Author: Momo Chan

1 After the divorce, I fled to the mainland, scarred and broken, and disappeared into a quiet life under a new name and face. Everyone believed I’d died in a gang war that burned the docks to ash. For five years, my ex-husband Marco’s men visited my grave—until an old acquaintance walked into my barbecue shop. Stunned, he asked, “You’re alive? Why haven’t you returned? Marco’s been trying to kill himself out of guilt. He’s given up on the Family.” Marco, once one of Port City’s underworld Reapers, had vowed with his partner Isabella not to marry until they restored their Family’s glory by thirty. But he met me at twenty, married me, and broke their pact. Isabella turned vengeful: she poisoned me on our wedding night, locked me in a freezer while I was pregnant—each time, Marco saved me. This went on for three years. On the ninety-ninth attempt, she strapped me with timed bombs and left me at a rival gang’s door. With three minutes left, I ran to the police. … When Marco finally arrived, the first words out of his mouth weren’t of concern, but of accusation. “There are a dozen guys in the Family who could’ve defused that. Did you run to the cops on purpose? Were you trying to get Bella arrested?” The complete lack of care in his voice left a bitter taste in my mouth. “She was trying to kill me! Your men all listen to her. Where else was I supposed to go?” For the first time, I didn’t back down, and my defiance infuriated him. “I came up with Bella in this life. I know her. She values loyalty above all else. She was just trying to toughen you up.” “I’ll send her overseas to expand our operations later,” he continued, “but she’s the one who brings in the money for the Family. Nothing can happen to her.” He slid a settlement agreement and a credit card across the table, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sign it. There’s a hundred thousand on the card. For your trouble.” I stared at him, my heart feeling like it was being crushed in a vice. Was that all I was worth to him? A hundred thousand dollars? When I didn’t move, he frowned. “Ava, everything you have, everything you wear—Bella’s work paid for it. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” “I’ll sign it when I’m dead.” Marco’s eyes turned to ice. “You can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He swiped his phone open. The sound of our daughter’s terrified screams filled the air as one of his men twisted her little hand at an unnatural angle. “No!” I shrieked. “Marco, that’s your daughter too!” A cold smile touched his lips. “Sign it, or she spends the rest of her life as a cripple. Your choice.” On the screen, the man snapped our two-year-old’s forearm. She convulsed in agony. “Don’t hurt her! I’ll sign!” I sobbed, my hand shaking too violently to hold the pen. Marco grabbed my hand and forced it to trace out my name, stroke by stroke. I looked at the man I had loved for so many years, my voice choked with tears. “Why? Why would you do this to us, just for her?” A flicker of regret crossed his face. He started to reach for me, but then he saw Isabella in the interrogation room next door and stopped himself. “I didn’t want to use our daughter, Ava. I had no choice. Try to understand.” “Bella is my second-in-command, and she’s my mentor’s only child. She’s never seen the inside of a precinct before. She’s not like you.” He called one of his men and ordered them to take our daughter to the best hospital in the city. “If anything, and I mean anything, happens to my little girl, I’ll have your heads.” I watched, my heart turning to a block of ice, as he snatched the agreement and rushed to get Isabella. My love for him, blurred by a torrent of tears, died with that signature. As I left the precinct, I called his mentor, Don Rossi—Isabella’s father. My voice was raw, final. “Don Rossi, I know you’ve always seen Marco as your son-in-law. I know you’ve always thought I stood in the way of him and your daughter.” “Now, you have your wish. I’m divorcing him.” The old Don was surprised, but his voice was laced with smug satisfaction. “You’re a smart girl. But everything Marco has, the Family and my daughter gave to him. You’ll leave with nothing. And you’ll leave Port City for good.” “Sign the papers and get them to me as soon as possible. The divorce will be final in a month. After that, I never want you to show your face in front of Marco again.” “Done,” I said, my voice crisp. I hung up, signed the divorce papers immediately, and had a lawyer deliver them to Don Rossi. For the next two weeks, it was as if Marco had vanished from the face of the earth. I stayed by our daughter’s side in the hospital, sleepless and alone. He only reappeared the day she was discharged. He was wearing an apron, a feast laid out on the table to celebrate our “homecoming.” He bought me a limited-edition sports car. He commissioned a solid gold statue in our daughter’s name at the local cathedral, to ensure her “divine protection.” The tabloids hailed him as a “devoted family man,” while I was the “trashy girl who got lucky.” It was as if his cruelty at the precinct had been a figment of my imagination. But I knew this wasn’t about guilt. It was about confidence. He was sure that, just like every other time, a few grand gestures would be enough to make me forget, to make me continue to endure Isabella’s abuse. Nausea churned in my stomach. I ran out of the cathedral for some fresh air, only to come face-to-face with Isabella herself. “Well, well, Mrs. Ricci. A new car, a golden statue. You must be on top of the world,” she purred, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. “Marco loves you so much, doesn’t he? But do you know where he was while you were playing nurse?” She grinned, a venomous, triumphant look in her eyes. “He was with me. On a private resort down the coast, helping me get over the ‘trauma’ of being in a police station. We hiked during the day, and he kept me warm in bed at night. While you and your brat were left to rot in that hospital.” Every word was a dagger to my heart. He knew how badly our daughter was hurt, and he still chose to comfort the uninjured Isabella. This was a house of God. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to swallow my rage. But Isabella blocked my path, whispering in my ear, “If you don’t want your precious daughter to end up in a body bag, meet me in the chapel in ten minutes.” I rushed there, my hand freezing on the door handle. From inside, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of sex. A woman’s voice, moaning, “Marco… I’m coming…” The world went black, and I stumbled backward. A young acolyte saw me and rushed to help. His voice, calling out, “Ma’am, are you alright?” silenced the noises from within. The door creaked open. Marco stood there, shirtless, his pants half-zipped. Our eyes met. The color drained from his face. He fumbled with his zipper and ran after me. “Ava, it’s not what you think! A rival family drugged Bella! She barely escaped with her life and came to me for help!” Tears were already streaming down my face. I slapped him, hard. “Go to hell!” I turned and ran, blindly, crashing straight into a group of workers moving the new golden statue into the cathedral. The massive, heavy statue toppled over, crushing me beneath it. I felt my bones splinter, and then, without even a cry for help, I blacked out. I don’t know how much time passed. I thought I heard Marco’s voice, somewhere in the darkness. When I opened my eyes again, I was on an operating table. A doctor was on my phone, speaking frantically. “Mr. Ricci, your wife has multiple fractures. A piece of bone has pierced her heart. She’s in critical condition. We need you to get down here and sign the consent for surgery immediately.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, a sound that made everyone in the room blush. A woman’s sultry moan. “Oh, Marco… you’re so big… so deep…” Marco wasn’t even listening to the doctor. His voice was a ragged pant. “My wife… I’m saving Bella… whatever it is… it can wait…” The line went dead. The entire surgical team looked at me with pity. A bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. Every breath was an agony. It took me a moment to find my voice. “My apologies for the scene,” I rasped. “I’ll sign for myself.” When I woke up again, it was the next day. Marco was by my bedside, his eyes bloodshot, his hair a mess. He saw me open my eyes, and his own filled with tears. “Ava, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t know you were really hurt. I thought you were just angry about Bella and trying to get my attention.” I didn’t even look at him. I fumbled for the call button. “There’s a visitor disturbing my rest. Please have him removed.” “Ava, I’m not leaving. You don’t have anyone else in this city. I have to take care of you.” He was genuinely panicked now by my cold indifference, gripping my hand tightly. When security arrived, he pulled out a gun and pressed it to the guard’s forehead. He cancelled all his meetings, delegated all his responsibilities, and stayed by my side, day and night. The tabloids called him “Husband of the Year.” The day I was discharged, Marco went to handle the paperwork. His men cornered me, and a sharp blow to the back of my neck sent me into darkness. A bucket of ice water shocked me awake. I was naked, strapped to an operating table. Isabella stood over me, holding a splintered wooden rod, her eyes gleaming with a sick, manic excitement. “You little slut. You like using hospitals to steal Marco from me? Well, today, you’re going to get all the ‘treatment’ you can handle. By the time I’m done with you, the thought of touching you will make him sick.” She plunged the rod into me. Blood bloomed between my legs. Several of his men were already unbuckling their belts, their greasy hands stroking my thighs. I trembled, screaming, “No, no, please…” Isabella just laughed, filming the whole thing on her phone. Just as they were about to descend on me, the door to the operating room burst open with a deafening crash. Marco stood there, a gun in each hand, his face a mask of demonic fury. When he saw my state, a guttural roar of rage tore from his throat. He opened fire, each shot finding its mark. “Ava!” He ran to me, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the restraints. He pulled me into his arms, his entire body trembling. “It’s okay, you’re safe now! Anyone who hurt you is going to pay!” The terror of what had just almost happened washed over me, and I finally broke down, sobbing. He gently covered me with his jacket, his voice a soothing murmur. Then he swept me up into his arms to get me to a doctor. Isabella, her face twisted in a snarl, blocked our path. “You’re not going anywhere! She pissed me off. I’m going to cripple her today.” Marco didn’t back down. His eyes were cold steel, his voice lethal. “Isabella, for the sake of our history, I’ve put up with all your games. But you don’t mess with my wife’s honor. She’s my woman. Only I can touch her. If anything serious happens to her today, I will personally take your head and offer it to her as an apology.” The sheer killing intent rolling off him made her stumble backward. She couldn’t comprehend it. The Marco who had always taken her side was now defending me. Her eyes went wild. “Apologize to her? That piece of trash? You broke our vow first! You’re the one who betrayed me! Leaving her with me is the least you can do. If you insist on leaving… you’ll have to walk over my dead body!” She snatched a gun from one of the dead men and pulled the trigger on herself. The moment the shot rang out, Marco instinctively dropped me and lunged for Isabella. I hit the floor hard. The wooden rod inside me was driven deeper, and blood poured from the wound. Marco didn’t even hear my scream. He was already running out the door with Isabella in his arms. I didn’t dare pull the rod out. I started to crawl, leaving a smear of blood on the floor behind me. I had just made it out of the operating room when a hand grabbed my hair and yanked me up. It was Marco. He dragged me, kicking and screaming, down the hall to another O.R. “Bella’s kidney was damaged by the bullet. You’re a match. You’re giving her one of yours.” I raked my nails down his arms, drawing blood, my voice a hysterical shriek. “You’re not human, Marco! She set me up! She shot herself! Why do I have to pay for her crimes?” His grip didn’t loosen. His eyes were resolute. “She did it because she was mad at you, Ava. You’re the one who caused this. Besides, you can live with one kidney. Bella has lived a pampered life. She needs both of hers. I’ll owe you for this one. I’ll get you the best doctors, the best care. I’ll even buy you a villa on the Peak as compensation.” I tried to fight, but he pressed a cloth soaked in chloroform over my mouth and nose. His last words to me before I passed out were, “Since you’re not objecting, I’ll take that as a yes.” My mind screamed, I object, Marco! And I hate you! And then, I was lifted onto the operating table, and the world faded to black. When I opened my eyes, he was there, just like before. The concern and guilt in his eyes were real. “Ava, you’re awake. You were in bad shape. The doctors were worried.” “Here, let me help you sit up. Have some soup…” Before the spoon could reach my lips, I slapped the bowl from his hand. It shattered on the floor, the shards digging into his feet. He didn’t even flinch, so desperate was he to appease me. But it was too late, Marco. The next evening, while he was on a phone call, Isabella stormed in. She looked down at me, her eyes filled with contempt. “My kidney was fine, you know. I lied to him. And he didn’t even think twice before he had yours cut out for me.” “Pathetic, isn’t it? The great boss’s wife, so pitiful and weak. He says he loves you, but every time I hurt you, he takes my side. Don’t you see who he really loves?” I was shaking with rage, barely able to grit out the word, “Get out.” Her expression soured. She slapped me across the face. “You dare talk to me like that, you bitch? Fine. You just wait. I’m going to finish you today.” She stormed out. A moment later, Marco came in, his face livid. He punched me, right on my surgical wound. Pain exploded through my body. Blood soaked through my bandages. “Ava, I told you I would make it up to you. Why did you have to go after Bella?” I couldn’t believe it. “She came here to provoke me!” “Bullshit!” Another punch landed on the same spot. “The nurse confessed. You bribed her to throw away Bella’s anti-rejection meds. You were trying to kill her.” He didn’t even investigate. He just pronounced me guilty. My heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. “Is that what you really think of me, Marco? That I’m that evil? Have you even considered that I’ve been by your side every single day? When would I have had time to bribe a nurse?” “For years, she’s been the one hurting me! Have I ever once fought back? Haven’t I always let it go, just because you asked me to?” “You’re the only one with a motive to hurt her,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Couldn’t she be the one lying? Trying to frame me?” I screamed. The injustices of the past three years felt like mountains pressing down on me. His distrust was the final straw. I struggled to sit up, grabbing anything within reach and hurling it at him. “You’re a monster, Marco! A heartless bastard! You say you love me, but everything you do is to protect her! For three years, the words I’ve heard most from you aren’t ‘I love you,’ but ‘Let it go, Ava. I owe Bella.’ I’m sick of your love! I don’t want it anymore!” He’d never seen me so furious. He looked lost, reaching out to comfort me. But then Isabella ran in, her face pale, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She threw her arms around his waist, sobbing. “Marco, I almost died. Aren’t you scared? Do you want this to happen again? Ava’s been with you for three years, and she still hasn’t learned how to be an obedient wife. If you can’t teach her, then I will. Just say the word, and we’ll call it even.” Marco hesitated. His fists were clenched at his sides. Isabella tugged at his sleeve again, and something inside him seemed to snap. He made his decision. “Fine. Teach her some manners. But don’t kill her.” Isabella’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as she glanced at me. Two of his men rushed in, grabbed me, and dragged me out to a waiting van. I was helpless. My only hope was to appeal to him one last time. “For the sake of what we once were, don’t let them take me. They’ll kill me!” He just looked down, taking Isabella’s side once again. “Ava, it’s time you learned how to be a good wife. I’ll come get you when you’re ready.” For the next week, I was tortured. Nails were driven through the soles of my feet. Filth was poured over my head. I was strapped to an electric bed, thrown into a freezer until I passed out, and then scalded with boiling water to wake me up. Isabella watched it all from a chair, sipping a glass of red wine. She only called a halt when my vital signs began to plummet. “Useless thing. I wasn’t even done playing! When is Marco going to let me kill you? I’m getting bored.” She ground her heel into my bloody, mangled face. “Get her to a hospital. If she actually dies, Marco will probably kill himself.” I was dumped at the entrance to the emergency room. The doctors were afraid to even touch me, for fear I would die on the spot. It took a team of specialists three days and three nights to bring me back from the brink. The moment I opened my eyes, I received a message from Don Rossi. [The divorce is final. It’s time for you to honor your promise and disappear.] I replied instantly. [Good. Arrange for my faked death. Tie up all the loose ends.] This time, he called. “There’s a turf war going down at the docks tonight. I’ll have my men start a fire in the confusion. I’ve already found a body double for you. Get on the boat at the harbor and don’t look back.” After I hung up, a wave of relief washed over me, greater than any I had ever known. I changed into street clothes, avoided the cameras, and headed straight for the harbor. The lights of Port City grew smaller and smaller, until they were just a faint glimmer on the horizon. At that same moment, Marco received a call from the hospital. “What’s wrong with Ava? You said you were just teaching her some manners. Why is she in critical condition?” “Bullshit! Manners don’t cause full-body skin ulceration, multiple fractures, and internal bleeding! She was tortured!” Marco flipped a table at the casino and drove like a madman toward the hospital. But as he reached the docks, he found his path blocked by a full-blown war between the city’s two largest gangs. He dodged knives and bullets, getting cut several times as he tried to push through. He had just reached the hospital entrance when he saw the thick, black smoke and the towering flames. A panicked crowd surged out, making it impossible for him to move forward. He could only watch as the fire consumed everything. Finally, the fire crews pulled a charred body from the wreckage. “Mr. Ricci, we’ve confirmed it’s your wife. Please accept our condolences.”

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1 My wife, who always hated carrying a key, had the smart lock on our front door replaced with an old-fashioned deadbolt. She even started locking the bathroom door when she showered. Now, I have to call her every time I come home, just so she’ll let me in. I couldn’t live with that kind of humiliation. At the next family dinner, I slid a stack of divorce papers onto the table. Everyone thought I was just drunk and joking. Then my wife, Ruby, slapped me hard across the face, her eyes blazing. “Is it so hard to call first? You promised you’d respect me forever!” I looked at her, my face a cold mask, and let out a short, bitter laugh. “If I leave you for good, isn’t that the ultimate sign of respect?” … “Shut up!” “James, if I hadn’t gotten postpartum depression after our daughter was born, I wouldn’t be so insecure!” “This reason for divorce is insane! I won’t accept it!” Ruby jabbed a finger at my face, her eyes turning red. I didn’t even bother to look at her. I closed my briefcase with a snap. “Sign them. Don’t make me force you.” I grabbed my things and stood to leave. The entire family stared, caught between Ruby’s trembling form and my cold, resolute back. I could hear their whispers, wondering how the man who once put Ruby before everything else could suddenly demand a divorce over something so trivial. Ruby froze for a second, then reached out to grab me. Her father started to rise from his chair. But before I could take a step, Ruby’s psychiatrist, Dr. Collins, pushed me back down into my seat. “Mr. Vance, your wife is suffering from severe postpartum depression. She has extreme insecurity,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “She only locks the door to feel safe! How can you, her husband, be so callous?” “It’s your constant antagonism that’s making her condition worse!” My in-laws immediately sided with him. “Dr. Collins is right!” “He’s just in a bad mood and taking it out on his wife!” “For a man who married into this family, he’s got a hell of an attitude. If it wasn’t for Ruby loving him, he’d be nothing today!” Ruby shot them a look that silenced them, then turned her gaze to me, her voice softening into a fragile, pleading tone. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” “I know my illness has been hard on you. You never used to raise your voice at me. For the sake of the ten years we’ve loved each other, please, just calm down.” “Is it your mother’s medical bills again? Don’t be afraid to ask. Your mom is my family, too.” Watching Ruby humble herself to coax me, the relatives clucked in admiration, but their glares at me grew sharper. “James, for a woman as sick as Ruby to treat you this well… you should be grateful,” one of them said. “Have we ever not taken care of your mother’s needs? Just tell us how much you need. We’ll figure it out,” Ruby’s father added, leaning on his cane. I knew what they were thinking. That I was too proud to ask the Ashwood family for more money, so I was resorting to this ridiculous drama. I met Ruby’s eyes as she reached for my hand. I pulled away. “The feeling is gone,” I said, my voice flat. “Let’s end this.” A dead silence fell over the room. Ruby threw her arms around me, her voice breaking into a sob. “James, don’t lie to me…” I pushed her off, taking two steps back. “It’s the truth.” “Let’s stop here. Try to keep some dignity.” Ruby stood there, stunned. In the corner, our daughter started wailing from her stroller. Ignoring everyone, I turned to leave again. CRASH. A water glass shattered on the floor in front of me. Dr. Collins had thrown it. He lunged forward, slamming the divorce papers against my chest, his finger pointing at my face as he spat, “James, are you even a man?” “Ruby gave up a scholarship to study abroad to marry you! She loves you so much! Is this how you repay her?” “Now that she’s sick, you’re just going to abandon her and your daughter?” “You ungrateful bastard!” I looked at the psychiatrist, who was practically vibrating with rage, and found it all amusing. “Dr. Collins, this is a matter between my wife and me. It has nothing to do with you, does it?” Spittle flew from his lips as he grabbed my collar. “She is still your wife!” “You have no idea how good you have it! Do you have any clue how much of the Ashwoods’ money you’ve burned through for that dying mother of yours?” “If Ruby hadn’t taken pity on you, if she didn’t love you, your mother would have been dead and buried years ago, you worthless bum!” I kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him stumbling backward. “Get lost. A family dinner is no place for a shrink to play hero.” Ruby shoved me aside and scrambled to help Dr. Collins. “James, why are you taking it out on him? He’s innocent!” “He’s a piece of trash who needs to learn to watch his mouth!” I snarled, glancing at the two of them on the floor, their dynamic making my resolve even harder. The chorus of insults from the relatives grew louder, a wave of condemnation washing over me, erasing ten years of my life and my dedication. They called me a leech, saying Ruby had suffered endlessly by marrying me. Dr. Collins patted Ruby’s hand. “It’s okay, Ruby. It’s my fault.” “As an outsider, I shouldn’t have judged Mr. Vance. Don’t get upset, you’ll make yourself sick.” He shook his head, his voice full of feigned regret. “How could it be your fault?” Ruby’s eyes were overflowing with sympathy for him. She looked up at me, her voice choked with tears. “Honey, do you really want to humiliate everyone like this?” “You know I love you. All our family is here today. Can’t you just give me this one thing? Let’s go home and talk.” Her tears fell, splashing onto Dr. Collins’s chest. I almost laughed. She only cried harder. The relatives rushed to comfort her, her performance painting me as the villain of the century. “James, you’ve taken good care of Ruby all these years.” “I’ve seen your hard work and how you care for your mother.” “Just be honest with us. What really happened? If it’s our family’s fault, we won’t deny it.” Ruby’s father limped over, trying to reason with me. But I wasn’t having it. My face was granite. “This marriage is over.” Her father choked, his face turning beet red. Ruby scrambled up from the floor and grabbed my arm, begging, “Honey, please don’t go.” When I didn’t move, she screamed, “You must be cheating on me!” I just looked at her, saying nothing. The sharp rap of a cane hit the floor. Her father’s voice was a low growl. “James Vance!” “Everything you have, every piece of clothing on your back, came from this family! And you still have a sick mother to support!” “You can either be a good husband, or you can leave with nothing but the clothes on your back. The choice is yours.” “I suggest you think very carefully. You have two days.” It was supposed to be a terrifying threat. The faces around me were hungry for my surrender. I ripped my arm from Ruby’s grasp. And walked out the door. As soon as I got in my car, a file was handed to me from the passenger seat. “This report should be more than enough.” My childhood friend, Maya, tilted her head toward the conclusive results. “Thanks for your hard work.” “And don’t forget,” I added, “the big gift we have for Ruby tomorrow.” I let out a long breath and opened the video Maya had just sent me. Every day, just before I was scheduled to get home from work, a figure would slip out of my front door. Then, as a final act of defiance, he’d taunt the security camera, dangling a different pair of lace panties each time. Two days was too long. I wanted to send them all to hell as fast as possible. When I went to pay for dinner, the server informed me my card had been declined. For years, the Ashwoods had controlled every cent I spent. They claimed it was to stop me from making risky investments, but really, it was to ensure the man who married their daughter never gained any real power. Ruby was the one who transferred money to my account each month. If she was in a good mood, I got a little extra. If she wasn’t, I got nothing. Since she changed the locks, the account had been empty. The next morning, I drove back to the house to pack my things. Before I even entered the gated community, a group of neighborhood women started pointing at me. “Isn’t that the Ashwoods’ son-in-law?” “I heard he found a richer mistress and is abandoning his wife and baby! What a white-trash freeloader!” “And that poor Ruby! She’s been sick ever since the baby was born, and now she has to deal with this! It’s a disgrace!” They spat sunflower seed shells in my direction, their voices sharp and loud enough for the whole street to hear. I started to turn, to defend myself. “Honey~” A Porsche pulled up beside me, and Ruby’s sweet voice drifted from inside. “I knew you’d be back. I just bought you a new tie. Come home and see it.” My face was a blank mask as I got into the back seat. I glanced at the designer label on the tie box and tossed it out the window. Ruby’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “Hey! That must have cost a fortune!” “He just threw it away?” The women outside scrambled toward the car to grab it. “Drive,” I said, nodding toward the underground garage. She suppressed her anger and followed me to our front door. When she opened it, Dr. Collins was in the living room, gently rocking our daughter’s cradle. Ruby’s eyes widened in shock. She struggled to compose herself, her voice stuttering. “Dr. Collins… was scheduled to… come by… for my therapy session.” I ignored them and walked straight to the bedroom. I was only here for one thing: the family heirloom bracelet my mother had asked me to give to my wife. Ruby no longer deserved it. Before I could step inside, Dr. Collins pushed the cradle in front of me, blocking my path with a self-satisfied smile. “James. It’s good that you came home.” “A child so young needs her father.” “Come and see your daughter.” He tried to pull me toward the cradle. I shook him off. He grabbed me again. My patience snapped. I shoved him away, my voice filled with disgust. “Get lost.” I went into the bedroom, opened the nightstand drawer, and took out the bracelet box. Dr. Collins followed me, lunging for the box, but I was too quick for him. “This belongs to my family. You think you’re worthy of touching it?” I pushed him hard. He stumbled back. Suddenly, the room was filled with a loud crash and the sound of a baby screaming. Dr. Collins was on the floor next to the overturned cradle. Ruby ran in, saw the scene, and immediately started screaming at me. “James! If anything happens to my daughter, I will destroy you!” She snatched up the baby, frantically checking her for injuries. “Ruby, it was all my fault,” Dr. Collins whimpered from the floor. “I just thought the baby missed her daddy, but James didn’t care at all… he just pushed us away.” While I was distracted, Ruby lunged, ripped the jewelry box from my hand, and slammed it on the floor with all her might, her eyes bloodshot. “For this piece of junk! You’d hurt your own flesh and blood?” My mind went blank, focused only on the bracelet. Thankfully, the box was sturdy. The heirloom was unharmed. Dr. Collins yelled from behind me, “You’re a monster! Your daughter gets hurt and all you care about is a stupid bracelet? Is it more important than her life?” Ruby righted the cradle, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared at me. “James, you better pray that she’s okay!” “Take your trash and get out of my house!” “And never come back!” “After the court hearing tomorrow, not only will you leave with nothing, but I’ll make sure you lose everything and everyone you care about!” “Get out!” she shrieked like a madwoman, throwing whatever she could grab. I just protected the box and walked out of that toxic hellhole. I wasn’t even out of the neighborhood when Maya called, telling me to check the trending topics online. A tidal wave of hate crashed over me. I was a money-grubbing scumbag. A leech who could only survive by clinging to rich women. A misogynist who valued a non-existent male heir over his own daughter. Countless accusations were piled on me, illustrated with AI-generated images that made them look horrifyingly real. “Scrub everything about my mother. For the rest of it, file lawsuits,” I told Maya and hung up, letting the storm rage. After lunch, I announced I would be holding a livestream that afternoon. Ruby called me over a hundred times. I didn’t answer. Finally, she showed up outside Maya’s apartment building with a banner and a bullhorn. The noise was deafening. “James, the entire internet hates you right now!” “Going live won’t help! If you just apologize and come to your senses, I’m willing to give you another chance!” I watched her from behind the floor-to-ceiling window, my face impassive. Dr. Collins took the bullhorn. “Ruby is willing to forgive you! Why are you making this so hard on yourself? This livestream will only make things worse!” “Just admit you’re wrong, and your mother might still have a chance!” Ruby’s father was there too, sitting under a patio umbrella. His voice was a low rumble. “James, don’t be so impulsive.” “What man in his right mind divorces his wife because she changed the locks on the door?” Their words were supposed to sound like advice, but they felt like threats. I watched the second hand on the clock complete its final sweep. The livestream started. As expected, the comments were a waterfall of insults. Not to be outdone, Ruby started her own stream using her company’s account and requested to join mine. The screen split in two. “James, since you refuse to see reason, don’t blame me for what comes next.” On her side of the screen, she displayed my credit card statements from exclusive private clubs and a series of sordid, fabricated chat logs. 【Wow, he really is trash! So dirty!】 【Poor Ruby! I support the divorce!!】 【I’m a lawyer, and I can tell you this scumbag is leaving with NOTHING!】 “So, what do you think? Let’s let the public be the judge today!” Ruby said, smugly fanning herself behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. I gave a cold, humorless laugh, turned up the A/C, and said calmly, “Eight hundred and ninety-one.” At that, Ruby froze. She quickly resumed fanning herself, faster this time. “Don’t start quoting legal statutes. You don’t know any.” “Is it a legal statute, Ruby?” Beside me, Maya couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. It was time to unwrap the gift.

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My mother gave us a choice. Go with her to the Knight estate, where we could attend the same elite high school as the Knight heir but would have to stay in the country for college. Or stay in our hometown, finish school here, and be sent to study abroad. My sister, Maya, didn’t hesitate. “Mom, I want to go with you. To the Knights.” A pleased smile spread across our mother’s face before she turned to me. “Your sister has chosen. As the older one, you should let her have her way. I’ll send you abroad after you graduate. That way, I’ll have fulfilled my duty to both of you.” Watching Maya cling to our mother’s arm, her face glowing with anticipation, I knew. She had been reborn, too. Too bad for her. Gareth Knight would never fall for her. 1 “Elara, the Knights need me back, so your sister and I are leaving today. Take care of yourself.” After packing her bags, my mother left with Maya, just like that. A stark contrast to my first life, where she’d stayed for ten excruciating days, trying to convince Maya to come with her. In that life, when our mother laid out the two choices, Maya had also been quick to decide. But she had chosen to study abroad. After my parents divorced, I was sent to live with my father. For ten years, my mother never visited, not once, but I thought of her every single day. It wasn’t until my father passed away and the police brought me to her that I had a mother again. So when Maya chose to go abroad, I was ecstatic. It meant I could finally be with my mother. But my mother had wanted Maya. She spent those ten days relentlessly trying to change her mind, but Maya was convinced the grass was greener overseas and wouldn’t budge. So, I was the one who went with my mother to the Knight estate. And there, I met Gareth. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a cool, aristocratic air and a brilliant mind. He was the prince charming of every girl in school. I couldn’t help but fall for him. I knew we were worlds apart, so I buried my feelings deep inside. Until the night of our high school graduation. After a party, Gareth, flushed with alcohol, cornered me in the basement. “Elara,” he whispered, his voice intense. “Come abroad with me.” I forced myself to look away. “I can’t afford it.” A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up the dim room. “I’ll pay for you.” In that single moment, I realized the boy I had secretly loved for three years loved me back. The happiness was overwhelming. I rushed to tell my mother the news, my heart soaring. Her response was a sharp slap across my face. “Absolutely not. You gave up the right to go abroad when you chose to come here. The money I’ve saved is for Maya’s education.” I cupped my stinging cheek. “But Gareth said I wouldn’t have to pay. He’s covering my tuition.” She scoffed, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “Have you no shame? Seducing him for his money? Have you forgotten your place? He’s a Knight. You’re the help’s daughter. A boy like that might find you amusing for a while, but when he gets bored and dumps you, who do you think will have to clean up the mess? Forget about going abroad. If you disobey me, you will never call me ‘mother’ again. And stay away from him. Don’t ruin my job.” Starved of a mother’s love my whole life, the threat of losing her again terrified me. Numb with grief, I turned Gareth down. But he was resolute. “Distance doesn’t matter,” he told me solemnly. “I can afford the plane tickets.” We started a long-distance relationship in college. He flew back to see me every month, and the sweetness of his love filled me with hope for our future. When my mother found out, she went behind my back and asked Gareth to look after Maya, who was studying in the same country. Gareth, unaware of our family’s twisted dynamic, naively took on the role of a protective future brother-in-law. Then, one day during my senior year, I received a text from Maya. It was a picture. She was topless, her arms wrapped around Gareth’s neck as they lay in a hotel bed. [He’s with me now, Elara. Stop bothering him.] After three years together, I knew Gareth would never betray me. My first thought was that he’d been set up. Blinded by rage, I called Maya. I never saw the truck. As my soul drifted from my body, I heard my mother’s voice, clear and cold. “It’s good that she’s dead. Now, hurry up and win over the young master. You’re going to be the next Mrs. Knight.” Maya’s triumphant laugh echoed. “You were right all along, Mom. Asking Gareth to look after me was a stroke of genius. It gave me the perfect chance to drug him and get that photo. I was just trying to make Elara give up, but her dying like this? It’s a gift from heaven. I’ll just wait for him to get over his little heartbreak, then I’ll offer myself up.” I had always believed that even if my mother favored Maya, she still loved me as a daughter. I was wrong. She felt nothing at my death. My spirit, shattered, drifted to find Gareth. I found him in the bathtub, clutching my photograph, gone. He had followed me into death. Only then did I truly understand. Gareth’s love for me was stronger than life itself. A wild, desperate power surged through me. I focused all of it on Maya as she descended the grand staircase. I tripped her. I watched her body tumble, her life ending with a sickening crack at the bottom of the stairs. Only then did my soul find peace. And now, I was back. Back on the day my fate was decided. But this time, Maya had chosen the Knight estate. She thought that by being close to Gareth, she could win his heart. She was so wrong. Gareth would never love her. And I would make them both pay for what they did to us. 2 The moment my mother and Maya left, my aunt told me to move into the school dorms early, claiming they were renovating my room. My mother worked as a live-in maid for the Knights, so Maya and I had been living with my aunt and uncle. My mother sent them money every month for our expenses. In my first life, when I left with my mother, she increased the payments to ensure they took good care of Maya. Clearly, this time, the payments had stopped. I didn’t argue. I packed my few belongings and left. But before heading to school, I had another stop to make. I went to the bank. My father had set up a small savings account for me, depositing a little money on every birthday. Only I knew about it. I withdrew the cash and boarded a long-distance bus to a remote cemetery. A fierce storm was raging. I huddled under a tree in my raincoat, waiting. Just as dusk settled, a sixteen-year-old Gareth Knight burst through the gates, ignoring the downpour. Several bodyguards trailed behind him. He was soaked to the bone, his sharp eyes cold and intense, but his steps were determined. He stopped in front of a particular gravestone and began frantically clawing at the overgrown grass around it. “Young master, the rain is too heavy! It must have been washed away. We can come back and look when the storm passes.” Gareth acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. He searched until he was exhausted, his shoulders slumped in despair. That’s when I stepped out from behind the tree. “Excuse me,” I called out. “Are you looking for this?” I pulled a necklace from my pocket. Gareth’s eyes lit up, and he rushed over. Seeing how drenched he was, I instinctively raised my umbrella to shield him from the rain. His hand trembled as he took the necklace, a wave of relief washing over his tense features. “How did you find this?” In our past life, after we got together, Gareth told me that his greatest regret was losing the necklace he and his mother had made together during the summer he was sixteen. So I came here. To fix his regret, and to meet him. I shrugged, feigning a shiver. “The rainwater must have washed it down here. I just picked it up. When I saw you searching so desperately, I figured it must be yours.” “Thank you,” he said, his voice stiff. “This necklace is very important to me. What can I give you as a reward?” He was grateful, but his guard was still up, his posture keeping me at a distance. My teeth chattered. “Could you… could you buy me a cup of instant noodles? I’m cold and starving.” He blinked, surprised, and then a genuine laugh escaped him. “Okay.” Half an hour later, at my insistence, Gareth Knight ate his first-ever cup of instant noodles. “I never knew this stuff was so good,” he admitted. In our past life, it had been his favorite comfort food. After we finished, he asked for my number, insisting he still owed me a proper thank you. I smiled and shook my head. “If we’re meant to, we’ll see each other again.” The moment I turned away, my eyes burned with unshed tears. I wanted so badly to run back, to throw my arms around him and tell him everything. To tell him how much I had missed him, how the thought of him had kept me sane. But he would have thought I was insane. I didn’t give him my number because I already knew his every move for the next few years of high school. We would meet again. And he would think it was fate. Not a carefully orchestrated plan. 3 The first day of school finally arrived. The coursework was a breeze. I began plotting my second meeting with Gareth. During the fall break, I got a part-time job cleaning the local ice hockey rink. On the third day, Gareth came to practice. I watched him from the shadows, my heart aching with a familiar love. When he was finishing up, I spoke, just loud enough for him to hear. “You need to twist your wrist more on the pass.” He spun around. I couldn’t see his eyes under the helmet, but I could feel his shock. “It’s you! How did you know that was my weakness?” How could I not? He had been the one to tell me, years ago. I played dumb. “Just a lucky guess. Have we met before?” He pulled off his helmet, and his eyes sparkled with surprised recognition. I widened my eyes in mock astonishment. “Oh, it’s you!” We had lunch together. “You’re underage. How are you working here?” he asked. “Shh!” I whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t tell the manager. I pretended I was older.” “Do you need money that badly?” “My dad died in a car accident,” I said, letting the truth of my past life color my tone. “My mom took all the settlement money and left with my sister. If I don’t work, how will I survive?” Gareth was quiet for a moment. “Practice with me this afternoon.” I hesitated. “But I have to finish cleaning.” “Five hundred dollars an hour.” “You got it, boss!” He laughed again, nearly spitting out his food. After practice, he asked me to dinner. I was about to say yes when I saw Maya lurking outside the rink, watching us. “Maybe next time! I’ve got to go.” We exchanged numbers when he paid me. Back in my dorm, a message from him came through. [Did you get home safe?] A smile tugged at my lips. I simply replied: [Yes.] 4 After the break, I started preparing for the regional debate tournament. In my first life, even though Gareth and I knew each other, we moved in different circles. At school, he was in the top class, I was in the lowest. At home, he lived on the top floor, I lived in the basement. We were two parallel lines, never meant to cross. It was the debate tournament that made him truly see me. This time, I was determined to shine even brighter. But when I went to sign up, I discovered my school, Maplewood High, had no intention of participating. Furious, I took my sleeping bag and camped out on the principal’s doorstep. He finally relented, agreeing to let me form a team and register, but we would have to cover all the expenses ourselves. Luckily, plenty of students were eager to join. We threw ourselves into preparation, a whirlwind of research and practice sessions. Gareth would text me occasionally. Each time, I’d stop everything, reading his short messages over and over before composing a brief, restrained reply. Just before winter break, I led our underdog team to the finals. Gareth spotted me immediately. “Are you working a part-time job here, too?” I flashed my school ID badge. “I’m here for the finals.” He glanced at the badge, and his eyes widened. “You’re the debater from Maplewood High they’re all talking about?” “‘Talking about’?” His expression was intense, his gaze burning. “For a school like yours to make it to the finals… it’s practically a miracle. Half the audience today came just to see your team captain. You have to introduce me after the match.” Just then, one of my teammates ran over. “Captain, our seats are over there. Let’s go!” Gareth froze, the look in his eyes shifting as he stared at me.

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On my wedding day, my best friend Jess gave me a cheap lottery ticket as a gift. I saw disgust in her eyes as she said sweetly, “It’s the thought that counts. Besides, I’m pregnant—I need every penny. You wouldn’t take money from me, right?” Chilled but unwilling to cause a scene, I let it go. Later, I discovered the ticket was worth $50 million. My husband Mark and I claimed the prize, but the news spread fast. Jess showed up at our door, frantic and accusing me of stealing her luck. In the struggle, she lunged with a knife—but it struck Mark instead. As I tried to call for help, she tackled me. We crashed through the balcony glass and fell to our deaths. Then I woke up—back at the wedding, the lottery ticket still in my hand. 1 My hand was frozen in mid-air. A second later, Jess slapped it down, hard. A sharp, stinging pain shot up from my knuckles, snapping me back to reality. I was back. Back at my own wedding. I watched as Jess shot me a venomous glare and stuffed the lottery ticket—the one meant to be my gift—back into her own pocket. As she did, she carefully, almost obsessively, checked to make sure it wasn’t bent or torn. “Jess, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. “Weren’t you giving that to me?” Her face contorted with rage. “Giving it to you? Who said I was giving it to you?” she shrieked. “This is mine! I bought it for myself! Who the hell do you think you are? You think you deserve something of mine?” I quickly glanced at the numbers on the ticket. They were identical to the one she’d given me in my past life. What she didn’t know was that her ticket was a dud. The reason I’d won fifty million dollars in my past life was because I had also bought a ticket for myself that morning. The real winner was mine. The cheerful buzz of the reception hall died down, replaced by a stunned silence. All eyes were on us. A few of our mutual friends hurried over. “What’s going on? Why are you two fighting?” But Megan, who had seen the whole exchange, couldn’t help but sneer. “It’s Liv’s wedding day, and you give her a lottery ticket as a gift, which is tacky enough. But now you’re asking for it back? You’ve got some nerve!” That was the spark that lit the fuse. Jess’s eyes went wide. She shoved Megan violently. “What do you know? What could you possibly know?” “That ticket was always meant to be mine!” Her manic energy scared everyone. The crowd took a collective step back. And in that moment, I knew. She had been reborn, too. In my past life, at this exact moment, she had handed me the ticket with a smile. “I bought this lottery ticket especially for you today,” she’d said, pressing it into my hand. “Make sure you keep it safe.” “It’s the thought that counts. Just take it. Oh, and by the way, my due date is in six months. As the godmother, you’d better start saving up for a big gift.” At the time, I was just confused. I thought it was some kind of weird joke. We had known each other for over twenty years. When she got married, I had been her rock. The wedding dress, the diamond ring, even the designer handbag she carried—I bought them all for her. She had promised me that when I got married, no matter what, she would be my maid of honor. So when Mark and I set our date, she was the first person I called. Her response was a flat rejection. “I’m pregnant. I can’t be a maid of honor. It’s too much work. You wouldn’t make a pregnant woman do all that, would you?” I was hurt, but I understood. Being a maid of honor is exhausting. “Olivia! Are you deaf?” Jess’s shrill voice cut through my memories, yanking me back to the present. The thought of how I had died because of her made my fists clench at my sides. “Fine! Since Megan already called me out, I’ll just say it!” Jess shrieked, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “From this day forward, Olivia and I are done! We have nothing to do with each other!” She steadied herself on someone’s arm and climbed onto a chair, addressing the whole room. “Everyone, listen up! Anyone who goes to Olivia right now and gets their wedding gift back, I’ll give you five thousand dollars in cash! Right now!” People just stared at her like she was insane. She didn’t care. She pulled out her phone and called her husband, telling him to withdraw all their savings from the bank. When she hung up, she shot me a triumphant, vicious grin. “Liv, don’t blame me for being ruthless. You can only blame yourself for taking something that was never yours to begin with!” 2 She spat the words out, her teeth clenched. The atmosphere was thick with tension. A few people tried to gently pull her aside, but it was a half-hearted effort. They wanted to see the show. My wedding ceremony was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. Instead, I was surrounded. “It’s Liv’s wedding day. Can’t this wait until after?” someone murmured. Jess tilted her chin up. “Let me repeat myself. If you cut ties with Olivia right now, I will give you five thousand dollars each!” Just as she finished speaking, her husband arrived, panting, dragging a heavy black duffel bag. “Put it on the floor!” she commanded. He grunted and dropped the bag, unzipping it to reveal stacks and stacks of cash. “Honey, all of our savings. Twenty thousand dollars. It’s all here.” The sight of that much cash stunned the room into silence. Megan, standing beside me, gasped. Her voice was suddenly syrupy sweet. “Jess, you’re… you’re serious?” Jess laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Of course, I’m serious. When have I ever lied?” “And believe me, I’m about to have a lot more money than this.” Before, they would have dismissed her as crazy. But now, with a bag full of cash at her feet, they were listening. Megan was the first to turn. Her eyes flicked over to me, and she held out her hand. “Liv, I wish you all the best. Now, about that two-hundred-dollar gift I gave you… can I get that back?” Before I could even speak, Jess was already counting out five thousand dollars and shoving it into Megan’s hands. “Limited-time offer! First come, first served!” That was all it took. A wave of people surged toward me, demanding their gifts back. Among them were some of my own relatives. “Liv, sweetie, I know this hurts,” my own aunt said, not even trying to hide her greed. “But who can resist an offer like this? Five thousand dollars! Do you know how little I make a month cleaning houses?” She turned and yelled over her shoulder, “Me! I’m next! I’m officially cutting ties with my niece! Can I get a little extra for being family?” The few guests I had were now all crowded around Jess. A few minutes later, the once-stuffed duffel bag was empty. As everyone quietly counted their money, Jess strode toward me on her tiptoes. In front of my disbelieving eyes, she called over the venue manager. She pointed around the beautifully decorated hall. “I want to book this ballroom. Right now. How much will it cost?” The manager shot me a troubled look. “Ma’am, I’m afraid that’s not possible. This ballroom has already been booked by this…” “Whatever she paid, I’ll pay double!” The manager hesitated. “Ma’am, it’s against our policy to…” “Triple!” A flicker of excitement crossed his face. He was wavering. “Four times! No! I’ll pay five times her price to book this hall. Right now.” That sealed it. The manager was sold. Without even looking at me, he agreed. “Yes! Of course! I’ll have my staff change the decorations immediately.” Throughout the entire exchange, he treated me like I was invisible. “Don’t bother,” Jess said, a smirk on her face. “Leave everything as it is. Just take down their wedding portrait from the stage.” She shot me a look of pure triumph. The manager, ever the professional, pulled me aside. “Ma’am, you saw what happened. We’re a business, and we need to make a profit. So… I’m very sorry, but we will, of course, compensate you for the breach of contract.” 3 I curved my lips into a smile. “Well, for a spineless opportunist, you’re surprisingly polite.” His face turned a shade of green. After a sharp huff, he ordered two waiters to remove my wedding portrait. I didn’t catch it in time. It fell to the floor with a crash. As I bent to pick it up, Jess’s foot came down on the photo, right on my face. I looked up and met her contemptuous gaze. “Back when you were doing better than me, you always looked down on me,” she sneered. “Now, it’s my turn.” “Thank God! The universe is finally setting things right. It’s my time to be rich!” A fire burned in my chest. “Look down on you? When did I ever look down on you?” “You dare say you didn’t? At my wedding, you gave me that diamond ring in front of all my friends. Wasn’t that just to show off how much money you had?” Her foot twisted on the photograph, grinding it into the floor. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. So that’s when it started. She had hated me since then. No wonder she’d grown so distant after she got married. And I, like an idiot, had kept worrying about her. The only reason I bought her that diamond ring was because she told me she loved it but couldn’t afford it. She had no idea I’d worked a month of overtime and emptied my own savings account just to buy it for her. I was an orphan, raised by the charity of neighbors. From the moment I met Jess, I had considered her family. Now I saw that it had all been one-sided. But at least I was seeing things clearly now. The photo was ruined. I didn’t want it anymore. I slowly straightened up. “Jess, I just hope you don’t regret this.” Booking this hall had cost me five thousand dollars. Five times that was twenty-five thousand. “Regret?” she scoffed. “Liv, you think too small. When you find out how much money I’m about to have, I promise you, you’ll be on your knees begging me to be your friend again.” Just then, my husband, Mark, came out of the dressing room. He was supposed to be greeting guests with me, but earlier, Jess had “accidentally” spilled a drink on him, and he’d been changing. “What’s going on?” he asked, then his eyes fell on the discarded portrait. “Jess? What are you doing?” He moved to pick it up, but two security guards grabbed him. “Jess, what the hell is going on?” Mark yelled. I was shaking with rage. A second later, guards grabbed me, too. “This is my party now,” Jess announced coolly. “And you two are not welcome. In fact, you don’t deserve to be here. So I’m having you removed.” She waved a dismissive hand, and the guards shoved us toward the main entrance, their hands on the back of our necks. Jess followed us out, a small, smug smile on her face. She was holding a piece of paper. She handed it to the manager, who taped it to the glass door. It read: “No Dogs or Millers Allowed.” 4 Mark went ballistic. He tried to lunge at her, but I held him back. Jess saw my gesture and her smile widened. “That’s right, Liv. You need to understand the new reality. You and I… we’re not in the same class anymore. When you see me from now on, you should probably bow. You wouldn’t want to get sick with envy over all my money.” A crowd of our former friends gathered around her, laughing and cheering her on. “Jess, I always knew you were destined for great things, even back in school! I was right!” Sarah, another classmate, gushed, linking her arm with Jess’s. “Jess, I always hated Liv,” she added with a venomous glance in my direction. “If I hadn’t heard you were coming, I never would have shown up to this pathetic wedding.” The most sickening part was seeing my own aunt in the crowd, fawning over Jess. “Jess, dear, do you remember me? When you were little, I told you not to play with Liv. I knew she was bad luck and would ruin your fortune!” Surrounded by her new entourage of sycophants, Jess was escorted back inside. When they were all gone, Mark finally exploded. “What is wrong with her? What just happened?” I took a deep breath and explained everything as best I could. He looked shocked, but he believed me. I gently touched his shoulder. “Let’s just take a trip. A honeymoon, just the two of us. We don’t have to deal with any of these people.” He stroked my cheek, his eyes full of concern. “Okay.” On the drive home, my wedding dress felt cumbersome and ridiculous, but I didn’t care. Today, I had seen everyone’s true colors. It was a painful but necessary lesson. My phone started buzzing nonstop. I opened it to a flood of photos and messages from my former friends. “Thanks to Jess, we’re eating king crab!” “Hey Liv, thanks for putting this all together! We wouldn’t be eating all this amazing seafood without you!” I calmly turned off my phone. I knew exactly what Jess was doing. She was spending her future. That afternoon, she took her new fan club on a shopping spree at the mall, buying designer bags and luxury goods. A trip like that with so many people would cost a fortune. She was betting everything on that fifty-million-dollar prize. What she didn’t know was that I was holding the real winning ticket. The time for the lottery drawing was getting closer, and I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized her numbers didn’t hit. I was wondering where she got all her cash when a friend who worked in real estate messaged me. “Hey, check this out. Is this your friend Jess’s house? She’s selling it for half the market value! Did she win the lottery or something?” I smirked. “Something like that.” So that’s how she was funding her grand performance. She’d sold her car, sold her house—liquidated every asset she had. All to throw money at people who would abandon her the second it ran out. Late that night, as I was packing our suitcases, my phone rang. It was Jess. Her voice was smug. “Guess where I’m staying tonight? A luxury presidential suite. Have you ever even seen one, Liv?” “Let me tell you something. After tonight, the gap between you and me will be a chasm you can never cross. Tomorrow, I will be a multimillionaire.” “Fifty million dollars! You’ll never see that much money in your entire life!” I couldn’t stand the sound of her voice. I hung up. The next morning, I woke Mark up early. We had to get out of the state. Just as we were about to cross the state line, her number appeared on my screen again. A frantic, desperate series of calls. I answered. A furious roar erupted from the other end. “OLIVIA! WHAT DID YOU DO?” “WHERE IS MY FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS? WHERE IS MY MONEY?” “WHY? WHY AM I STILL BROKE IN THIS LIFE?!”

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Sneaking back into the country, two weeks ahead of schedule, I found a stranger in my home. She was draped in my mother’s silk dressing gown, wearing a necklace that belonged to the Shaw family—a piece of heirloom jewelry. When her eyes landed on me, she pointed a freshly manicured finger right at my face and spat fire. “Did you sanitize before you dared walk into my house? I’m carrying the Wells Fortune’s golden grandson, and lowlife trash like you isn’t fit to breathe the same air!” “Mr. Peterson! Get the disinfectant wipes! Sterilize this tramp and whatever cheap takeout she brought with her!” I stared at the unfamiliar woman, my mind blank with a shock so profound it stole the air from my lungs. It took an age before I managed to grind the words out. “This is Robert Wells’ house. The CEO Robert Wells. Am I wrong?” Her eyes went wide, not with fear, but with venomous indignation. She swung her hand, a stinging slap across my cheek. “Another desperate hussy trying to hook my husband, are we? Get her out! Throw her onto the street!” I was hauled out and dumped onto the manicured lawn of Greenwich, Connecticut. I numbly reached for my phone and called my mother. “Mom, you need to come home. Dad didn’t just cheat; he had a son, and now that son is about to have a baby of his own.” 1 I hung up, my hands shaking not from fear, but from a terrifying cold resolve. I turned back toward the imposing Georgian mansion, shoving my way past the startled staff and storming back into the foyer. I grabbed the woman by her hair—my mother’s emerald silk brushing against my knuckles—and ignored her thrashing screams. I kneed her, hard, then shoved her bodily out the same front door. “You keep shouting about the Wells heir. Fine. Let me tell you something: Robert Wells doesn’t have a son. He only has me, his daughter, Anya Wells!” The woman, sprawled on the porch steps, scrambled up, her face a mask of disbelief and rage. She lunged, trying to claw at me. “Everyone knows the head of Wells Industries and his wife have a marriage for the ages! He announced he was leaving his entire fortune to his only child and even got a vasectomy to prove his devotion! Only a moron would do all that for a daughter when he could have a proper heir! The Wells child is a son, and he is my darling husband!” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. The absurdity was staggering. “Alright, then. Call your ‘darling husband.’ Bring him here for a confrontation. I want to see exactly who has the balls to occupy Anya Wells’ place.” She snatched up her phone, ready to dial, then paused. Her eyes narrowed, raking over my high-end travel clothes, my expensive but slightly rumpled appearance. She sneered. “The tricks these gold-diggers use now are truly pathetic.” My frozen expression must have convinced her. She nodded, her voice dripping with condescension. “You trash. You must be some stray trash Brendan picked up. Now that you’ve heard I’m pregnant, you’re here to cause a scene, hoping to drive a wedge between us so you can slide in. It’s not going to happen.” I was almost laughing, a sharp, bitter sound, at her twisted logic. “I told you. I am Anya Wells, Robert Wells’ daughter. The Wells family has no son. We never have.” “If you don’t believe me, go up to the second-floor sunroom. That’s my bedroom. The walk-in closet has a hidden room. The code is my birthday: 1011. There are journals and records of my entire childhood in the top drawer.” “If that isn’t enough, call out the staff. Ask them who they recognize: me, the true heiress, or you, the poor fool who got scammed into marrying an imposter.” She wavered, clearly thrown by the specificity, but quickly regained her composure. “Brendan and I had an engagement ceremony witnessed by both sets of parents. We’re having the wedding today! My father-in-law, Robert Wells, personally gave me an eight-million-dollar black card at the party. There is no mistake!” “Everyone! Come out and look! Does anyone recognize this lunatic?” My heart sank, confirming my initial chilling suspicion. If this whole scenario wasn’t a mistake, the problem lay with one person: my father, Robert Wells. The kitchen and cleaning staff began to emerge, wiping their hands on aprons. They looked at me, then back at the woman, and shook their heads one by one. “Apologies, Ma’am, we’ve never seen her before.” I looked at them, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. Not a single familiar face. The staff who had raised me, the people who had been fixtures in my childhood, were all gone. To replace the entire domestic team in a house this size? Only one person had the authority and the motive. The woman, whose name I didn’t yet know, puffed out her chest, vindicated. “There you have it. Trespassing, attempted robbery, and slander. Get her! Let’s show this pathetic little tramp who she’s messing with!” The staff immediately surged toward me. I was outnumbered, a rain of fists and feet assaulting me. I tasted blood, and my vision swam. Then, the main door creaked open again. A hurried, panicked voice cut through the chaos. “The Butler said we had an intruder! Tinsley, are you hurt?” I focused on the newcomer. He was handsome, in a slick, forgettable way, dressed in an impeccably tailored tuxedo. I didn’t recognize him, either. Brendan Cole. Brendan immediately spotted me, bloodied on the floor. His face contorted in a furious snarl. “You have a hell of a nerve!” he roared. “I am Robert Wells’ only son and heir! You dare attack my fiancée and the mother of my child! I will make sure you never see the light of day again!” He was spitting his words, desperate to tear me apart. I pushed myself up, maintaining a cold dignity despite the pain. “You claim to be the CEO’s son. Where is the proof?” I demanded. “This is my house. You two broke in, set up shop, and tried to steal my life. I want to know who gave you the authority to do this.” Brendan stopped short, momentarily stunned. He then let out a laugh of pure disbelief. “Lady, are you high? You’re the daughter? Who the hell doesn’t know that Robert Wells took a solemn oath on the day his child was born? He said his entire life, and all of his billions, would go to his one and only heir. Who would do that for a daughter? That’s laughable.” “This isn’t about you staking a claim. You heard Tinsley was pregnant, and you thought you could use the commotion to get my attention. Well, guess what? She’s carrying a boy. No one can touch her position!” Tinsley melted into Brendan’s arms, deeply moved. “Oh, darling, you are the best.” Watching their sickening display, my fury spiked. “I’m telling you, I am the only heir to the Wells Fortune.” Brendan shoved Tinsley away and took a step toward me, his hand raised. “My father, Robert Wells, is a public figure. He kept me out of the spotlight all these years to protect me—not to give a raving lunatic like you a chance to impersonate me!” He yanked out his phone. “I’m calling my Dad right now. Let’s hear straight from him whether he had a son or a daughter!” My stomach dropped as he dialed the familiar number. He put the phone on speaker. The next second, Rob Wells’ voice, loud and booming, came through. “Son! My boy! Dad’s at the venue setting up the final details for your wedding. Is everything alright?” Brendan gave me a smug, triumphant look. “Yeah, Dad, fine. Just a quick question: Do I have any siblings?” My father’s voice, a little too loud, a little too reassuring, replied. “You goofball. What are you thinking? Your father had a vasectomy for you! How could you possibly have a sibling or a—a half-sibling? When I’m gone, this entire empire is yours. Relax.” The hatred in my chest reached a boiling point. I shouted my father’s full name—“Robert Wells!”

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My only crime was telling a student to focus on her finals, not her boyfriend. Now, she’s published a trashy roman à clef, claiming I broke them up so I could step in and claim her guy. What she doesn’t know is that the “hero” of her story—the one I was allegedly fighting for—is my own flesh and blood. A mother looking out for her son? That’s not a crime. It’s instinct. St. Jude’s Prep invited one of its most “successful” recent graduates, Olivia Vance, back to campus for a celebratory keynote address. Olivia was my former student. Four years ago, she had graduated at the top of her class and gone on to Eastwood University. In the packed auditorium, she suddenly held up a book—a novel—and began recounting her “journey” to the thousands of students and faculty. “This is my autobiographical novel, Against the Wind and Tide: Our True Romance,” she announced, beaming. “It’s the real story of my high school years. It features the glorious triumph of me and my amazing, straight-A boyfriend, Ryan Beaumont, as the top-two couple who got into Eastwood. And of course…” Olivia paused, her eyes locking onto mine in the front row. A shallow, triumphant smile curled her lips as she raised her voice: “It also details how our former homeroom teacher, Audrey Fang—who you can find right here,” she gestured toward me, “tried to use the ‘no dating policy’ to sabotage true love—and, more shockingly, how she tried to use her position of power to steal my boyfriend for herself.” The sound was a collective intake of breath, a roaring silence. Thousands of eyes swiveled in my direction, impaling me where I sat. 1 Olivia had been a student I’d nearly broken myself for. Her grades were once floundering in the C-range, but after three years of my exhaustive, single-minded focus, I’d managed to drag her to the top twenty. Just before the SATs, I even created a customized practice exam based on her specific weaknesses—a test that, by sheer luck, gave her the exact edge she needed to graduate as class valedictorian. The silhouette of that earnest, slightly overwhelmed girl in my memory shattered, dissolving into the polished, venomous figure now standing on the stage. I couldn’t be mishearing this. The smile I’d worn for the alumni event froze on my face. Olivia saw the shift—my sudden, helpless exposure—and a flash of pure satisfaction crossed her eyes. She leaned back into the microphone. “Ryan and I were deeply, innocently in love in high school, but our homeroom teacher, Audrey Fang, repeatedly tried to drive a wedge between us,” she continued, her voice heavy with manufactured grievance. “Because she was clearly obsessed with Ryan’s youth and looks, she hid behind the ‘no dating’ rule to bully us into breaking up.” “Thankfully,” Olivia chirped, “Ryan’s love was too strong. We encouraged each other, overcame every obstacle, and got into Eastwood together. And now, we’re finally getting married.” She lifted her left hand, showcasing an immense, blinding diamond on her ring finger. A simultaneous burst of applause and fevered murmuring erupted. “Poor Olivia, having to deal with the school’s creepiest teacher, Ms. Fang.” “Ms. Fang is old enough to be Ryan’s mother! Talk about a cougar.” “I can’t believe a woman like that was ever my homeroom teacher. Sickening.” I stared at Olivia. She held her novel to her chest, her expression one of wounded innocence. I pushed myself up from my seat. The low hum of gossip died down as I walked toward the stage, picking up the spare microphone. Everyone held their breath, watching me. I stopped a few feet from Olivia. My voice, surprisingly, was level. “Olivia, your address is… certainly a choice. But I have to ask: What exactly is the problem with a teacher enforcing a ‘no dating’ policy?” The auditorium was deathly quiet, waiting for her counterattack. She adjusted the desk mic, meeting my gaze head-on. “You don’t believe students have a right to a normal, healthy relationship. That’s problem number one.” “And number two? You know exactly what the problem is. It wasn’t about our studies, Ms. Fang. It was about your own predatory, manipulative agenda.” She paused for maximum effect. “You threatened Ryan. You used your status as a teacher to tell him that if he didn’t break up with me—and didn’t comply with your perverse advances—you’d make sure he couldn’t graduate or get into the college he wanted.” Boom. The hall exploded in noise. Thousands of shocked, horrified whispers. My hand tightened around the microphone, my knuckles white, my breath coming fast and shallow. “Do you have any proof for this accusation?” Olivia’s face briefly flickered, but she quickly regained her composure. “You were very careful. You never left a paper trail. If I hadn’t followed Ryan and found out you were constantly forcing him to come to your house, I never would have known he was suffering from your sexual harassment.” The whispers swelled, turning into shouts. “No way! This is the most scandalous thing I’ve ever heard!” “She should be reported to the state board! Sexual harassment of a student!” “Ms. Fang? That old woman? Who knew she was so twisted on the side?” The accusations were a physical wave, threatening to crash over the stage. Principal Miller quickly grabbed his microphone and prematurely ended the assembly. I was escorted out by two security guards, threading my way through a suffocating crowd of glaring faces. In my pocket, my phone vibrated. A new text blinked to the top of my lock screen, from Ryan. [Mom, I’m booked solid here, but I’ll be home in a month. See you then.]

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The rule held firm for three years—the length of our marriage and the length of our divorce: Rhys, the acclaimed painter, would not paint me. Not once. Now we were back together. I no longer raised a fuss about entering Rhys’s studio, nor did I care what time he stumbled in at night. When Dahlia—The Muse—showed up at our loft for a modeling session, I even helped Rhys craft a plausible excuse. “I get it,” I said, shrugging. “It’s art.” Rhys froze. He gripped my wrist, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that used to make my stomach clench. 1 Rhys’s expression hardened, and he offered a flat, impatient explanation: “I just had her over to model.” “She’s my inspiration. I can only find my vision with her. Her clothes got wet, so I gave her a clean shirt.” As he spoke, he positioned himself, subtly shielding Dahlia, his eyes brimming with a familiar mix of annoyance and defensiveness. “What we have is a purely artistic relationship, Anya. It’s not the filth you’re imagining.” I glanced past him at Dahlia. She was wearing one of his expensive dress shirts, the hem barely covering her upper thighs, exposing two slender, pale legs. Seeing my silence, Dahlia’s eyes welled up with performative tears. “Anya, please don’t fight with Rhys because of me.” “Maybe… maybe I just shouldn’t come back.” I cut her off, my voice even and calm. “I understand, Dahlia. It’s art, after all. I’m not angry.” Rhys’s face went completely blank. He stared at me for a long, bewildered moment, trying to burn a hole through my calm exterior. “Then why are you dragging a suitcase?” he demanded, his brows furrowed. “The old you—when we fought, you’d always storm out, threatening to leave. How long are you planning to disappear this time?” Ah. I blinked up at him. Rhys’s eyes were already faintly red, and his voice actually held a hint of a tremor. I suppose it made sense. He’d been holed up in his studio with Dahlia for days, completely losing track of time. Fearing I’d interrupt his creation, I hadn’t bothered to tell him I was leaving the city for a week-long business trip. He hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone. I wheeled the luggage into the room, explaining flatly, “I’m dragging a suitcase because I just got back from a work trip.” The tension finally eased from his tightly-knit brow. I caught sight of my guest bedroom. It was cluttered with Dahlia’s things. “She needed to stay here temporarily for convenience,” Rhys mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. I simply nodded, pulling my bag toward the master bedroom. “Oh, and I’m pulling an all-nighter at the office tonight. I won’t be back.” I was creating a perfectly serene environment for their art. I turned to leave, but Rhys suddenly grabbed my hand. “You’ve always wanted me to paint you, right? When the gallery show wraps, I’ll paint you.” “Consider it a birthday gift.” His tone was assured, imbued with the casual condescension of a king bestowing a favor. Rhys was certain I would melt. After all, for the three years we were married, I had begged him to paint me. Each time, he’d dismissed it with the same, cold refusal: “I only paint landscapes. I don’t do portraits.” It wasn’t until I accidentally walked into his studio that I saw the meticulously framed paintings, all featuring the same subject: Dahlia—his unattainable ideal, his Golden Girl. I was young then, desperate, and foolish enough to issue an ultimatum: Choose between me or her paintings. I lost. Instantly. Rhys didn’t hesitate; he chose the latter. His rejection was so quiet, so cold—so cruel. He made it clear I was an insignificant stranger. That relationship ended with my hysterical, tearful divorce petition. I cried myself sick for six months, convinced I would never recover. But hearing the story now, there was nothing but a dull indifference. Time truly is a remarkable thing. “You should go back to your work. Dahlia is waiting.” I gently withdrew my hand from his grip, my voice as unremarkable as if commenting on the weather. Rhys finally let me go. 2 I worked a grueling rotation for a full week to complete the project. Late that night, a text from Rhys arrived. I have more important things tonight. I’ll make up your birthday later. Be good. I wasn’t surprised. Last year, one phone call from Dahlia, and he’d ditched me to fly overseas and watch the sunrise with her. The year before, he was at an international exhibition, with Dahlia, his model, by his side. What was I doing on those birthdays? I cooked a full-course meal and waited—from the time the sun rose until it set, and then again until it rose. I didn’t realize that my partner of many years was, in fact, painting portraits until I saw the headline featuring the beautiful, perfectly-matched pair—Rhys and Dahlia. His paintbrush, it turned out, only moved for Dahlia. She was his only Muse. In those days, blinded by jealousy and a crushing sense of inadequacy, I called him countless times, teetering on the edge of hysteria. He finally answered. On my end, it was a desperate, screaming interrogation. On his, it was tired, dismissive platitudes. “Anya, you’re not a child. Can you stop being so dramatic?” But I couldn’t stop. I was reckless enough to demand a definitive answer. “Rhys, tell me. Who matters more—me or Dahlia?” The silence lasted forever, so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then came his featherlight reply: “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Fine. I’ll burn those paintings.” He lost his composure. His voice, for the first time, was sharp with anger and panic. “Anya, you wouldn’t dare!” “Try me.” I hung up, shaking. But when I burst into the studio with a sledgehammer, I stopped dead in front of the canvases. His paintbrush truly did possess warmth. Dahlia, captured by his hand, was beautiful. Even sitting still, she was vibrant, youthful, and playfully alive. Every stroke was infused with love… That night, I sat alone in the studio, wide awake. And I cried for an entire night. I cried until my tears ran dry, and the reservoir of love in my heart was bone-dry, too. 3 When we reconciled this time, Rhys had been clear: he wasn’t a man to be held back by petty, small emotions. He was an artist who needed to create and had no time to coddle my feelings. I smiled and told him I understood. After all, I was busy now, too. I had a major meeting tomorrow. I needed rest. On the way home, I bought myself a tiny strawberry shortcake from a local bakery. I went to the apartment I’d kept since before we married. As the cake melted in my mouth, I remembered the one birthday Rhys did spend with me. It was ridiculous, but that one birthday landed me in the ER. He came home very late, carrying a cake box. I was as delighted as a child and didn’t look closely at the packaging. I didn’t even mind that a slice had already been cut. But one bite revealed the flavor: pineapple. I’m severely allergic to pineapple. Fearing I would spoil the moment, I forced myself to swallow it. Later that night, I woke up covered in hives, struggling to breathe. As I lay in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, Rhys apologized from the chair beside the bed: “I’m sorry, I mixed it up.” I didn’t press for details then, only accepted the apology. I learned later. That cake he brought home was the slice Dahlia had left over. He hadn’t even remembered my birthday; he was just too lazy to deny it, seeing my excitement. Pineapple cake had always been Dahlia’s favorite. I lit the single candle, blew it out, and silently made a wish. In the past, my wishes were always about him: I wished he would spend more time with me. I wished he would paint me a portrait. I wished he would love me a little. This time, my wish was just for myself. I wished I would focus on my career, live well, and never mourn a worthless person again. Wish made, I took a hot shower and went to sleep. 4 I was woken up in the middle of the night by an insistent ringing. It was Toby, Rhys’s friend—the same one who once called me Rhys’s doormat. “Anya, Rhys got into a fight, and his right hand was cut with a knife. Get to the hospital!” His voice was frantic. After a pause, he hesitated, then added sheepishly, “It was for Dahlia, but don’t freak out, okay, sis?” I replied, “Got it.” The voice on the other end went still. “Anya, you—” I hung up before he could finish. I felt nothing but the sheer annoyance of having my sleep interrupted. I slowly, deliberately changed my clothes before finally leaving the apartment. I used to cherish those hands more than he did. I wouldn’t let him cook, terrified he’d injure himself. I hand-knitted gloves for him every winter to protect him from the cold. If he got a papercut, I’d panic for half an hour. I went to the hospital. Not out of concern. Just because, with the title of “reconciled couple” still hanging over us, not showing up would be harder to explain. As I reached the room, I heard Rhys’s friends talking. “Remember? Three years ago, when Dahlia announced her new boyfriend overseas, Rhys went absolutely insane. He was speeding, then crashed his car. Ended up in a wreck.” “But that’s Dahlia we’re talking about. Rhys is usually so cold, so rational, but for her, he’s broken every rule. The only fool who thought he actually cared about her was Anya.” “Tell me about it. When he crashed, Anya dove across the car to protect his drawing hand. She got several stitches on her forehead. When he woke up, he just proposed to her to piss Dahlia off.” They were right. I’d chased Rhys for years. Since college. He was the popular, handsome, and talented senior. I joined the art club for him, brought him coffee every morning, and organized his supplies. I even threw myself in front of him during the crash, protecting his livelihood. I thought, when he finally said, “Let’s try,” he had seen my good heart. I never imagined it was just a spiteful reaction to Dahlia’s official announcement. “Anya… Anya’s here.” Someone saw me. The group flinched, their faces sheepish. “We were just kidding, Anya. All that stuff is in the past.” I walked past them without a word, nodding as I entered the room. Rhys, lying in the bed, immediately scanned my empty hands. As if to remind me, he exposed his bandaged right hand. “Anya, I’m hurt.” Seeing no reaction, he explained, defensively, “Dahlia and I grew up together. I couldn’t just stand by while she was harassed. Anya, stop being so petty. Don’t obsess over small things.” I looked up at him, my expression perfectly serene. “I’m not being petty. If you’re injured, call a doctor and change the dressing on time. It’s your hand. I have no authority over it.” He froze, blinking, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then annoyance. He seemed unable to comprehend why I wasn’t falling apart, weeping with fear, as I used to. 5 As we stood in awkward silence, the door swung open. Dahlia rushed in, eyes red, and flew into Rhys’s arms, ignoring me completely. She was sobbing. “Rhys, it’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be hurt.” Rhys’s face softened. He gently patted her back, soothing her. “It’s not your fault, I wanted to help you.” “I brought you bone broth. Try it.” They leaned into each other, intimate, like a real couple. I was the superfluous outsider, standing awkwardly in the corner. While comforting Dahlia, Rhys kept glancing at me, checking my reaction. He was waiting for the familiar storm—the jealousy, the temper tantrum, the tears. Instead, I took out my phone and checked the time. Tomorrow’s meeting starts at eight. It’s a forty-minute drive from the hospital to the office. Accounting for time for a shower and breakfast, I needed to wake up by six-thirty. It was best to leave now and rest. In my peripheral vision, Rhys took the thermos. He took a sip and frowned instantly. “Rhys, I’ll stay the night to take care of you,” Dahlia offered gently. Perfect. I was about to suggest I leave. Rhys, however, pulled his arm away from Dahlia, his face suddenly stern. “Go home, Dahlia. You’ve had a long day. Anya can take care of me.” Dahlia looked stunned but nodded. After she left, silence descended. Rhys watched me for a long time, then spoke: “Anya, I want your soup.” He was particular about his food. The rich, complicated broths he liked took me a dozen hours to simmer over a carefully controlled flame. Even a slight deviation in the seasoning would be instantly rejected. The year I graduated college, I had a job opportunity in Hong Kong—excellent pay, a great position. But he said, “I don’t want a long-distance relationship. Anya, don’t leave me.” I gave it up without a second thought, staying behind to cater to his every need. I left a light on for him every night for three years. I cooked meals, reheated them, and reheated them again. Even though he rarely came home, I persisted. On the rare occasion he returned, he’d barely look at the food. Then he’d frown and ask, “Are you this bored all the time? Is all you do wait for me and cook?” Now, I stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. “I don’t have time to cook.” “I have an important meeting tomorrow. I have work to focus on.” Rhys’s expression instantly darkened. This was the prelude to his familiar, cold rage. I ignored his reaction, turned, and walked out the door.

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When my little brother, Liam, drowned trying to save a man who’d slipped into the river, the rescue team demanded fifty thousand dollars upfront just to recover his body. It took every ounce of courage I had left to call my secret boyfriend of ten years, the man worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and ask him to lend me the money. His voice, already distant, felt glacial through the phone. “Are you under the impression that my money grows on trees, Delaney? You think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll hand over twenty grand?” He didn’t even bother to use the correct amount, dismissing the devastation that fifty thousand represented. “I have a meeting in a minute. I don’t have time to discuss your—trivial—sum.” Then he hung up. A moment later, his female assistant, Genevieve, messaged me. Attached was the electronic file I dreaded: the latest draft of the ‘Girlfriend Operations Manual.’ Staring at the PDF icon in my text thread, I let out a soundless, bitter laugh. My fingers, trembling with a cold I hadn’t felt since Liam’s body was recovered, dialed another number. “The offer you made,” I whispered to the man on the other end. “The one where you said you’d give me your entire life savings if I married you? Does it still stand?” 1 At the funeral, staring at Liam’s black-and-white portrait on the wall, I looked with deep, raw gratitude at the man who was keeping vigil beside me. “Thank you, Finn. Thank you for making sure I got Liam’s body back.” “Don’t worry. In seven days, after I finish dealing with the funeral, I’ll come home and marry you.” A flicker of genuine pain crossed Finn’s face. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to go through with it…” I quickly cut him off. “No. I want to.” What reason did I have left not to? It had been three days since the sudden, tragic death of the only family I had left. I’d been inconsolable for seventy-two hours. The whole world knew my brother was gone. The only person who didn’t was Grayson, my boyfriend of ten years. Our social media profiles didn’t overlap. He had never introduced me to his friends, and he certainly never cared to meet mine. Given that Grayson was worth a fortune, with every minute of his time calculated in thousands of dollars, he never bothered to scroll through my life. He not only didn’t know that the brother I’d raised and loved was dead, but he also didn’t know I had nearly failed to retrieve Liam’s body because I couldn’t afford the rescue and recovery fee. My chest ached with a shivering pain. But thankfully, Grayson and I were about to be strangers. The moment the funeral concluded, I sent Grayson a text message ending our relationship. The response was instantaneous. “Ms. Delaney, Mr. Grayson is traveling tomorrow. Please ensure two pairs of Oxfords, three suits, and appropriate shirts have been pressed and packed.” Staring at the utterly irrelevant reply, the acid in my throat rose. The feeling was like punching a giant cotton pillow—dull, sickeningly empty, and frustratingly ineffective. The text wasn’t from Grayson, but from Genevieve, his executive assistant. In the decade Gray and I had been together, Genevieve had been a silent, efficient partner in our relationship. In her first year as Gray’s assistant, she personally drafted the infamous ‘Girlfriend Operations Manual.’ She stated that for maximum efficiency, she needed my relationship with Gray to be as structured and professional as the rest of his work. The manual clearly stated: I didn’t need to remind Gray about our anniversary—Genevieve would personally handle the gift selection and delivery. I didn’t need to bother Gray with household items—she would manage all arrangements. Even if I wanted to see Gray, I didn’t approach him; I submitted a “Date Request Application” to her, and she would schedule me in. Beyond that, Genny handled everything from buying groceries and new clothes to ordering our brand of preferred condoms. I had fought Gray countless times over these ridiculous rules. But every time, he’d just look at me with that calm, dispassionate expression. “Delaney. Genevieve manages my entire professional and personal life. She handles half the firm’s administration. She simply doesn’t have the time for your drama or your baseless arguments.” In the past, his words would always silence me. But now, I surrendered. He was right. Genevieve was his right hand—Ivy League, sharp in negotiations, capable of managing his company, his home, and his girlfriend. And what was I? A decade-long, low-level employee in the marketing department of his company, utterly forgettable. A girlfriend for ten years that no one, outside of us, knew existed. Since Grayson admired Genevieve so much, I would just give him to her. After all, my little brother was dead, his body nearly lost, and when I, his secret, long-term partner, begged the man worth hundreds of millions for fifty thousand dollars, he suggested I file an internal loan request through Genevieve. 2 A fresh wave of shuddering pain seized my chest, but I steadied my finger and typed a reply to Genevieve. “Assistant Genevieve, I won’t be able to prepare Mr. Grayson’s clothes. If you don’t mind, you’re welcome to go to the penthouse and prepare them yourself.” “Also, per the ‘Operations Manual,’ I am formally submitting my seven-day notice of termination. Please log this and inform Mr. Grayson immediately that we are done.” We are done. The words hit the send button with a violence that felt like my teeth were cutting through my lip. Genevieve’s reply was, as always, immediate. “Duly noted, Ms. Delaney. The termination has been logged.” A cold, hollow ache spread through my heart. If my ride-share hadn’t arrived exactly on time, I would have burst into tears right there in the downpour. This feeling of hitting a cotton pillow, of generating no reaction, had become my life, and I was utterly sick of it. I spent the next two days cleaning out Liam’s apartment and taking his belongings back to our hometown. Only then did I return to the city and the penthouse I shared with Grayson. The moment I stepped inside, I saw him. He was stretched out on the sofa, looking relaxed, his hair damp, water still rolling down his chest beneath his open-V silk robe. This was the Gray I had once adored, utterly disarming in his natural state. I instinctively pressed my lips together and almost walked toward him. Then, a smooth, seductive voice drifted from the master bathroom. “Mr. Grayson, may I dry your hair for you now?” Genevieve emerged, a slim, scarlet silhouette. My eyes locked with hers, and then—horrified—with the outfit she was wearing: a flimsy, deep-red slip. It was the only piece of lingerie Gray had ever bought me, a gift I treasured and had worn only once because I found it too revealing. Now, Genevieve was wearing it. I drew a sharp, shaky breath. “My apologies. I seem to have interrupted a moment. I’ll see myself out.” I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. Suddenly, Gray was on his feet, grabbing my arm, his face twisted in anger. “Delaney, what drama are you stirring up now? Genevieve and I were doing an on-site inspection for a new project, and we were caught in the rain. She only came back here to dry off.” I truly wanted to hold my peace. After all, I was four days away from marrying another man. My only purpose in returning was to resign from the company and finalize the breakup. I didn’t care what he and Genevieve did outside of this penthouse. But I could not stomach her wearing my gift, in what was still, technically, my home. “So you’re saying the hickeys on her neck aren’t yours, then?” The red silk was designed for intimacy; it was sheer and low-cut. I couldn’t miss the angry, red marks peaking above the neckline, barely covered by the thin fabric. A flash of genuine panic crossed Gray’s face. Genevieve stepped in perfectly. “Ms. Delaney, my private affairs are not your concern. You have no right to comment.” “If my presence is upsetting you, I can certainly leave the residence. But I wish you would stop running away every time you throw a fit. Mr. Grayson is very busy. You can’t put him through this constant drama. He’s human; he gets exhausted.” Genevieve was the Ivy League graduate, alright. In three short sentences, she had perfectly framed me as the irrational, exhausting party. Fighting back the sickening pain, I was about to unleash a furious retort when Gray’s cold voice cut through. “Delaney. You will apologize to Genevieve immediately. She is my assistant, not your emotional punching bag. I won’t let you challenge my boundaries again and again.” My face went white as I stared at Gray. Just as always, no matter the circumstance, Grayson would always defend Genevieve first. My throat tightened, but I managed to speak, each word coated in venom. “Grayson, you want me to apologize to her? You can go to hell.”

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Three years after I filed for divorce, I ran into Rhys Ashworth in a cathedral abroad. He was celebrating a lavish, solemn wedding with his new love, Taylor. I was there to offer a silent prayer for the child I’d never had the chance to hold. The moment our eyes finally met, his immediate instinct was to pull Taylor protectively behind him. I just smiled. I looked at the wedding dress—the one I had painstakingly designed for myself years ago—and offered a sincere, hollow blessing. His brow furrowed into a cold sneer. “What game are you playing now, Avery? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” My smile held, but my hand instinctively went to the scarred corner of my eye. No more, Rhys Ashworth. There is only hate where there is love. Now that I don’t love you, I have nothing left to hate. 1 Every eye in the cathedral had turned toward me. Among them were my former friends, their faces stiff with alarm, as if they expected me to charge the altar and tear the ceremony apart. Taylor, her face a chilling, seven-tenths echo of mine, stepped out, biting her lip in feigned distress. “Avery, please don’t be mad at Rhys. I didn’t have time to get a new dress made, so I just wore this one. If you’re upset, I’ll take it off right now.” Three years of self-imposed exile and brutal self-reflection must have given me a new kind of steel. I simply gave a slight nod in response to her blatant provocation. “It’s just a dress. It’s lucky to be worn.” A wave of confusion rippled through the onlookers. They were just noticing my plain clothes, the lack of any decent jewelry—a stark contrast to the spoiled heiress they remembered. Rhys’s voice softened slightly. “It’s good that you’re finally being sensible. If you hadn’t been so extreme back then, I wouldn’t have…” He saw the utter lack of concern in my eyes and swallowed the rest of the sentence. “Forget it. Just head back to the estate, and I’ll come to see you later tonight.” I nodded. As I stepped out of the church, Max, Rhys’s executive assistant, hurried after me. “Mrs. Ashworth, Mr. Ashworth said it’s not safe for you to be out alone. He wants me to drive you back personally.” I was about to refuse, but I noticed the sky was already shedding a light drizzle, threatening to open up into a downpour. With a sigh, I followed him to the car. The silence on the ride was thick. Max kept glancing at me nervously in the rearview mirror. It was almost funny. Was he worried I would suddenly have a change of heart and decide to cause a scene? He was overthinking it. Just as Rhys said, the past three years had taught me to behave. You lose a layer of skin accepting the departure of someone who once loved you deeply. I got smart. Love is gone. Hating him is pointless now. Kicking up a fuss changes nothing. Finally, we reached the estate. Max looked visibly relieved as he rushed to open the car door. Just then, little Lily ran up, her face bright with joy. “Mommy! Lots of people are here at the house! Are we finally going back home?” Before I could speak, Max gaped. “Mrs. Ashworth, you and Mr. Ashworth have a child?” My smile dimmed. “I haven’t been Rhys Ashworth’s wife for a long time, and this child has nothing to do with him.” Max looked troubled. “Ma’am, Mr. Ashworth has actually been missing you terribly these last two years. You two grew up together. If you would just humble yourself, he’ll take you back.” I gave a bitter laugh. “It’s his wedding day. Say things like that again, and you’ll get your wages docked. As for the divorce settlement, please hand this over to him.” When I was first confined here, Rhys would send me divorce papers every month. I tore up every single one, vowing that he’d have to kill me before he could marry Taylor. But later, staring at the perpetually locked door and the subtle chain on my ankle, I suddenly saw the clarity of it all. What was the point? So, I had proactively sent him a signed copy of the settlement. But it was as if Rhys wanted to torment me; my letters were met with silence. Even my legal actions were useless; he simply refused to budge. Until today, when he finally made it official with Taylor, in the grand cathedral we’d once chosen together. My words made Max’s face freeze. “Ma’am, you absolutely cannot say that in front of Mr. Ashworth.” I dismissed his fear. “It’s fine. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll give it to him myself.” “Ma’am, actually, the reason Mr. Ashworth is at the estate today is specifically…” Lily interrupted him, waving her small hands. “Mommy! Lots of people came to the house today. They were looking for you and asking how old I am.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Mommy, is that man my daddy?” Max looked at me, a silent plea for me to stop denying it. “You look unfamiliar,” I told Max with a sigh. “You must have joined Mr. Ashworth after I left.” Max nodded. “I’m Max, ma’am. As for the child’s parentage, if you don’t tell me, Mr. Ashworth will demand to know when he returns.” Reluctantly, I began to tell him the story. Rhys and I were childhood friends, yes. But when I was twenty-three, my parents died in a car crash. Mrs. Ashworth, who had always been kind to me, immediately tried to break the engagement. The Beaumont Group, my family’s company, was left leaderless. My relatives saw me as vulnerable and tried to marry me off to grab my parents’ estate. It was Rhys who rushed into his mother’s office and publicly ripped up the annulment contract. “I said I love Avery! Not her social standing!” His father was furious, declaring that the Ashworth family did not need an heir who lacked judgment. Rhys just laughed. “Perfect. I’ve always wanted to marry into the Beaumonts anyway. Let’s go get the license right now.” He was his usual reckless self, pulling me by the hand and running. We ended up at my parents’ graves. He knelt, his posture unusually serious. “Aunt and Uncle, don’t worry. With me here, no one will hurt Avery. I swear I will be good to her for the rest of my life.” My vision blurred with tears. When the entire world had abandoned me, he was the one who chose me, steadfastly. At twenty-three, Rhys Ashworth’s love was a banner. A sheltered heir who had never known hardship humbled himself to save the Beaumont Group. He worked relentlessly, downing entire bottles of liquor without flinching just to secure a single contract. He cleared every hurdle, helping me regain control of the company. When people laughed at him for being a kept man, he’d just shrug. “My wife spoils me. You don’t have that, so you’re just jealous.” He stayed by my side for six years, until finally, his parents relented. Mrs. Ashworth put the heirloom jade bracelet on my wrist. “Falling in love is easy; staying in love is hard. You two are too alike in temperament. You risk tearing each other apart.” I didn’t understand the pity in her eyes then. I thought she was just being snobbish toward the orphaned girl who no longer held any alliance value. It wasn’t until the second year of our marriage that I found a pregnancy test result in Rhys’s pocket. “A pregnancy test?” Max was stunned. “You two finally got together, and Mr. Ashworth had a child with another woman? And one who looks a lot like you?” I nodded calmly. Max was aghast. “Ma’am, you’re not angry at all?” Angry? I was furious then. I stormed to the company without even changing, trashing Rhys’s office completely. He was dismissive. “A little girl is throwing a tantrum. Do you have to be like this? Don’t worry. She won’t come near you. You will always be Mrs. Ashworth.” “What if I demand to make an issue of it?” I pulled out my phone, ready to expose the woman. Rhys’s face turned instantly dark. He grabbed my throat, his grip tight. “I’m warning you, Avery. Don’t go near her. She’s pregnant and can’t handle stress right now.” He spat out the next line, the words hitting me like a physical blow: “You can’t have children. Am I supposed to live the rest of my life alone because of you?” I went instantly silent. I had a congenital defect that made it nearly impossible for me to carry a child. He’d once told me he only needed me, that he didn’t want me to suffer the pain of childbirth. Now, the man who feared my pain was choking me for another woman. The raw disappointment on my face must have been too much. Rhys immediately released me, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Avery, I didn’t mean that.” He reached out to check my throat, but his phone rang—and he turned and left without a second thought, leaving me alone to face the shocked and mocking stares of his staff. Rhys hid the girl well. If she hadn’t proactively challenged me, I might never have found out. But once I dug up every piece of information on Taylor, I didn’t hesitate. I leaked every rotten detail of their affair to the press and called an emergency board meeting to kick Rhys out of the company. Within hours, they were front-page news. Rhys’s call came in immediately. “Are you insane? Pull the reports now! Do you know people are harassing Taylor at her house? How scared must she be, she’s just a girl!” I laughed coldly. “If you’re bold enough to do it, why are you afraid of people talking about it?” It had been years since I had acted so wildly. He was silent for a moment. “Avery, you forced my hand.” The call ended, and I sat there all night. By dawn, Rhys’s revenge had arrived. Taylor’s news was scrubbed from the internet in a matter of hours. Then, every contract the Beaumont Group had came to an abrupt, forced halt. The partners sweated nervously. “Ms. Beaumont, we’re small-time. We can’t get involved in a feud between you and Mr. Ashworth. Honestly, you should be more understanding. A man having a few women is normal.” The sudden cut in the cash flow drove the company to the brink of bankruptcy. It was then I realized that Rhys was no longer the man who stood behind me. He knew me too well, and he knew exactly where to stick the knife. To save my parents’ legacy, I had to humble myself. I found them in the hospital. Taylor was in a VIP suite, sobbing and pounding Rhys’s chest. “You’re a liar! You don’t love me! I’m just that woman’s stand-in, aren’t I?” Rhys gently held her hands. “Sweetheart, what nonsense did you read in the papers? There are plenty of people who look alike in the world. Am I supposed to love all of them? I’m only with Avery out of obligation. The marriage was a promise I had to keep.” I froze in the doorway. Six years of fighting for my marriage, and it was nothing more than an obligation. He had been tired of me for so long. But for my parents’ company, I pushed the door open and walked in. Taylor immediately threw a ceramic cup at me. “Are you here to force me to get an abortion? You failure who can’t keep your own husband, don’t come here acting like the wronged wife!” I gave a pained, internal smile. She wasn’t just my physical echo; she had the same spoiled, arrogant temper I’d had when I was younger. Rhys, even I don’t know who you love now—her, or the past version of me. Blood ran slowly down my forehead. Rhys looked furious. “Are you an idiot? Couldn’t you dodge a cup?” He took out a cartoon-printed band-aid and moved to treat my wound, an irony, as he’d always hated frivolous things. I stubbornly flinched away. “What do I have to do for you to leave my parents’ company alone?” Rhys’s hand froze mid-air, then he regained his indifferent posture. “You’ll have to ask Taylor. You shouldn’t have picked a fight with her. Now she’s overthinking things.” Taylor’s eyes were fixed on my face. “I don’t like her eyes.” Rhys chuckled softly. “It’s just her face. I can have her altered to look completely different.” I looked up in shock. “Rhys Ashworth, must you humiliate me like this?” He frowned. “It’s just a shape change. Aren’t women your age always going under the knife? Relax, it’s a minor procedure.” Taylor giggled. “She is getting old. A little lift will make her look younger.” Ignoring my screams, Rhys’s bodyguards forcibly strapped me to a surgical table. Taylor stood watching the show. “Anyone with an ounce of dignity would have run the minute they saw the pregnancy test. But you’re so thick-skinned, you cling to Rhys like a leech! Don’t even bother with the anesthesia, Doctor. Just do it.” The doctor, already bribed, immediately muffled my mouth. The cold scalpel dug into my flesh. The pain was so intense I nearly passed out, but the doctor injected me with something to keep me agonizingly conscious. Two hours later, when I was pushed out of the operating room, Rhys had already left with Taylor. After that ordeal, Rhys seemed to believe I had finally been tamed. He halted the attack on the Beaumont Group and moved Taylor into our house. He came to check on me, his eyes widening in alarm when he saw the obvious, grotesque distortion of my eye area. The next second, Taylor blocked his view. “Rhys, you don’t understand. This is just the recovery period after surgery. And why aren’t you covering it with gauze, Avery? Are you trying to guilt-trip him? You’ll get an infection playing the victim like that.” She laughed with malicious glee. Rhys’s worried brow returned to a frown. “What is the point of this? You’ll have a scar and then you’ll complain!” He ran his hands frustratedly through his hair. “It’s like I asked you to die, not get a simple cosmetic change! Fine. I’ll hire the best nurses for your recovery. Stop trying to mess up your own face.” Max couldn’t help but interrupt. “Ma’am, so your scar wasn’t an accident after all.” “What happened next? Didn’t Mr. Ashworth ever notice?” Of course not. He was completely focused on Taylor. How could he notice anything about me? Rhys moved out of our master bedroom that day, claiming Taylor was delicate and needed his attention. The promise of maintaining my dignity evaporated. His love was always loud and passionate; he would never allow his ‘little girl’ to suffer. Rhys began openly taking Taylor to social events and introducing her to all of our mutual friends. When someone whispered that Taylor was just a stand-in, he ruined that person until they begged on their knees. “I was blind! Ms. Taylor is the one worthy of you, and who is that Avery anyway?” Rhys merely raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and stopped targeting them. From then on, everyone in the city knew the CEO had a new flame. He spent fortunes on her, lighting up half the city with fireworks in her honor. When the last firework faded, Rhys came home. He looked at my ugly, newly scarred eye area. He lit a cigarette. “Why is it that everyone else gets pretty after plastic surgery, but you look worse?” I slammed my phone into his face, demanding an explanation for the news. “You said you wouldn’t parade Taylor in public! What am I to you?” Rhys offered no defense. Instead, he used the cigarette end to burn every single one of our framed photos. “You don’t look like this anymore, anyway. When your face heals, we’ll take new ones. Taylor gets sad when she sees these pictures.” Then, against my desperate pleas, he replaced all the portraits of me in our home with large-scale oil paintings of Taylor. During this period, Mrs. Ashworth came to see me. She spotted the massive portrait in the living room and sighed, pushing a passport toward me. “It’s not too late to change your mind. If you want a divorce, I can help you leave the country.” But I was still stubborn. “Impossible. I’ll die before I divorce him.” That night, I set fire to the mansion. It was our marital home, the keeper of our ten years of history. I would not allow another mistress to preside over it. As the roof beams began to crash down, Rhys grabbed Taylor and ran, without looking back. I thought I would die. But as a falling wardrobe struck me, a gush of warm blood poured from between my legs. I realized with a shock that I was pregnant. My two months of insomnia and loss of appetite suddenly made terrible sense. I had been ready to embrace death, but at that moment, a ferocious survival instinct flared up. I crawled with all my strength toward the open space of the garden. Rhys stood there, watching me passively. It was then, seeing the naked contempt in his eyes, that he truly abandoned me. “You’re completely insane. Trying to burn everyone alive.” My heart twisted in pain, but I begged him anyway. “Rhys, please, my stomach…” Before I could finish, Taylor shrieked. “Rhys! My baby!” Rhys instantly panicked. Ignoring my bleeding and desperate plea, he scooped her up and rushed away. I was left on the lawn, the blood streaming out of me, watching helplessly as I lost the baby. When Rhys finally returned, his eyes were bloodshot. He pressed a gun against my forehead. “Taylor lost the baby. You’re happy now, aren’t you? Why wasn’t it you who died?” My heart had already died. I remember thinking it would be a kindness to die by his hand. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he sent me abroad and kept me captive here. Max’s face was pale. “I am so sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t know any of this. Mr. Ashworth mentioned you often over the years. He must not have known you were pregnant.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Taylor didn’t lose her child. I brought this on myself. No one else is to blame. And Lily is an adopted child. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to investigate.” Max hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “Ma’am, actually, Ms. Taylor was never pregnant.” “What? We had a child?” Two voices spoke at once. I looked up and saw Rhys standing in the doorway, his face ashen. He was still wearing his wedding suit, having clearly rushed over the minute the ceremony ended. I froze for a second, then gave a relieved smile. “I see. It’s wonderful that Ms. Taylor didn’t lose her child.” I had carried a deep guilt all these years, believing her child was innocent, even if she deserved punishment. Knowing the truth only brought relief. Rhys, however, didn’t look relieved. “How is that possible? How could you have a child?” He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering all my strange behavior during that time. He had always tracked my cycle, but he’d been so distracted by Taylor that he hadn’t noticed I, a woman who suffered agonizing cramps, had stopped drinking my herbal teas. His eyes turned bloodshot, as if he were about to shatter. He looked at Lily, forcing out a trembling smile. “This is our child, isn’t she? She’s three years old, right?” I pushed the signed divorce papers toward him. “Lily is a child I adopted from the convent. Don’t misunderstand. Sign this. I promise I will never appear in front of you again.” Rhys recoiled as if burned, staggering back two steps right into a distraught Taylor, who had just rushed up the stairs. “Rhys! Why are you here with this bitch? The guests downstairs are waiting! Do you know how humiliating this is for me?” Rhys roughly shoved her away and hurried down the stairs. I knew he was going back to investigate the past. That was his nature; he never trusted words, only proof. Taylor glared at me. “You disgusting woman! You’re locked up here and still causing trouble! Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been secretly contacting Rhys for the last three years, begging him to look at you!” I recalled the early days of my captivity, when I called and wrote letters daily, cursing Rhys, wishing him a terrible, childless end. Later, the number was blocked, but I still wrote venomous letters. Taylor, it seemed, had only seen these as pleas for mercy. I turned my head, unwilling to look at the face that was a mirror of my own. “Believe what you want. But I am genuinely letting go now. If you can get Rhys to sign those papers, I’ll thank you.” Taylor shrieked. “Don’t look so smug! Don’t think Rhys choosing this cathedral had anything to do with you! So what if you were pregnant? Rhys knew I wasn’t, and he still treated me the same! I am the one he loves now. I have him, and I have this dress!” I smiled. “You truly haven’t changed. Still so obsessed with erasing my shadow. You should go downstairs and soothe your guests instead of arguing with me.” Taylor’s face twisted several times before she spun and left. Max wiped sweat from his brow. “Please don’t take it to heart, Ma’am. Ms. Taylor’s temper has gotten much worse these last two years.” Max seemed intent on purging all his accumulated frustration. He explained that after I left, Taylor saw herself as the lady of the house, inserting her family and trusted employees into the Ashworth Group. Her cousins were arrogant and self-serving, and they plunged the company into chaos. Mr. Ashworth Sr. fell ill several times and had to personally clear out the mess, but Rhys still saw it as minor. “It’s just a few slackers on the payroll, Mom and Dad. You’re overreacting.” The result was a twenty percent shrinkage of the Ashworth Group’s assets over three years. Rhys’s trip abroad was for more than the wedding; it was to expand overseas business. But today’s incident would surely derail that. I listened quietly. After Max left, I called Mrs. Ashworth. “Does your promise from back then still stand?” I sighed in relief when I received an affirmative answer. I had secretly re-established contact with my associates a year ago, preparing to transfer the Beaumont assets overseas. I had no head for business; Rhys had managed the company while I focused on being the chief designer. Now, without him, I saw that my parents had already paved the way for me. The long-term executives who had worked with my parents immediately agreed to my plan. Our family business was jewelry design, and we had significant connections abroad. The only obstacle was Rhys. I used to think he wouldn’t let me go because I’d caused him to lose Taylor’s baby. But today, seeing his reaction, he must have known Taylor was never pregnant. Why then did he still refuse to release me? I couldn’t figure it out, and I decided to stop trying. Rhys was no longer the man of my memories. The next morning, I went to the cathedral for my usual prayer, then went to my studio to work on an existing order: an engagement ring. Though inexpensive, it held the beautiful promise of a young couple’s future. Days passed. Rhys seemed to have vanished from my life again. Half a month later, he finally appeared, unshaven and exhausted. He stared at my profile in the daylight for a long time before he spoke. “Why are you making these trinkets? The Ashworth family can afford to keep you.” I laughed internally. When he had locked me up on the estate, he’d frozen all my assets. I was deprived of medicine and nearly died. The bodyguards wouldn’t let me leave, and the one maid only brought me food to ensure I didn’t starve. I truly thought I wouldn’t survive those first six months. Once Rhys was convinced I was no longer a threat, he loosened the restrictions. But I still had no income. To survive, I started doing piecework, using my small savings to build this tiny studio. Seeing my hands still moving, he impatiently called Max. “Double the limit on Mrs. Ashworth’s black card.” “Mr. Ashworth, you forgot. Mrs. Ashworth’s black card was canceled a long time ago…” Rhys’s look of aggressive challenge shifted to surprise. “I wasn’t informed. I thought you were…” “You thought I was playing the victim? Trying to use retreat as a strategy?” I finally looked up. “Mr. Ashworth, is playing the victim even useful to me anymore?”

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My brother-in-law was trapped deep in the abandoned quarry pit. I was the one who volunteered to go down, the rope chafing my hands as I descended into the earth. I’d just managed to loop the safety line around his waist when the tension above snapped. The rope went slack, and we both slammed hard against the jagged, sandy bottom. My eyes shot up. Standing at the rim, under the blazing Nevada sun, was my wife. Vivian Shaw. She was looking down at us, holding a wicked-looking utility knife, the rope ends dangling beside her. Her high school sweetheart, Rhys Beckett, laughed—a sharp, triumphant sound that echoed off the rock face. “Do it!” he screamed. Black-suited security guards instantly swarmed the rim, shoveling loose, silty earth and sand into the deep excavation. It wasn’t just dirt; it was the kind of quick-clogging loam that could swallow a man whole. They were trying to bury us alive. I grabbed the two-way radio clipped to my belt. “Vivian! It’s me and your brother down here!” Vivian scoffed, her voice crackling over the tiny speaker, devoid of warmth. “Three years ago, during the quake, you put your rescue work before Rhys’s brother. You left him trapped in the rubble for five days, remember? It’s time to pay the debt, Ethan Cole.” Beside her, Rhys instantly squeezed out a tear. “Vivian—thank you. My brother’s death is finally avenged.” The sand was already past my ankles. I tore at my throat, yelling into the radio. “Vivian! This is your actual brother! Liam is down here!” 1 A harsh, cold laugh was the only response. “You’ll say anything to survive, won’t you, Ethan Cole?” she continued. “My brother and his girlfriend are at Disneyland today. I looked up their itinerary last night. Next time you lie, write a better script.” Rhys’s voice cut in, low and venomous. “Ethan, what goes around comes around. You’ll die the exact way you killed my brother, right here, together!” I tried to pull back from my brother-in-law, Liam, hoping to give Vivian a better view of him. Liam had been trapped down here for over twenty-four hours, and his face was already cut and bruised. But it was too late. He was unrecognizable. “Vivian, you will regret this!” I spat, then immediately clicked the radio off. There was no time for useless pleas. If we didn’t get out before the sand reached our chest, we were dead. Liam was panting, clutching my hand, his grip terrified. “Ethan, what’s wrong with her? She can’t actually want to kill me—I’m her little brother!” His voice finally cracked, dissolving into sobs. My heart ached, but I couldn’t stop. Every second of hesitation meant certain death for both of us. The sand crept higher, now covering our ankles. “Hold on tight. Don’t let go!” I said, my voice strained. I looped a secondary line around both our waists, linking us together, then pulled a small, tactical shovel from my pack. I started digging footholds into the sandy wall, hoping to use my decade of mountain-climbing experience to claw our way out. The next second, a softball-sized rock whizzed past my ear, striking the wall with a sickening thud. Liam screamed up, his voice raw. “Vivian! Are you crazy? What are you doing? Why are you throwing rocks at your husband?” I pressed a cloth to my ear to stem the blood flow. Vivian’s voice boomed through a megaphone, completely arrogant. “Still running your mouth when you’re about to die? You’re really asking for it!” A storm of rocks followed, forcing us to stop digging and huddle against the wall. The quicksand-loam was building fast, swallowing my shins completely. Suddenly, the guards stopped shoveling. A small package was tossed into the pit. I ripped it open. Inside was a phone on a video call—Veronica Shaw, Vivian’s older sister, was on the line—and a sealed folder. “You can surrender now,” Vivian’s voice returned to the radio. “Agree to the terms in that document, and I’ll have you pulled out immediately.” I flipped open the folder, my eyes scanning the pages. I needed to know what could possibly drive her to this calculated murder. I went numb. The document was a confession: I was to take the fall for the corporate structural collapse during the earthquake, confessing that my negligence had led to Rhys’s brother’s death and the resulting casualties. I was climbing a mountain on the other side of the country that day. Vivian had been left in charge of the construction project. It was her corner-cutting that led to the deaths. Now, she wanted me to be her scapegoat, sign away my life to prison, and transfer all my company shares to Rhys. Liam read the document over my shoulder, his face a mask of rage. He tore the paper into shreds. “Vivian Shaw, you despicable bitch!” He snatched the phone, holding it up to the camera, tears streaming down his face. “Vivian! Open your eyes! It’s me, your brother! You promised to take care of me forever! Get down here and save me! I won’t let Ethan sign that!” A wave of bitter sadness washed over me. In the five years of my marriage, Liam and I had become closer than brothers. He was the only good part of this family. Vivian spat into the radio. “You look like a freak show and you’re trying to impersonate my brother? Pathetic. My brother is tall and handsome. You’re a wreck, and you can’t compare.” She paused. “Ethan Cole, my patience is gone. Sign it, or you die!” The guards began shoveling with renewed force. A set of keys, mixed in the dirt, sliced open Liam’s arm. “Make a decision! Next time, it’s a knife!” “Liam!” I tore off a piece of my shirt and wrapped the gash, then glared up at my wife. “Do you really think this plan is flawless?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Vivian chuckled. “And if it is? Nobody can save you now.” I pointed to Rhys, standing smugly next to her. “Someone’s borrowing your rage to settle their score. You think you’re a warrior fighting for love, but you’re just a dog on his leash.” “Who are you calling a murderer?” Rhys snapped. “You know damn well who. You keep this up, and you’ll regret everything.” Rhys didn’t hesitate. He grabbed another stone and hurled it at us. “Vivian, don’t listen to his bullsh—he’s just stalling for time until backup arrives! Bury him!” Vivian instantly lost her focus and her temper. “Didn’t you eat this morning? Shovel harder, damn it!” The guards went into a frenzy. The quicksand was past our thighs. I reached into my pack and pulled out a small aerosol can. I threw it up with every ounce of strength I had left. It arced perfectly, landing just at the feet of the lead guard. Vivian burst into laughter. “Bear spray? Really? Ethan Cole, you’re a genius with a degree, but can one canister stop ten men?” The sand was now covering my stomach. Liam was pressed against my waist, his tears soaking the back of my shirt. The nozzle on the canister automatically deployed, releasing a powerful, concentrated jet of chemical agent. “Vivian,” I gasped, “do you know how much concentrated military-grade pepper extract I put in that thing?” Vivian’s brow furrowed, but before she could speak, the ten guards at the rim were collapsing, convulsing and screaming, two of them plummeting into the pit. Rhys was now coughing uncontrollably. The smoke was a weapon I hadn’t expected to use, but it had bought us precious time. I seized the moment, hoisting Liam onto my back and scrambling up the wall. Ten years of dedicated climbing made the ascent difficult, but possible. But the furious sound of Vivian’s voice was back on the radio. “Ethan Cole, are you so arrogant you think that’s enough?” The video feed shook as she pulled a heavy-duty entrenching tool from her car. She raised the shovel high over her head and brought it down, aiming directly at us. I couldn’t let go. If I fell, Liam would be crushed. He was tied to my back. The shovel slammed directly into Liam’s shoulder. His scream was a terrible, wet sound of flesh tearing. He went instantly unconscious. “You bastard!” Vivian shrieked. “Don’t tell him not to sign! See how many more hits you can take!” She swung twice more. I screamed through the agony, narrowly dodging the blows with my forearm. Liam’s attempt to stabilize the company, to soothe the angry victims, had led him here, a sacrificial lamb in this brutal family feud. I roared into the phone. “Vivian! Your brother is dying!” She lit a cigarette, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Still lying in the face of death. If you really want to save him, sign the documents.” “Fine! I’ll sign it! It was all my fault!” Without hesitation, I scrambled down just far enough to retrieve the documents and the pen she tossed down. I signed the confession. “It’s signed! Now get us out!” Liam roused slightly with the jostling, saw the signature, and choked out a cry. “You’re not human, Vivian! I’m your brother!” Vivian reeled in the document with a thin cord and inspected it. Satisfied, she pulled a small, custom-made throwing knife from her belt. “You still have the nerve to insult me? You need to be taught a lesson.” She took aim at my head. We were exhausted, our guard down. She flicked her wrist. Liam, behind me, saw the flash. He threw his good arm forward to intercept the blade. “Agh!” The knife went clean through his wrist, severing the hand in a sickening, muffled snap. “NO!” I went berserk, pulling out a tourniquet and emergency medical supplies from my pack, working desperately to stem the blood flow. “It’s okay. It’s okay…” “Keep begging, Ethan,” Rhys’s voice was back, high with excitement. “Where was all this panic when I was begging you to save my brother?” “Vivian, hurry! Finish them! Kill them both!” Liam was completely numb from the pain. He could only stare at his detached arm, unable to even cry. But Vivian was not done. She and Rhys started shoveling again, tossing the sand directly onto us. I tied Liam tighter to my back. I had to reach the top. I climbed, step by agonizing step, trying to match their filling speed. Vivian suddenly stopped. “Ethan Cole, I’m tired of playing with you.” She pulled out a handful of throwing knives from a duffel bag and took aim. Rhys tossed his shovel and settled in to watch, rubbing her shoulders. “Go, Vivian! Stick both those bastards!” There was a small ledge about halfway up. If we could reach it, we would have some cover. Just one more step… A terrible, sharp pain tore through my back. I bit down, shoved Liam onto the ledge, and then lost my footing, falling hard, allowing the sand to immediately swallow my torso. “Ethan!” Liam, despite his injuries, didn’t think twice. He jumped back down. With his one remaining hand, he frantically clawed the sand away from my face, forcing me upright to keep me from suffocating. I was done. I couldn’t climb again. “Liam, I’m not going to make it,” I choked out. “Stay behind me. You live. You go find Veronica. She can clear my name.” Liam clung to me with his good arm. “No, Ethan! We die together! I don’t want to look at that animal again!” Even injured, I was stronger. Ignoring his cries, I tied him firmly to my chest. If only one of us could live, it had to be him. He stopped struggling, a terrible look of surrender in his eyes. “It’s alright, Ethan. I still have one hand. I can use it to block anything else she throws.” I didn’t contradict his foolish bravery. I felt only a self-mocking pity. I had worked for this family for years, only to be murdered by my own wife. Vivian stood directly over us, the cluster of knives suspended over Liam’s head. I had no strength left. No plan. I flipped the phone camera to face Liam’s mangled form. “Vivian! Please, for the last time, look at him! I’m not lying! This is your brother!” Vivian rolled her eyes, impatient. “Ethan Cole, you’re delusional. You’re about to die.” Rhys’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “Vivian, he’s trying to play on your guilt. Your brother is a Shaw, not some dirt-covered tramp. He’s waiting for the fireworks at the park. Now, you and your brother can go to hell!” “No!” The knives rained down. Liam surged forward, covering my head and chest. Dozens of blades pierced him, from scalp to thigh. Hot, wet blood streamed down my face. I looked into his eyes—and they were filled not with pain, but with worry for me. Rhys roared with laughter. “What devotion! At least you’ll have company! My little brother died all alone!” The security guards were recovering and resumed shoveling. The sand was rising quickly, now burying my chest, threatening my throat. I stared blankly at Vivian, the woman who had promised me forever, the monster who had just murdered her own brother. She looked down on me. “Kneel and beg, and I’ll give you a proper burial. I’ll even let you two brothers be buried together.” Rhys tugged her arm. “Vivian, help me shovel. Just looking at him makes me remember my poor, dead brother.” The sand reached my chin. “Vivian Shaw,” I whispered, my voice thick with sand, “even if I become a ghost, I will haunt you and tear you apart!” Vivian clapped her hands. “My husband, ever the drama king. Go on, then. Die.” Just as the earth was about to swallow me whole, the sound of dozens of high-powered off-road vehicles roared up around the quarry pit. Vivian’s voice, suddenly weak and trembling, called out to the woman who stepped out of the first vehicle. “Veronica… Big Sis… Why are you here?”

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