did without thinking every time we ate together. It wasn’t until my death in my last life that I learned this habit didn’t start with me. And I wasn’t the only one who didn’t eat green onions. Michael had confessed that the only reason he’d approached me in that noodle shop was because watching me pick out the onions reminded him of Amy. With Matthew and Amy together, he no longer had an excuse to do it for her, so he found a replacement to fill the void. Hilarious. You’d think he was the patron saint of picking out green onions. 7 Staring at the funeral money burning in the brazier, the flames licking at the paper, a fire of my own raged within me. On impulse, I stormed back into the house and returned with an armful of trinkets and keepsakes, dumping them all into the fire. When Michael realized what they were, he lunged forward to pull them out, but the intense heat forced him back. “Ava… what are you doing? Weren’t those all gifts from my brother?” The things I was burning were all the presents Michael had given me while we were dating. I had once treasured them as symbols of our love, keeping them safe in a box like precious jewels. Michael knew how much they meant to me, which is why he lost his composure when he saw me burning every last one. Faced with his frantic question, I sobbed. “That’s exactly why I have to burn them! They were from your brother! Keeping them will only make me think of him and break my heart all over again!” His anger deflated. “But you can’t burn all of them… at least keep one or two…” “He’s gone! What’s the point of keeping his things?” I cut him off. “Your brother is nothing but ash now. Do you really expect a few dead objects to replace a living, breathing person?” A nearby relative chimed in, trying to console him. “Matthew, just let her do it. Her heart is broken over Michael’s passing!” Michael’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he said nothing. I watched his face, a mask of strained control, and thought to myself that the relative was wrong. My heart wasn’t the one that was broken. 8 Later in the service, I slipped away for some air, having run out of convincing tears. That’s when I overheard Michael and Amy talking. “Michael,” Amy said, her voice laced with insecurity, “if you’ve decided to take care of me for the rest of your life as Matthew, then why do you keep staring at Ava? Have you forgotten that you’re not her husband anymore?” Michael rushed to explain. “No, it’s not like that. I just saw how devastated she was, and I was worried she’d do something drastic.” Amy’s lip trembled. “But Matthew is the one who’s dead! Michael, I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me all alone. You know, if Matthew hadn’t confessed his feelings to me first, maybe we…” Seeing her tears, Michael pulled her into a comforting embrace, murmuring sweet nothings. Of course. Amy, the same woman who in my past life had called me a homewrecker without batting an eye, had known all along that the man who came back was Michael. But when he claimed to be Matthew, she didn’t correct him. She played along. Perhaps to her, it didn’t matter which brother she ended up with. Both of them were utterly devoted to her, after all. And who wants to be a young widow? It was Matthew I felt sorry for. Not only was his grave marked with the wrong name, but his woman was already whispering sweet nothings to his brother. I wondered if he was turning in his grave, a shining green halo over his head. I turned and walked away, my hand in my pocket, fingers tracing the thin edges of my household registration book. To make his lie official, Michael had used his own ID for the cremation. And I had already taken his death certificate to the county clerk’s office. My marital status had been officially changed. From “Married” to “Widowed.” 9 After the funeral, I went to the hospital in the city. In my last life, I didn’t realize I was pregnant until the morning sickness became undeniable. That child became my obsession. But until the day I died, I only ever saw him for that one fleeting moment after his birth. I’ll just have to accept that we were not fated to be mother and son. This time, I refused to let him become a chain binding me to Michael. After scheduling the procedure, I was about to leave the hospital when a voice called out behind me. “Ava?” I turned to see a figure in a white coat hurrying toward me. “It really is you!” “Ryan,” I smiled and nodded at him. “Professor.” “It’s been so long!” Ryan’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “What brings you to the hospital?” His eyes fell to the paperwork in my hand, and his expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh! Congratulations!” I didn’t correct him, just offered a small smile in return. After a few minutes of catching up, I made to leave, but Ryan stopped me. “Hey, my shift is almost over. Wait for me, let’s grab dinner.” I was about to politely decline when he added, “My mom was just talking about you the other day.” Ryan’s mother. My college professor. My mentor, who had been furious with me for giving up a full scholarship to grad school to follow Michael back to this small town and get married. I hesitated for a moment, then stopped walking. Ryan and I sat down at a restaurant. He must have sensed my melancholy because he started recounting funny stories from our college days, trying to cheer me up. But with every story, I felt a growing wave of regret. The decision to marry Michael right after graduation felt more and more foolish. Noticing my darkening expression, Ryan trailed off, looking embarrassed. Seeing him scratch his head awkwardly, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s that smile. Pregnant women shouldn’t be frowning all day.” Just then, a sharp voice cut through the air. “Ava!”

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Since childhood, I’ve been a stubborn “literalist” who doesn’t understand jokes. When my grandmother said I was found in a dumpster, I taped “Missing Mother” flyers on every trash can for a week. When a boy remarked my wide hips were good for bearing sons, I went to his house and measured his mother’s hips for comparison. People soon learned not to joke around me—my presence made rooms polite and terrified. Then came my engagement, and my fiancé’s “just one of the guys” best friend. At a pre-wedding party, during Truth or Dare, she smirked: “Sloane, Julian has a mole on his inner thigh—it’s pretty when he’s… exerting himself.” The room froze, then erupted in laughter. I set down my glass, looked at my smirking fiancé, and said calmly: “Take off your pants. I need to verify that.” 1 The laughter in the VIP suite died instantly. Kelly looked at me, stunned by my directness. She let out an awkward, high-pitched laugh. “Sloane, oh my god, you aren’t actually mad, are you?” “We’re just playing a game! I just dropped a little bombshell to spice up the mood. You don’t have to be so serious. You’re making Julian look bad.” I slammed my phone onto the marble table. I hit play. The two sentences she had just spoken began to loop on high volume. I grinned at her, watching the blood drain from her face. “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “But I don’t do comedy.” “I’m going to strip Julian right now. If I find that mole exactly where you described it, that’s proof of infidelity before marriage. I will post the photos to both the Lister and Vance family group chats. On repeat.” The groomsmen gasped in unison. Julian’s face turned a violent shade of red. He struggled to break free from my grip—I had grabbed his belt—and snatched a jacket from one of his friends to cover his crotch. He looked at me like he wanted to strangle me. “Sloane! Have you lost your mind?” “Kelly and I grew up together! We bathed together as toddlers! There isn’t an inch of me she hasn’t seen!” “Are you really going to ruin everything over a harmless joke?” Ah, the classic defense. As if the word “joke” was a Get Out of Jail Free card. As if saying it meant I had to swallow any disrespect they served me. Unfortunately, they didn’t know me well enough. I unlocked my phone and opened a video call recording from yesterday. It was from Kelly. In the video, the “tomboy” girl wasn’t acting like a bro. She was wearing translucent, seductive lingerie, panning the camera to show a sleeping man next to her. You could only see the man’s side profile, but the implication was clear. Her eyes in the video were full of provocation. “Sloane, I heard you’re engaging to the Vance family.” “Too bad you’ll never match my place in Julian’s heart. Bet you anything that on your wedding night, he’ll be wishing he was with me.” I AirDropped the video to everyone in the room. “Enjoy the details,” I said. “Is this a joke too? If it were you, could you accept your partner having a ‘best friend’ who sends videos like this to his fiancée?” The men I pointed at looked away, suddenly finding the floor patterns fascinating. They didn’t dare breathe. I pointed a manicured finger at Kelly. “You. Speak.” “If your boyfriend had a ‘brother’ like this, would you tolerate it?” Kelly trembled. She cast a desperate, pleading look at Julian. But Julian was staring at her in shock. clearly, he hadn’t known she was bold enough to record him sleeping and taunt me with it. Kelly bit her lower lip until it turned white. Finally, looking like a martyr, she bowed deeply to me. “I’m sorry, Sloane.” “Sending that video really was just a prank. I… I just wanted to test if you trusted Julian enough.” She dragged out the word test, loading it with unspoken meaning. Seeing the stiffness in Julian’s face melt away, Kelly knew she had survived. Tears began to stream down her face instantly. “I hope you can forgive me. I won’t bother you again. I’ll keep my distance from Julian.” Before I could speak, my fiancé—my fiancé—rushed forward to help her up. He looked at me with disappointment. “Alright, Sloane. Kelly explained it. You’ve made your scene. Can we drop it now?” “Because of you, the party is ruined. Isn’t that enough?” “If this engagement is called off, your family’s business will suffer too. I suggest you learn your place and behave yourself.” He supported the sobbing Kelly, who looked like she was about to faint from dehydration, and walked her out of the room. The rest of the “bros” looked at each other, then scrambled to follow him. They left me with glances ranging from pity to schadenfreude. I sat alone in the mess, the corners of my lips curling up. Julian was right about one thing. My family’s business did need this merger. Which meant this game… could continue. 2 Julian’s frat-boy circle began to isolate me. They didn’t speak to me for a week. The group chat I was in remained silent, save for a few boring news links. But thanks to my friends’ “accidental” sightings, I knew they had partied at four different nightclubs that week. I raised an eyebrow. This was getting exciting. Three days later, it was Julian’s birthday. The Vance family threw a lavish banquet. To maintain the appearance of a happy union, he had to invite me as his fiancée. I bribed the Vance family’s tailor to install a micro-camera in the lapel of Julian’s suit. The tailor had looked at me with sheer terror. “Miss Lister, this is illegal. If Mr. Vance finds out, he’ll kill me.” I smiled at him, gentle and sweet. “Don’t be silly.” “It’s just a little game between lovers. Julian loves jokes. He won’t take a little prank seriously.” I showed him the lens, my smile widening until it didn’t reach my eyes. The tailor took one look at my expression and booked a flight out of the country that night. On the day of the banquet, Kelly ditched her usual gender-neutral style. She wore a stunning blue and white gown. The pattern on her chest matched Julian’s tie perfectly. She walked in on Julian’s arm. But the moment her eyes met mine, her face went pale. She took a dramatic step back, stumbling into one of Julian’s friends. Her face was a mask of wronged innocence and fear. “I’m sorry, Sloane! I know you don’t want to see me. I’ll stay away from Julian!” She turned and ran. Julian glared at me with pure hatred, then chased after her toward the balcony. Julian’s parents looked at me disapprovingly. “Sloane, we heard about the trouble you caused a few days ago.” “We watched Kelly grow up. It’s Julian’s good fortune to have a friend like her.” “Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean you can strip Julian of his right to have friends.” “A future Mrs. Vance needs to be magnanimous. Don’t turn the house upside down over a few jokes.” I tilted my head at them, feigning confusion. “So, what you’re saying is, everything between them can be explained away as ‘friendship’ and ‘jokes’?” “In that case, Julian and I are playing a little joke right now. I’m sure you won’t mind.” I pulled out my tablet and opened the live feed from the camera on Julian’s chest. On the screen, Kelly was sobbing into Julian’s embrace. “Julian, do we really have to stay apart forever? I don’t want that.” “Julian… can you give me one thing?” Julian’s voice trembled. He sounded heartbroken. “Name it.” “Anything.” “A child. I want a baby.” Kelly’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “We’re practically brothers, right? Our bond is for life. Don’t you think raising a child together would be the ultimate bond? It’s stable… and thrilling.” “We don’t even need to sleep together. Just come to the clinic with me. We can do IVF…” Mr. and Mrs. Vance turned green. I almost laughed out loud. I already knew Kelly had an appointment at a fertility clinic. I knew the camera would catch something juicy, but I didn’t expect her to pitch a sperm donation scheme in the middle of a birthday party. I looked at Mrs. Vance with wide, innocent eyes. “Mrs. Vance, I’m a bit slow. I can’t tell what’s a joke and what isn’t.” “Is Kelly serious about wanting your son’s sperm?” 3 A few minutes later, Julian and Kelly walked back in. They stood a respectable two feet apart, looking the picture of restraint and propriety. No one would guess the filthy conversation they’d just had. Seeing me standing with his parents, a shadow crossed Kelly’s eyes. She forced a broken, humble smile. “Uncle, Auntie, sorry I haven’t visited lately.” “I made a few jokes with Julian that upset Sloane, so I didn’t dare show my face.” Mrs. Vance shot her a cold look. She signaled for them to follow us into the private lounge. Kelly looked confused. Usually, Mrs. Vance would have hugged her and comforted her by now. The shock truly hit when the door closed. Slap. Mrs. Vance backhanded Kelly across the face. Tears sprang to Kelly’s eyes instantly. Julian’s face twisted in anger. He moved to shield Kelly, looking ready to yell at his own mother. Mr. Vance kicked him hard in the back of the knee. Julian crumbled to the floor. Mrs. Vance, shaking with rage, glared at them. “I thought you two were just close friends. I didn’t realize you were disgusting perverts behind our backs.” “Planning a baby? Are you trying to saddle the Vance family with a bastard scandal?” “How are we supposed to explain this to the Listers?!” Julian’s face went white. His gaze snapped to me, sharp as a dagger. “How do you know that? Were you spying on me?” I shrugged, tapping the tablet screen. “Like I said, I can’t tell if you and your ‘bro’ are joking or being serious.” “So, I figured I’d livestream it to your parents and let them decide.” Julian’s chest heaved. But surprisingly, he swallowed his pride. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry. Kelly and I crossed a line.” “But I chose to marry you, Sloane. I won’t betray you. I won’t meet Kelly alone ever again.” “After the wedding, I’ll send her to Australia.” Kelly let out a gasp. Julian shot her a warning look. She turned her glare on me, eyes full of venom. I didn’t care. I shrugged again. I’m a mule, remember? What I want, I get. What I want to do, gets done. 4 The wedding day arrived quickly. Kelly volunteered to be my bridesmaid. Her dress was suspiciously similar in style to my wedding gown. And it matched Julian’s suit perfectly. I watched them making eyes at each other, acting like tragic lovers torn apart by cruel fate. It was nauseating. After my makeup was done, I went to an empty lounge to rest. I sat down, and before I could react, a rope tightened around me, binding me to the chair. I turned my head just in time to receive a heavy slap from Kelly. She pried my jaw open and forced a cup of liquid down my throat. She smiled, a look of pure malice. “Sloane, you shouldn’t have messed with me.” “On your big day, I’m going to ruin you.” “A bride seducing old men at her own wedding? Imagine if that gets livestreamed. Will the Lister family survive the shame?” I coughed, choking on the bitter liquid. “Aren’t you afraid of my family’s revenge?” I rasped. Kelly scoffed. “What is the Lister family without the Vance connection? Just another bankrupt tragedy waiting to happen.” “You think I’m scared of you?” She smirked, ripping part of my dress and patting me down. “I know you like to record things. Don’t worry, I’m checking you thoroughly.” “After today, you and your family will be erased from high society.” She signaled to two sleazy-looking older men by the window. With a victorious smile, she left the room. The two men looked at me with predatory eyes. I started laughing. Don’t worry, Kelly. I prepared a show for you too. I hope you enjoy your leading role. The ceremony began. But the bride and groom were missing. My parents sat in the front row, faces stern. Mr. and Mrs. Vance were sweating through their formal wear. “In-laws,” Mr. Vance stammered. “I’ve sent people to look.” “Maybe Julian and Sloane got caught up talking. Young love, you know? They lose track of time.” “We will give you an explanation.” My father glanced at him sideways. “You better. Or that waterfront development project…” He let the threat hang. Mr. Vance looked like he might throw up. Suddenly, a static hum came from the speakers. “Ah,” Mr. Vance said, relieved. “Here we go. The mic is on.” But instead of a greeting, a woman’s crude, unmistakable moan echoed through the banquet hall. My parents’ faces turned to stone. 5 The hall had been filled with joyous chatter. Hearing the noise, guests froze, looking around in confusion. A few rich playboys in the back laughed. “Who has the balls to watch porn at a Lister wedding? Do they want to be chopped into pieces?” “Right? I heard the Listers just secured massive capital. They own this town now.” Mr. Vance’s face was chalk-white. My father cracked his knuckles. “Ye Cheng,” he said, using Mr. Vance’s full Chinese name, which he never did. “I hope you have a very satisfying explanation for this.” Mr. Vance was sweating profusely. He shouted at his staff. “Cut the power to the mics! Find who is doing this! I’ll kill them!” Mrs. Vance clutched her chest, looking ready to faint. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well. But before the staff could intervene, a massive projection screen slowly lowered at the front of the hall. The obscene image flickered to life. A man and a woman, entangled, desperate. Even through the screen, the heat between them was undeniable. The woman rolled over, exposing her face to the hundreds of guests. A collective gasp swept through the room. “Holy shit, isn’t that the Vance family’s adopted daughter? Kelly?” “You’re right. Her dad was their driver who died saving Mr. Vance. Everyone knows the charity case.” “Wait… doesn’t the man look familiar?” No one dared to say the name out loud. They were afraid of slapping the Vance family in the face. But Julian had a mouth. And he was using it. On screen, his breathing was ragged, his voice thick with lust. “What’s got into you today? Did you eat something? You’re so… enthusiastic.” Kelly buried her face in his neck, refusing to let go. Julian tried to push her gently. “Okay, okay. It’s time. My parents are probably losing their minds.” “If I don’t go, Sloane is going to start another war.” Kelly laughed, a muffled, dark sound. “What are you afraid of? Did you forget the plan?” “I fed her the drug. Right now, she’s probably playing with those old men, losing her mind. It’s all being livestreamed to the internet.” Hearing this, my father shot up from his chair. The guests turned pale. They looked like they wanted to run. The Lister family was famous for protecting their daughter. Hearing a plot like this… were they all going to be silenced as witnesses? 6 My father grabbed Mr. Vance by the collar. “Ye Cheng, you animal! You begged us for this marriage!” “Now your son conspires with an outsider to destroy my daughter?” “If anything happens to Sloane, I will burn your entire family to the ground.” Mr. Vance’s legs gave out. He was practically dangling. “Mr. Lister, I swear, I didn’t know! I swear!” “I promise I will return Sloane to you unharmed! Please, give me a chance!” I rolled my eyes from the doorway. I pushed the heavy doors open and walked in. “Relax, Dad. I’m fine.” If I had relied on the Vance family, I would be destroyed by now. Hearing my voice, my father exhaled a breath that sounded like a sob. He waved me over frantically. The moment I reached them, my mother smacked me on the butt. “Are you trying to kill us? We almost had heart attacks!” “Why didn’t you warn us? You want us to die of shock?” I winced but didn’t argue. People didn’t know that in the Lister house, Mom was the real boss. Before Dad’s company hit that minor crisis years ago, Mom had already fixed it before the rumors even spread. Julian was naive to think he could manipulate me. He didn’t know this marriage was something his father had begged for on his knees. And from the moment I met Kelly, I had decided to end this. Julian wasn’t worthy of marrying into my family. They never stopped to think: without my parents’ absolute backing, how would I dare to be such a literal, vengeful “mule”? It takes heavy resources and heavy love to be this fearless. I turned to the Vances and gave a polite, ladylike smile. “Sorry, Auntie, Uncle. Like I said, low IQ, low EQ.” “You kept saying Kelly was just joking. I recorded them before, and you didn’t do anything.” “So, I figured… why not let everyone see the joke together?” I took the microphone from the stunned MC and turned to the crowd. “Julian says Kelly is just his ‘bro.’” “Kelly told me it’s all just ‘banter.’” “What do you think? Is this a joke?”

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After being framed time and again by the impostor who took my place, my parents kicked me out. I starved to death on the cold streets of the city. In the Afterlife, the Arbiter reviewed my file, his brow furrowing as he looked over my mortal record. “You were set up multiple times. Why didn’t you defend yourself?” “I did,” I said, choking back tears. “I told them the truth. But no one believed me.” The Arbiter signed a document with a flourish. “If no one believed you, then let’s make her speak the truth herself.” “I’m giving you a second chance. Good luck.” A wave of dizziness hit me, and suddenly, I was back. Back to the day my biological parents finally brought me home. Only this time, I had a Truth System installed in my rival. Jessica, the girl who had been raised in my place, saw me walk through the door. She smiled sweetly and started to say, “Sister, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” But her tongue twisted, and what actually came out was: “Dammit, they actually found this trash. I need to figure out a way to make Mom and Dad kick her out onto the street!” Jessica clamped her hands over her mouth in panic. The entire room went silent. Every eye landed on her. Good, Jessica, I thought, suppressing a smirk. Let’s see how you act your way out of this one. 1. My parents, Richard and Martha Vance, stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Jessica! What has gotten into you? You never use foul language!” “We raised you to be a Vance, a lady of high society. How can you curse like a sailor?” My chest tightened. The point of her sentence was that she wanted to manipulate them into disowning me. Yet, they completely ignored the malice. They didn’t care that she wanted me gone; they didn’t care that she called me trash. They only cared that their carefully cultivated “perfect daughter” had slipped up on her etiquette. Thinking back to my past life, to how easily they bought into her lies… I realized something. They weren’t just blind. They just didn’t care about me. Jessica quickly pivoted, putting on her best wounded-doe expression. “I… I don’t know what happened…” “I couldn’t control my mouth just now. Those weren’t my thoughts…” “Daddy, Mommy, I don’t know if I should say this, but the moment Elara walked in, I felt this dark, heavy energy…” My parents turned to me, their gazes instantly hardening into disgust. “Elara, what kind of voodoo did you learn out in that backwater town? How dare you use it on your sister?” “Listen to me. Now that you are a Vance, you will follow our rules. Leave that low-class garbage behind!” “We brought you back not expecting you to bring us glory, but the least you can do is not embarrass us!” My biological brother, Tyler, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Jessica started acting strange the second Elara arrived. She must have brought something unclean into the house.” “We need a cleansing. I won’t feel safe sleeping under the same roof otherwise.” I shook my head frantically. “I didn’t bring anything! Jessica just accidentally spoke her mind!” They ignored me. Richard immediately called up the family’s “spiritual advisor,” a man named Brother Thomas. Thomas was a regular grifter who knew exactly which side his bread was buttered on. He exchanged a subtle glance with Jessica before putting on a solemn face. “Miss Elara is indeed carrying a dark attachment. This entity cannot be removed by prayer alone. It requires physical expulsion.” “Since the entity has targeted Miss Jessica, she must be the one to wield the instrument. She must strike Miss Elara eighty-one times with a leather whip to drive the spirit out.” Without a second thought, my parents ordered the staff to tie me up. Jessica picked up the whip. Her eyes gleamed with venomous delight. “I’m so sorry, Elara. I’m only doing this for your own good.” She giggled, a triumphant sound, and raised her arm to strike. But as the whip came down, her mouth betrayed her again: “Look at this. Mom and Dad always take my side. I say you’re cursed, and they let me beat you. In this house, you’re nothing but a dog to me!” Hearing this, my parents just frowned. “Jessica, hit harder! Beat the demon out of her!” Jessica put her whole back into it. The leather sliced through my clothes, cutting into my skin. When the eighty-one lashes were finally over, they untied me. I collapsed to the floor, paralyzed with pain. My parents told a servant to help me upstairs, but Brother Thomas held up a hand. “Wait. Miss Elara should not stay in a spacious, comfortable room. Dark entities thrive on comfort and will return. A cramped, dark space is best.” My parents thought for a moment. “The storage closet on the first floor is small and has no windows. But a bed won’t fit…” Thomas nodded sagely. “That is perfect. If Miss Elara suffers a bit, the entity won’t want to come back.” 2. I was thrown into the damp, dark storage closet. I curled up in the corner, my body trembling with agony, despair clawing at my throat. I thought having the Truth System would make this life easier. I didn’t expect it to start off even harder than the last one. The door creaked open. Jessica walked in, looking down at me like I was a cockroach. “You did something, didn’t you? Made me speak the truth.” “You’re so naive, Elara. Even if I say it out loud, so what? Mom and Dad will always choose me.” “So what if you’re the blood daughter? You’re just a loser from the boonies. You think you can compete with me?” “Do yourself a favor and go back to the dirt you came from…” Footsteps approached from the hallway. Jessica’s face instantly shifted to terror. “Sister, what are you doing? Please, don’t hurt me!” She grabbed a letter opener from a shelf and jammed it violently into her own arm. Hearing her scream, my parents burst in, pushing past me to cradle her. “Elara! What did you do to Jessica?!” I looked at them coldly. “I didn’t do anything. I just watched her perform a one-woman show.” “You think we’d believe Jessica stabbed herself? Are you insane?” Jessica gasped weakly, leaning into Martha. “I just… I just asked if she was scared sleeping alone, if she wanted company… and she… she stabbed me…” Richard and Tyler glared at me with pure hatred. “Elara, how can you be so vicious? How did the Vance bloodline produce something so heartless?” My father raised his hand to slap me. But Jessica’s voice rang out again. “I came in here to trigger this bitch, told her she has no place here, and then I stabbed myself to frame her!” She slapped her hands over her mouth. My father’s hand froze in mid-air. The room went dead silent. I looked at my parents. “Did you hear that? That is the truth.” Tyler scoffed, breaking the tension. “Clearly the cleansing wasn’t thorough enough. The demon is still making her say crazy things to frame Jessica.” My parents didn’t argue. They told Tyler to take Jessica to get bandaged up. They glanced at me with cold indifference and turned to leave. “Why?” I asked the question to their retreating backs. “You know she’s telling the truth. You know she staged it. Why do you still side with her?” Martha turned, a sneer curling her lip. “Elara, love is built over time. It doesn’t just appear because of DNA.” “For over a decade, Jessica has been our daughter. We poured everything into her.” “Even putting feelings aside—look at her. Her elegance, her speech, her education. That is what a Vance daughter looks like.” “You? You’re a farm girl. You can’t compare.” “A daughter represents the family face in public. Look at yourself. You’re unpresentable.” “Then why bring me back at all?” “You think we wanted to? The police made a huge scene about finding you!” “We couldn’t leave our biological daughter out there without the media tearing us apart.” “The Vance family won’t let you starve, but don’t you dare think you can replace Jessica.” They walked away. That was the moment my heart finally froze over. I remembered the secret the Arbiter had told me about Jessica. I smiled. I didn’t want their cheap affection anymore. I was going to make sure they knew the truth. And then, I was going to make sure they lost everything they cared about. 3. I went to find Brian Powell. The Vance and Powell families had arranged a marriage between Brian and Jessica years ago. Brian hated the arrangement, but he couldn’t defy his family’s orders. When I was brought back, my face had been plastered all over the news. Brian recognized me immediately. He looked at me with bored indifference. “What? Is the Vance family swapping brides now?” I shook my head. “I’m here to make a deal.” Brian raised an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?” “I know you don’t want to marry into my family. It’s just business pressure.” “If Vance Enterprises suddenly went bankrupt, your parents wouldn’t force you to go through with the wedding, would they?” “I have a way to tank their stock.” Brian sat up straighter. He laughed, a sharp, cynical sound. “It seems the prodigal daughter has realized that blood isn’t thicker than water.” “Well? Do we have a deal, Mr. Powell?” “If your family goes under, you go down with them. You’re willing to lose everything?” “I told you, this is a trade.” “I help you destroy the Vance legacy. In return, you give me ten million dollars in cash. And when the bank auctions off the Vance estate, you buy it and deed it to me.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” Ten million was enough for a lifetime of comfort. As for the villa… in my last life, they kicked me out of it to die. In this life, I was going to kick them out. Brian nodded slowly. “Bankrupting Vance Enterprises isn’t a small task. What do you need from me?” “First, the money. Now. I don’t trust you not to stiff me.” Brian took the slip of paper with my account number, handed it to his secretary, and five minutes later, the funds cleared. I smiled. “You aren’t worried I’m scamming you?” “It’s just ten million. I’ll take the gamble. Besides, no one in this city is stupid enough to scam Brian Powell.” “What’s part two?” “Next week, the Powells are hosting the Grand Gala. I need you to add a segment to the program…” When I finished explaining, Brian looked at me with confusion. “That’s all it takes?” I nodded. “Just sit back and watch the show. You’ll witness the Vance empire crumble in real-time.” A week later, the Grand Gala—the most exclusive event in the city—arrived. When the invitation arrived at the house, Jessica noticed a new addition to the schedule. All heirs and heiresses will take the stage to share a personal story from their upbringing. Jessica squealed with delight. “This must be Brian’s idea! He wants to get to know me better but is too shy to ask directly, so he made a whole event out of it.” “It’s so romantic! Like, ‘to hug you, I hugged the whole world’ vibes!” “I have to write the perfect speech!” She glanced over at me, her eyes narrowing. “Mom, Dad… does Elara have to speak, too?” “I’m so curious what a farm girl would even talk about. Shoveling pig manure? Is that what you did all day, Sister?” 4. My parents looked at me with undisguised revulsion. “It’s a high-society gala. What could she possibly share without making us vomit?” “Elara, listen to me. Everyone knows you’re back, so we have to take you. But keep your mouth shut.” “Smile more, speak less. Do not show your lack of breeding. We cannot afford the embarrassment.” “And I heard you went to see Brian the other day? You think just because you’re the biological daughter you can steal Jessica’s fiancé?” “Look in a mirror. Brian wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if he had brain damage.” “From now on, you don’t see anyone without our permission. Stop humiliating us.” Jessica beamed, soaking up my humiliation. “I’m going to go write my speech. Don’t worry, Daddy, Mommy. I’ll make the Vance name shine!” Watching her skip away, a cold smile touched my lips. Yes, Jessica. Prepare that speech. Make it perfect. Polish every word. It’s a waste of time. Because when you open your mouth, not a single word on that paper is going to come out. Mom, Dad… I can’t wait to see the look on your faces when you learn the truth. The night of the gala arrived. The Powell ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and designer gowns. Jessica walked arm-in-arm with Tyler, while my parents beamed with pride behind them. I trailed behind like an unwanted shadow. People recognized me as the returned daughter and came over to look. Martha pinched the fabric of my dress, pulling me forward roughly. “Yes, well, she’s a country girl. Hasn’t seen the world. Apologies if she’s awkward.” “We feed her, clothe her, try to teach her, but she’s just… hopelessly rustic.” The guests offered polite, empty platitudes. “At least she’s home. Don’t push too hard. You already have such an outstanding daughter in Jessica.” Nearby, Jessica was fluttering her eyelashes at Brian. “Brian, you have to listen carefully when I give my speech later, okay?” The event began. The heirs and heiresses took the stage one by one. Soon, it was Jessica’s turn. She glided up to the microphone, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and held up her speech cards. “Good evening, everyone. I am Jessica Vance. As many of you know, I was an orphan adopted by my wonderful parents.” “They gave me the best…” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her tongue twisted violently. And then, the bombshell dropped. “Actually, I’m not an orphan. My coming to the Vance family was entirely…

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1 Five years after my divorce from Rovan, I saw him again. I was working at a preschool when he, the man who had fought me tooth and nail in court, walked in with a little boy who looked uncannily like me. “He missed his mom,” Rovan said, his voice calm and natural, as if no time had passed at all. “I brought him to see you.” I remembered the warning he had given me when we divorced. With the same calm I had learned to master, I replied, “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not his mother.” In the next instant, the boy hiding behind Rovan’s legs ran to me, his small voice choked with tears. “Mommy, please don’t leave me.” — “Don’t say that,” Rovan murmured, his eyes downcast. “Leo is your son, after all. You’ll break his heart.” His tone was gentle, a world away from the cold indifference he’d shown me five years ago. I can still hear his words from that day, a permanent echo in my mind: “Clara, from this day forward, the child has nothing to do with you. If you dare to even try and see him, I will call the police and get a restraining order. I’ll make sure you never see him again.” And now, here he was, telling me our son missed me. I looked down at the weeping boy clinging to my leg. “Does Victoria know you brought him here?” I asked quietly. Victoria. His former assistant. His new wife. The boy’s mother on paper. The woman for whom Rovan had destroyed our marriage, the woman he had protected while sending me to hell. Rovan’s lips parted, but no words came out. After a moment, a look of stunned surprise crossed his face. “Clara… you can… you can talk?” He quickly corrected himself. “I mean, you can speak in full sentences?” I’ve had a severe speech impediment since I was a child. Words would get stuck in my throat, and it could take me ages to form a single coherent sentence. Many people just called me ‘the stutterer.’ To communicate with me, Rovan had bought me a special journal. For the urgent things, write them down, he’d said. For everything else, I have all the patience in the world. Just take your time and tell me. But later, when he confessed that he’d fallen for another woman and wanted a divorce, I had tried to ask him why. I got one word out before he cut me off, his face a mask of irritation. “Clara, you might as well be mute. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to come home after a long day and have to summon the patience to listen to you struggle?” “You want to know why I love Victoria?” he’d continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “Because it’s easy with her. I talk, she responds. She understands my stress, she knows how to help me. And what about you?” He’d completely forgotten his own words from years before: “Clara, no matter what, you will always be the one and only Clara to me.” He knew my speech was my deepest insecurity, the source of all my shame. And he had used it as a weapon to gut me for another woman. I didn’t answer his question now. I gently pried the little boy’s hands from my leg. “Take him home, Rovan,” I said. “And don’t come back.” Without another glance, I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Leo’s desperate cry, tears flooding his big, watery eyes. “Mommy, don’t go! I want my mommy!” I faltered for a half-step, but I didn’t stop. When I entered my office, my best friend, Maya, looked up from the teaching materials she was organizing. “Clara, I heard someone was looking for… hey, why are you crying?” I lifted a hand to my cheek. It came away wet. Before Rovan and the boy had shown up, I thought I was over it. I thought that if I ever ran into them, I could smile like a polite stranger and say, “Do you remember me? I used to hold you when you were a baby.” But it turned out I wasn’t over it at all. I pressed my lips together, forcing down the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. “It was Rovan,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “He brought the boy.” “What?” The name, unspoken for so long, ignited a fire in Maya. “That bastard! What is he doing here? Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Where is he? I’m going to kill him!” She yanked open her desk drawer, pulled out a fruit knife, and started for the door. Then she froze, a new panic on her face. “Wait, they didn’t bring the police, did they? This doesn’t count as you seeking him out, right? It won’t cause any trouble?” The day after the divorce was finalized, our nanny had called me. She said Rovan and Victoria were out celebrating their anniversary, and our son had a high fever. The nanny had a family emergency and couldn’t stay. She asked if I could come. The moment I heard “high fever,” I panicked. I rushed over, took my son, and went straight to the hospital. As he was being examined, Rovan and Victoria arrived. With two police officers. Before I could say a word, Rovan’s voice, cold as ice, cut through the room. “Clara, you have violated the court order by taking the child without permission. I am filing for an emergency order. You will never see him again.” My son was still burning up in my arms. I tried to tell Rovan he needed to see the doctor, but he snatched the boy from me and handed him to Victoria. “Remember this,” he said, his eyes like steel. “Victoria is his mother now. He has nothing to do with you.” He had the police escort me away. He said he wanted to teach me a “profound lesson.” He had me locked up for three days. Maya was the one who picked me up, her face streaked with tears. She looked at my empty eyes and sobbed, “Clara, let’s leave this city. Let’s start over, okay?” For five years, I never set foot in Crestwood again. I thought if I stayed away, I would never have to see the man who had been my angel, only to become the demon who cast me into hell. “No, don’t worry,” I told Maya now, my voice more confident than I felt. “We won’t be seeing each other again.” I believed it. The Rovan who had patience for me was long gone. But I was wrong. The next day, after work, he was there again. With the boy. “Clara, it’s Leo’s birthday today. His only wish is for you to have dinner with him. For his sake, will you please consider it?” Rovan looked at me, his eyes full of a desperate hope, as if there was so much more he wanted to say. Little Leo stood beside him, mirroring his father’s pleading gaze. Then, out of nowhere, Maya appeared. She was holding a bucket of water, which she promptly flung at Rovan. “You bastard! How dare you show your face here? Get out! She doesn’t want to see you!” The water soaked his tall frame, but little Leo, standing right next to him, was perfectly dry. Rovan’s lips tightened, but his dark eyes remained fixed on me. He said nothing. Maya sneered. “What, are you trying to cook up another charge to use against her? Let me tell you, I did this. All me. You won’t use me to threaten her again!” When Rovan first demanded the divorce, determined to build a new life with Victoria, I had refused. I wouldn’t sign the papers, and I wouldn’t give up custody of our son. I still held on to a sliver of hope that his infatuation would fade, and he would come back to us. How naive I was. When Maya found out he was trying to take our son, she lost her mind. She stormed into his law firm, found Victoria, and screamed at her in front of everyone, calling her a homewrecker and slapping her across the face. In response, Rovan and Victoria sued Maya for assault and slander. As a top divorce lawyer, Rovan knew exactly how to operate without leaving a shred of evidence against himself. All I knew was what he wanted me to know. When my lawyer asked for proof of his affair to countersue, I had nothing. He was too smart, too careful. His phone’s screen saver was a picture of me and our son. His texts with Victoria were all about work. They were never seen alone together in public. I had no proof. I knelt on the floor and begged him, head to the ground, to drop the charges against Maya. There was no pity in his eyes, only the cold condescension of a victor. “You have one option,” he’d said. “Agree to the divorce and give up custody. Otherwise, I will make sure Maya pays.” The stress was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep. I started taking sleeping pills just to get through the night. And on the day of our divorce hearing, he used it all against me. He presented photos of me taking the pills. He showed the court a video of me on my knees, sobbing and begging him. He told the judge I was mentally unstable, a housewife with no means to support a child, and therefore unfit for custody. My speech impediment, always worse under stress, became a complete blockage. I stood in the defendant’s box, the eyes of the entire courtroom on me—pitying, confused, impatient—and I couldn’t get a single word out. I looked at him, pleading with my eyes. He looked away. Then, he delivered the final, crushing blow. He produced the journal he had given me. “Clara is functionally mute,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “This is the journal she uses to communicate. If she can’t even speak, how can she possibly be a mother?” The person who knows you best knows exactly where to stick the knife. He twisted it, again and again, in my deepest wound. And I couldn’t even say a single word to defend myself. The time allotted for my testimony ticked away. I remained silent. I lost. Completely. As we walked out of the courthouse, Rovan and Victoria approached me, holding our one-year-old son. Victoria’s face was glowing with triumph. “Don’t you worry, Clara,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’ll take good care of him. Rovan and I will raise him as our own.” Rovan looked at her with the same tenderness he once reserved for me. “I trust you,” he said. “He’ll be better off with you.” Then, he turned to me, twisting the knife one last time. “Don’t blame me for taking him, Clara. You wouldn’t want him to be asked at school why his mother is a stuttering mess, would you?” He had taken everything, and then told me not to blame him. The sun was warm that day, but I felt like I had been plunged into an icy abyss. I cried, asking him over and over why he was doing this to me. My only answer was the sight of their retreating backs as they walked away with my son. Now, standing in front of me, Rovan said nothing as Maya berated him. But little Leo, his voice small and hesitant, spoke up. He looked at me with a mixture of hope and fear. “Daddy said… that the day I was born was a really hard day for Mommy. So… today is my birthday, but it’s also Mommy’s day of suffering. I… I saved all my allowance. I wanted to buy Mommy dinner.” The day Leo was born. Rovan was out of town, handling a divorce case. We were both from the foster care system; we had no parents to help us. I was in the delivery room, waiting, my body wracked with pain. I cried his name, over and over, terrified, praying he would get back in time. He couldn’t. He called me on video instead. The Rovan from back then, the one who still loved me. I could see him pacing a hallway, his voice trembling as he tried to soothe me. “It’s okay, Clara, don’t be scared. You and the baby will be fine. I’ll be home soon. Let me tell you a story, okay? Please don’t cry.” He started telling me a fairy tale, but his own eyes filled with tears, his voice cracking. “No more,” he’d choked out. “Clara, after this one, we’re not having any more children.” Little did we know, his words would come true in the worst way possible. After Leo, there was no “us” anymore. Because what no one knew… was that the story of Rovan and Victoria also began that day. While I was in agony, giving birth to our son… he was getting drunk and falling into bed with Victoria. When I called him to tell him our son was born, safe and sound… he had just finished a night of passion. The next morning, he texted me that he had just woken up from a drunken stupor. But that text… Victoria had sent it from his phone. He was torn between guilt over his betrayal and his attraction to the vibrant, cheerful woman who was not his wife. And from that day on, his patience for me began to fray. Often, I’d start to say something, and he’d cut me off. “Just write it down. The baby’s a light sleeper, you’ll wake him.” But when Victoria called him in the middle of the night, upset about something, he could stay on the phone with her for hours. When she expressed her ambition to be more than just a legal assistant, he broke his own rule about not taking on apprentices and brought her under his wing. He let her, an unlicensed trainee, sit in on his biggest cases. He gave her all his favor. When others questioned it, he would simply say, “Because she’s worth it.” Only he knew why. But as a partner at the firm, no one dared to challenge him. Now, hearing Leo’s sweet, innocent words, a cynical smile touched Maya’s lips. “You’re right, kid. The day you were born was the day her suffering began. But do you know who caused it?”

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On our wedding night, my husband, Bobby, made a bet with his best friend. “I bet you’ll cheat within ten years. And when you do, half your company is mine.” Bobby slammed his fist into the wall, a spray of blood marking the impact. “Serena, you listen to me!” he roared, his eyes wild. “If I ever lay a hand on another woman, I swear on my life, may I die without an heir!” For the next nine years, he was the perfect husband. He transferred his entire salary to my account, his phone’s location was open to me 24/7, and he was never alone with another woman. When his best friend’s wife confessed her feelings for him in a drunken stupor, Bobby threw a glass of wine in her face. “Try that again,” he snarled, “and I’ll let your husband deal with you.” I was more certain than ever that he would never cheat. But on the eve of the ten-year anniversary of our bet, I received a link to an anonymous cloud drive. Inside were over a hundred videos. Sex tapes of Bobby and his best friend’s wife, twisted together in every conceivable position. In one, the woman was lying on our marital bed. She looked into the camera, flashed a victory sign, and whispered: “Ten years are up. He lost the bet. And I won him.” So, you like to gamble, I thought. Fine. Let’s play this to the end. … The lights were still on in the living room when Bobby came home late that night. Just like always, he loosened his tie and leaned in to kiss me. “Serena, why are you still up? Waiting for me?” I turned my head, his lips meeting empty air. I pushed the divorce agreement across the coffee table toward him. “Sign it. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.” The smile on Bobby’s face froze. He picked up the papers, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Serena, stop playing games. Tomorrow is our tenth anniversary.” Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. It was Leo, his best friend. The husband of the woman in the videos. Bobby put the call on speaker, and Leo’s furious roar filled the room. “Bobby! Are you even human, you son of a bitch?! I treated you like a brother, and you played me for a fool!” Bobby’s face went white. He shot a panicked glance at me. “Leo, calm down…” “Calm down?! I’ve seen the videos! A hundred of them! You two really had fun, didn’t you? Trying out positions we never even got to!” Before Bobby could respond, another call came through. It was Kelly. He answered it immediately, his voice softening into a gentle murmur. “Kelly? Don’t be scared. Did he hit you? Where are you? Are you hurt?” He paced the living room, his voice a low, soothing balm for the woman on the other end of the line, while I sat there like an irrelevant stranger in my own home. A moment later, the front door was kicked open. Leo stormed in, his eyes bloodshot, with a sobbing Kelly trailing behind him. “Bobby!” Leo lunged, his fist connecting with Bobby’s jaw. Bobby staggered back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But he didn’t even look at Leo. His first instinct was to rush to Kelly’s side, shielding her trembling form with his own. “Leo, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Don’t you touch her!” “Touch her?” Leo laughed, a ragged, broken sound. He spun to face me. “Serena! Do you see this?! Nine years ago, to prove his love to you, he made a show of throwing wine in my wife’s face! And I actually believed he was some kind of saint! Turns out they were screwing each other the whole time! And now that it’s all out, his first move is to comfort this slut! He hasn’t even asked you if you’re okay!” Every word was a poisoned needle, piercing my heart until I couldn’t breathe. Bobby pulled Kelly closer, his eyes finally finding mine, a flicker of pleading in their depths. “Serena, this has nothing to do with Kelly. It’s my fault. All of it. Don’t blame her.” Even now, he was protecting her. Afraid I would hurt her, afraid I would blame her. And what about me? What was I? I rose to my feet and walked toward him, step by deliberate step. “Bobby,” I said, my voice steady, “do you remember our baby? The one we lost?” His body went rigid. The color drained from his face, and the hand protecting Kelly began to tremble. “Serena… don’t.” “Why not?” I smiled, but tears streamed down my face. “I remember that day. I was lying in a hospital bed, and you were holding my hand, crying like a child. You told me the pain was killing you. And you know what, Bobby? I actually believed you.” As I spoke, my gaze fixed on the way Kelly’s hand instinctively flew to cover her stomach. Understanding dawned on Leo’s face. He lunged at Kelly, tearing at her clothes, a manic grin spreading across his face as he stared at Bobby. “Pain? You weren’t in pain, you son of a bitch! You were fucking ecstatic! She’s pregnant! With your child! It happened that day! The same day Serena had her miscarriage! You were holding my wife in your arms while you texted Serena that you loved her! You’re not a man, you’re an animal!” BOOM. My world collapsed. On the day I lost my child, my husband was with another woman, creating a new life for themselves. Leo had completely lost it, screaming that he was going to kill Kelly, that he wanted them both dead. Without a second thought, Bobby shoved me aside, throwing himself in front of Kelly, shielding her with his body. I stumbled, my forehead cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A searing pain, and then warmth. Blood trickled down, blurring my vision. The world spun. Through the chaos, I could hear Kelly’s terrified screams and Bobby’s desperate reassurances. “Kelly, don’t be scared! I’m here!” The blood from my head dripped onto the floor, one drop at a time, blooming like a dark, beautiful flower. The doctor gave me five stitches and told me to stay for observation. Bobby didn’t even glance my way. He was standing guard outside another room. Kelly had been shaken by the ordeal and was inside being examined. He paced back and forth like a caged animal. Nine years ago, when I was hospitalized with acute appendicitis, he’d stayed by my side for three days and nights straight, his eyes red from lack of sleep. I’d stroked his face, my heart aching for him. “Serena,” he’d whispered, “as long as you’re okay, nothing else matters.” Now, I was bleeding, and he couldn’t spare me a single look. A nurse came out of Kelly’s room. Bobby rushed forward. “How is she? Is the baby okay?” “Don’t worry, Mr. Vance. The fetus is stable. The mother is just a bit emotionally distressed.” He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, looking more shaken than he had on the day I’d lost our baby. Finally, he seemed to remember me. He turned and walked over. “Serena, what did the doctor say? Does your head still hurt?” He reached out, as if to touch the bandage on my forehead. I snapped my head up, my eyes locking onto his. “Bobby, you told me you fell in love with me the first time we met.” His hand froze. His gaze flickered. “You said I was the only light in your life.” “You said you would die without me.” My voice was a whisper, but each word was a knife, carving up the mockery of our past. His throat worked, and he finally managed to speak. “Serena, my love for you… it was real…” “Real?” I laughed, and the laughter turned into sobs. “Then is it also real that the baby in her stomach was conceived on the same day I had a miscarriage?” The question struck him like a bolt of lightning, leaving him ashen-faced. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just as I thought he might offer an explanation, even a lie, the door to Kelly’s room opened. A nurse poked her head out. “Mr. Vance, the patient is very unstable, she won’t stop crying. Could you please come in?” Bobby flinched, then immediately scrambled to his feet and headed for the door. He glanced back at me, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. “Serena, wait for me here. Kelly… her situation is delicate right now.” There it was again. Always for Kelly. I looked at him and felt a surge of bitter amusement. My head was throbbing, the bandage already stained red with fresh blood. But in his eyes, my pain was worth less than a single one of Kelly’s tears. He didn’t even ask if my wound was serious before rushing into that room. I could hear his gentle, cooing voice through the door, each soft word another slice into my already shredded heart. I don’t know how I made it home. The huge villa was empty, as cold and silent as a tomb. I sat on the sofa all night. From dusk until dawn. Bobby never came back. Not a single call, not a single text. I knew where he was. He was at the hospital, watching over Kelly and their child. Just like he had watched over me nine years ago. No. He was even more attentive now, more anxious. The difference between love and non-love was painfully clear. I opened my social media. Kelly had posted an update. It was a photo of Bobby, asleep by her hospital bed, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. The caption read: With you here, I can rest easy. Thank you, my hero. It was followed by a heart emoji. I stared at the picture, my heart grinding into dust. In college, a senior wouldn’t stop harassing me. Bobby found out and beat the guy so badly he ended up in the hospital. He’d held me then, as I shook with fear, and whispered, “Don’t be scared, Serena. I’m your hero. No one will ever hurt you again.” Now, my hero was protecting another woman. And I was just the old, discarded thing he’d left behind. It wasn’t until ten in the morning that the front door finally opened. Bobby walked in, smelling of exhaustion and antiseptic. He saw me on the sofa and froze, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Serena, you… you’ve been up all night?” He came closer, bringing with him the faint, cloying scent of Kelly’s perfume. I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. The wound on my forehead had seeped blood overnight, matting my hair to my skin. I must have looked pathetic. His brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you go back to the hospital to get that changed? The doctor told you to stay for observation.” A harsh, ugly laugh escaped my lips. “You remember that?” My laughter seemed to needle him. His voice turned cold. “Serena, can you stop with the sarcasm? Kelly just had a major scare. I couldn’t leave her.” “She had a scare?” I stood up slowly, advancing on him. “And what about me? I have five stitches in my head. I bled all over the floor. Do I just deserve that?” “It’s not the same!” he blurted out. “Kelly’s pregnant! If you hadn’t provoked Leo, would he have gone crazy? Would Kelly have been in danger? You should be the one thinking about what you did!” I froze, the blood turning to ice in my veins. He was blaming me. For everything. In his mind, Kelly was the innocent, fragile victim who needed protection. And I was the vicious, spiteful villain who started it all. I remembered a time, long ago, when a colleague at work stole one of my designs and tried to frame me. Bobby had heard my side of the story and, without a moment’s hesitation, had his team gather evidence and destroy her career. “I trust my Serena,” he’d said, ruffling my hair. “No questions asked.” Now, the man who had promised unconditional trust was pointing a finger at me, telling me it was all my fault, all for the sake of another woman. I looked at the face I had loved for ten years and saw a complete stranger. All the love, the resentment, the bitterness… it all vanished in that one moment. “Bobby,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “let’s get a divorce.” I pushed the signed papers toward him. “If there are no objections, sign it.” He glanced at the document, his eyes turning to ice. “Serena, what’s the point of this? Kelly and Leo’s marriage was a mistake. She was unhappy. I was just trying to comfort her.” “Comfort her?” I sneered. “Comfort her until she got pregnant with your child?” He didn’t deny it. Instead, he became defiant. “Serena, this is our family’s bloodline. I can finally give my parents a grandchild. Maybe you should blame your own barren womb. Ten years, and you couldn’t even give our family an heir. In a way, Kelly was helping you!” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I couldn’t breathe. I snapped. SLAP. The force of my hand striking his face echoed in the silent room. “You make me sick! These ten years, I must have been blind!” Bobby clutched his reddening cheek, his voice a low snarl. “If you want a divorce, fine. But not now. The annual company conference is in two days, and as my wife, you are required to be there.” SLAM! He stormed out, leaving me alone in the wreckage. On the day of the Vance Group’s annual conference, I arrived in a stunning evening gown, not as a wife, but as a shareholder. Kelly, her baby bump prominent, swept towards me. She leaned in close, a mocking smile on her lips. “You lost, Serena. Today, I’m going to show everyone who the most important woman in Bobby’s life really is.” Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength and slammed my hand onto her pregnant belly. In the same instant, she let out a blood-curdling scream and threw herself backward. “Aaaah—!” The entire ballroom erupted in chaos. Bobby’s face went sheet-white. He sprinted across the room, catching her just before she hit the floor. “My stomach… it hurts so much…” Kelly wailed, tears streaming down her pale face. She clung to Bobby’s arm with one hand, while the other pointed a trembling finger at me. “Serena… I know you hate me, but the baby is innocent… Why did you push me?!” Bobby, cradling Kelly, looked at me with pure, unadulterated venom. “Serena, I never knew you could be so evil!” “I didn’t,” I said, my voice shaking despite myself. “You dare deny it?!” he roared. “Do you want them both dead?! If anything happens to Kelly, I will destroy you! Security! Get this crazy woman out of here!” The flashbulbs of the press exploded around me. The air was thick with whispers. “She pushed a pregnant woman… What kind of monster is she?” “The barren hen is jealous of the one who can lay eggs.” “Get out of the Vance family, you vicious bitch!” The accusations washed over me, a tidal wave of hatred. Hundreds of eyes, like poisoned daggers, were aimed at me. I was frozen, unable to defend myself. Bobby carefully lifted Kelly into his arms. The look he gave me was devoid of any lingering affection, filled only with rage. Just then, a hand closed around my wrist. It was Leo. “Come with me.” Away from the crowd, he let go and pulled a USB drive from his pocket. “What’s this?” I asked. “Every hotel record, every bank transfer between Bobby and Kelly for the past ten years. And some… other highlights.” I stiffened. Leo’s voice was tinged with a desperate, hollow laugh. “Yesterday, that bastard asked me to step aside and ‘let them be happy.’ To bless their happy little family.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Did those two really think Serena Vance was a doormat they could just walk all over? Everything they’ve done to me… I will repay them a hundredfold.” Under the shocked stares of everyone in the room, I walked to the main stage and plugged the USB drive into the central computer. The massive screen behind the stage lit up. Bobby, who was about to carry Kelly out, froze. His face went so white he nearly collapsed. On the screen, crystal clear for everyone to see, was security footage from our bedroom. Bobby and Kelly, tangled together on our bed. Gasps rippled through the crowd. The people who had been screaming at me just moments before were now silent. Bobby’s face was no longer just pale; it was the grey of a corpse. He stared at the screen, his body trembling uncontrollably. He couldn’t accept that the perfect image he had so carefully curated was being destroyed in such a public, humiliating way. “No… that’s not real… it’s not real…” he muttered, lost and broken. He staggered backward and fell to the floor, the light gone from his eyes. “What is the tech team doing?” Bobby, on the stage, roared. “Turn it off! Turn it off now!” He lunged for the computer, but Leo was there, blocking his path. The crowd murmured, their attention glued to the screen. On the bed, Kelly looked directly at the camera and smiled, a triumphant, smug expression on her face. Bobby froze, his face a mask of horror. The video’s audio kicked in, followed by a recording of their conversations. Kelly’s voice, sweet and seductive. “Bobby, darling, the ten years are almost up. Are you really going to lose half your company to Leo?” Bobby’s voice, full of contempt. “It’s just a bet. That idiot Serena actually believed my whole devoted husband act. After the bet is over, I’ll find a way to get Leo’s shares too. The whole company will be ours.” “And your wife?” “Her? She’s just a pretty vase with no connections. Without me, she’s nothing.” Dead silence. Then, an uproar. The camera flashes were blinding, aimed at Bobby on the stage and me in the crowd. The board members’ faces were thunderous. “You ungrateful whelp!” Bobby’s father, shaking with rage, pointed at his son. His mother’s eyes rolled back, and she fainted. “Mom!” “Someone call an ambulance!” The scene descended into chaos. Bobby charged toward me, his eyes blazing. “Serena! You did this! You poisonous bitch!” He raised his hand to strike me. Leo stepped in front of me and delivered a swift, hard kick to Bobby’s chest. “You touch her, Bobby, and I’ll kill you.” Leo’s eyes were murderous. I pushed him aside, picked up a microphone, and walked onto the stage. The noise instantly died down. I looked at the man I once loved, now a pathetic heap on the floor, and felt nothing but disgust. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “As you can see, this ten-year marriage was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated business fraud.” “I, Serena Vance, am hereby announcing my immediate divorce from Bobby Vance.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over the horrified faces of the board members. “Furthermore, as a shareholder of the Vance Group, I, along with the other victim in this matter, Mr. Leo Vance, will be launching a full investigation into this fraudulent scheme. We will pursue legal action against all responsible parties.” I dropped the mic. With cameras flashing all around us, I took Leo’s arm and walked out of the ballroom, my head held high. Behind me, Bobby’s desperate, fading roars were the last sound I heard.

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1 The men broke when they saw the last child in the safe room torn apart by a zombie while still alive. “Captain! You said she was just a jealous liar! You told us to guard you and Serena during the fireworks!” “So why is my month-old son in pieces?!” Jason’s face turned deathly pale. I watched, my heart bleeding. In my past life, during the zombie attack, my husband Jason took all the guards to watch fireworks with his childhood sweetheart, Serena. I screamed myself hoarse, calling them back, and saved everyone. But angry about missing the show, Serena stormed out alone and was torn to pieces by zombies. After killing the horde, Jason held her remaining leg bone, silent. That silence lasted until the day I gave birth. Then, he chopped off my limbs alive and fed me to the zombies. He’d watch them eat me, heal me, and repeat it, over and over. “You venomous bitch,” he’d snarled. “You killed her. So your death will be a thousand times worse.” When I opened my eyes, I was back—back to the day the zombies first attacked. … I was reborn the moment the sound of their guttural roars echoed through the forest. On pure instinct, I shot out of my room and threw myself at the console in the broadcast center. “Attention, everyone! Attention!” My voice crackled over the speakers. “A massive zombie horde is approaching! All personnel, evacuate to the safe room immediately!” The words had barely left my lips when the first terrified screams erupted outside. “Move!” I grabbed the machete from my belt, trying to herd the panicked crowd while simultaneously hacking down the first few infected that broke through the perimeter. The retreat was a chaotic nightmare. I scooped up a few children who were frozen in terror and shoved them through the heavy steel doors of the safe room. CLANG! The lock slammed shut, sealing us off from the hell outside, if only for a moment. The survivors, still reeling from the shock, collapsed to the floor, their sobs echoing in the enclosed space. A woman clutching an infant grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with panic. “Aria… you have to find Captain Jason! Get them back here to save us!” I closed my eyes, forcing myself to deliver the cruel truth. “Jason took the entire security team to the summit on the edge of town. He’s protecting Serena while she watches the fireworks.” The room exploded. “Fireworks? Now?” “He’s insane! He left us all here to die… for her?” Just then, a deafening sound reverberated through the room. BANG! BANG! BANG! The steel door shuddered with each impact, the center beginning to buckle and warp. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before it gave way. We couldn’t wait for him. “Maybe… maybe we don’t need them,” I said, a desperate idea forming. I turned to Jason’s mother. “Mom! The electric fence! If we can activate the high-voltage grid, we can fry them!” Her eyes lit up. “Yes! The fence!” She quickly pulled out her comms device. With every eye in the room fixed on her, she made the call. A moment later, Jason’s voice came through, laced with annoyance. “Mom? What is it? I’m a little busy right now.” His mother swallowed her rage, her words coming in a rush. “Jason, the base is under attack! A whole horde! The safe room won’t hold for much longer! You have to activate the perimeter fence, now!” The air grew thick with tension. “Are you kidding me?” he scoffed. “The power is being diverted to the summit lights. I can’t spare a single watt. Do you want to ruin the mood for Serena’s birthday?” He actually laughed. A cold, dismissive sound. “Is Aria whispering poison in your ear again? She’s that jealous? I’m just watching some fireworks with Serena. Does she really have to stoop this low, getting you to lie for her just to drag me back?” His mother was trembling with fury. “You foolish, pig-headed boy! Do you have any idea—” The line went dead. He had hung up on her. A dead silence fell over the room, thick with despair. “It’s over,” someone whispered. “We’re really going to die here.” I stared at the dented door, my heart clenching. Could it be that even with a second chance, I couldn’t change a single thing? In that suffocating silence, his mother looked at me, her eyes hardening with resolve. “I trained that security team myself!” she declared. “There’s a service path up the back of the mountain. I’ll go to them. They won’t disobey a direct order from me! I’ll bring them back!” A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Without another word, she slipped out a side maintenance hatch. “Wait for me,” was all she said before disappearing into the darkness. An hour later, a jagged hole was torn in the main door. A rotten, skeletal hand snaked through the opening, reaching for the infant in the woman’s arms. The baby’s cry was cut short by a sickening crunch. The mother collapsed, her eyes instantly vacant. As despair washed over us, a figure stumbled back through the side hatch. It was his mother. “Is the team back?” everyone asked at once. She was covered in blood. “Quick! Block the breach!” I rushed to support her. Her voice was a ragged whisper. “That bastard son of mine… He barricaded every path. He set up defenses to make sure no one could interrupt her precious birthday.” Her eyes were red with a furious, helpless rage. A chill crept up my spine, and I stumbled backward. Jason had been so determined to keep me away that he had blocked his own mother. “No! We can’t just give up!” I looked around at the terrified faces. “If we can’t get our own team, we’ll call for outside help!” I scrambled to the emergency comms, frantically cycling through the frequencies for other nearby outposts. I finally got a response and quickly explained our situation, begging for aid. There was a long pause on the other end. “I’m sorry,” the voice finally said. “We can’t send help.” “An hour ago, we received a priority communication from Captain Jason himself. He warned us that someone at your base might be making a false distress call. His direct order was to disregard any and all requests for aid from your location tonight.” He had gone this far. To protect Serena’s birthday party, he had proactively severed every lifeline, calculated every possibility, and sealed our tomb. His mother’s face went white. “This is Jason’s mother. I’m begging you…” “Ma’am,” the voice interrupted, still cold and professional, “the Captain was very specific. He said we should especially disregard any orders coming from you.” “He stated that unless you came to our gates in person to request aid, no assistance would be dispatched.” The line went dead again. In person? A journey of dozens of miles through a sea of the dead? It was a suicide mission. The breach in the door was temporarily patched, but we all knew it was a flimsy fix. I put my arm around his mother. “Mom, I’ll go with you.” I glanced at the fresh pool of blood on the floor, my voice hard as steel. “Everyone here is counting on us. If we stay, we die. If we go, there’s a chance!” She looked at me, a deep, searching gaze, and finally, she nodded. We moved through the darkness, me supporting her as best I could. Her left arm was gone, torn clean off by a zombie. Blood still streamed from the wound. “Just over this ridge… we’re almost there…” she gasped. From halfway up the mountain, we could see the distant lights of the neighboring outpost. Hope surged through us. And then the world exploded. A firework—a military-grade flare—detonated right in front of us. The shockwave threw us violently through the air. Dazed, I looked up toward the summit and saw him. Jason, with his arm around Serena. His mocking voice boomed across the valley from a set of loudspeakers. “Aria. I knew it. When playing the victim didn’t work, you decided to try brute force, didn’t you?” His voice turned to ice. “I knew you wouldn’t give up on ruining Serena’s birthday! I won’t let you succeed!” The explosions intensified, a deadly rain of light and fire. “Mom, you have to tell him it’s you!” I screamed. His mother gathered all her remaining strength and yelled toward the summit. “JASON!” For a moment, there was silence. Then, Jason’s laughter, louder and more maniacal than before, echoed down the mountain. The distance was too great; he could only make out our silhouettes. “Aria, you really will do anything to ruin this for her, won’t you?” he shouted. “First you get my mother to lie for you on the phone, and now you’ve hired an actress? An amputee, no less! Did you really think I’d fall for that?” His mother trembled with rage. “It is me, you fool! It’s your mother! Can’t you even recognize my voice?!” For a split second, I saw a flicker of doubt on Jason’s face. But Serena immediately tugged on his sleeve, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “Jason… I know Aria has never liked me. Maybe we should just cancel my birthday. We can go back.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s okay… I’m used to it.” That was all it took. Jason’s face hardened, his rage renewed. “Keep firing!” he commanded. More shells rained down, completely cutting off our path. The moon hung high in the sky, a cold, indifferent witness. “There’s no time,” his mother said, her grip tightening on my shoulder. “I’ll draw their fire. You have to go! You have to get help back to them!” She shoved me away from her. “They’re all waiting for you!” She began to stumble toward the summit. I scrambled after her, grabbing for her remaining arm. “Mom, no! They don’t recognize you! They’ll kill you!” Jason’s voice, colder than the grave, echoed from the peak. “Aria, if you’re so determined to die just to spoil Serena’s night, then I’ll be happy to oblige you!” He shouldered a rocket launcher. The next second, a massive firework shell screamed toward me. “Aria, look out!” His mother threw herself at me, tackling me to the ground and shielding me with her broken body. BOOM! The explosion was deafening, a physical blow that nearly shattered my eardrums. A thick, hot spray of blood covered my face. Her body went limp on top of me. Her back had been blown open, a gaping, cavernous wound. My hands trembled as I reached for her, feeling only the warm, sticky wetness. I shook her gently, but there was no response. A raw, animal cry tore from my throat. “Mom!” Serena’s delicate voice floated down from the speakers. “Aria, you should probably push the body off the cliff. Otherwise, the zombies will smell the blood and come for you, too.” 2 Several of the guards on the summit had witnessed the whole thing, their faces etched with uncertainty. A younger guard leaned toward his friend. “She… she didn’t look like she was faking it.” He hesitated. “What if she was telling the truth? What if something really happened at the base?” His friend cut him off. “Are you crazy? The captain would know if something was wrong. It’s just her, being jealous of Serena again. You know how women get.” But the young guard persisted. “But what if? Our families are down there!” A squad leader stepped in, his voice sharp. “The captain wouldn’t risk our families. End of discussion.” A moment later, I was dragged roughly up to the summit. My body was a mess of cuts and bruises, caked in a mixture of blood and mud. Serena approached, her face a perfect mask of concern. “Oh, Aria, you’re bleeding so much. Here, let me help you.” She reached out to touch me. “Don’t touch me!” I snarled, slapping her hand away with enough force to make her stumble. “Aria!” Jason roared. “Your pettiness knows no bounds! Serena is trying to be kind to you, and this is how you repay her?” He stalked over and stomped on my pinky finger. “It seems you’ll never learn without a little punishment!” A blinding, white-hot pain shot through my entire body. I curled into a ball on the ground, but my own agony was nothing. The people in the safe room… they were still waiting. I forced myself to look up, to meet Jason’s eyes. “Jason,” I said, each word a shard of glass. “The safe room is about to fall. Every minute you waste here, another person dies.” “Don’t you hear them?” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “Don’t you hear the zombies at the walls?” At my words, Serena burst into tears. “Jason, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have had a birthday. I shouldn’t even exist.” He pulled her into a protective embrace, his voice dripping with venom as he glared at me. “How long are you going to keep up this act, Aria? The base has the best defense system on the coast. How could it possibly…” I cut him off, despair turning my voice hollow. “All of your elite guards are here, protecting you and her. All the power for the electric fence has been rerouted here for your light show! Jason, you are going to regret this!” At this, several guards exchanged uneasy glances. “Captain, maybe… maybe we should send someone to check?” the young guard asked tentatively. An older guard beside him scoffed. “You must be new. She pulls stunts like this all the time to get at Miss Serena. This isn’t the first time she’s cried wolf.” “Yeah!” another chimed in. “Remember when she claimed Serena pushed her down the stairs?” Jason’s face grew even darker. “Take her! Tie her to that tree and let her think about what she’s done!” In his arms, a triumphant smirk flickered across Serena’s face. I fought with everything I had left. “Jason, if you don’t go back now, everyone’s families—your family—will be torn apart and eaten alive!” My only answer was a vicious backhand across the face. “The more you do this, Aria,” he hissed, “the more I hate you.” Just as they dragged me toward the tree, it happened. WEEEEEEEEEE— A blood-curdling siren screamed up from the base below. It was the level-one emergency alarm. The fail-safe. It meant the safe room had been breached. No survivors. Everyone froze. The older guard who had been mocking me was the first to react. He stumbled to the edge of the cliff, his eyes wide with horror as he stared down at the base. “The primary alarm… Oh God, the primary alarm! My wife… my little girl… they’re in there!” The young guard’s face was sheet-white, his lips trembling. In the dead silence, I looked at Jason, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you hear that, Jason? They’re all dead.” “This is the fireworks show you bought for Serena with all of their lives. Are you satisfied now?” “Even your own mother, the woman you claimed to respect more than anyone… you killed her, too.”

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