Author: Momo Chan

The day before my best friend Sierra Rhodes’ wedding, I was kicked out of the bridal party group chat. “We’re full up on bridesmaids, and with your recent breakup, you’re too much of a bad luck charm. Best you sit this one out, sweetie.” I stared at the message, then at the six-figure contract I’d personally fronted for her bespoke, over-the-top dream wedding, and a laugh bubbled up—a cold, sharp thing. I had spent the better part of a year pulling strings and calling in every favor I had for her. And this was my reward: being called a “bad luck charm.” She seemed to have completely forgotten that I was the true general contractor and silent financial backer of this entire event. The celebrity caterers, the platinum-tier MC, the vintage Rolls-Royce motorcade—all of them had signed contracts with my name on the line, doing me and my father a professional courtesy. I was the legal contact, the on-site director, and the one who had paid all the deposits. This entire wedding, from conception to execution, was inextricably linked to me, not to her, the bride. I didn’t panic. I didn’t rage. Instead, I quietly took screenshots of every remaining contract—the final payment terms for the catering, photography, and the car service—and dropped them into our wider circle group chat. An hour later, over a dozen vendors announced a service suspension for the next day, citing a complete inability to contact the new “Head of Client Relations.” That night, she showed up on my doorstep in her custom-made silk robe, weeping, begging me to make the wedding continue. 1 It was close to eleven P.M. when my phone screen flashed violently on the nightstand. I picked it up and saw a gray system notification—a stark, icy block of text staring back at me. “You have been removed by group admin ‘Sierra Rhodes’ from the chat ‘The Phoenix Brigade.’” I stared at the line of text, my mind a complete blank for a few suspended seconds. This was the core bridal party group. Tomorrow was her huge, high-society wedding. I tapped the chat, and the app confirmed: “You are no longer a member of this group.” Immediately, my friend Lexi Shaw’s private messages started flooding in. A cascade of stunned question marks hit my screen. “???????????????” “Aubrey Miller! What the hell is going on? Am I seeing this right?” “Sierra just kicked you—the Maid of Honor—out? The day before the wedding?” I took a deep, shaky breath. My chest was tight, and my fingers trembled slightly as I typed. I replied to Lexi: “It’s real. Just happened.” Lexi’s voice call popped up instantly. I hit “Decline.” I didn’t want to talk, not a single word. Her voice message followed, her tone high-pitched with outrage, impossible to contain. “Is she insane, Aubrey! This isn’t even using you up and throwing you away—it’s warp speed betrayal!” “No! I’m going into the group now! She can’t just kick you out! She has to explain this!” I typed a reply, calm despite the internal chaos, each word feeling like it cost me a piece of my soul. “Lexi, don’t. It won’t help.” Lexi couldn’t process it. “Why? You’re just going to take this massive insult?” “She kicked me out because she wants to cut off communication.” “She chose the night before the wedding because she knew I’d have no time to react.” “This wasn’t a mistake. This was premeditated.” Silence on Lexi’s end. A minute later, she sent a screenshot. It was the bridal party chat, showing a new announcement Sierra had posted. “@Everyone, Little change of plans, girls, sorry!” “Ethan’s cousin absolutely insisted on being a bridesmaid, and with family pressure, I couldn’t say no.” “The spots are full. And well, you all know Aubrey just went through that breakup, and her vibe is a little… off right now.” “A wedding is a joyous occasion. I didn’t want her to feel worse or bring any bad juju, so I just told her to rest up, okay?” “See you all at the hotel tomorrow. Love you all!” Below the announcement, a few other bridesmaids had already chimed in: “Got it!” and “So thoughtful of you, Sierra!” Lexi’s next voice message was shaking with pure fury. “Aubrey, did you see that? She replaced you with her future husband’s cousin! And she called you bad luck for being newly single! How dare she say that after everything you’ve done?” “Every single detail of this wedding—whose hands built it? Whose money paid the deposits?” “You fronted over fifty thousand dollars for the planning alone! She hasn’t paid you back a penny!” “She used you for your connections, squeezed you dry, and is now kicking you to the curb without even bothering to come up with a decent lie!” The words Lexi sent buzzed in my head. For her “Gilded Age Grandeur” themed wedding, I had spent half a year of my life and burned through every favor I owed. The archival-quality Ming Dynasty-inspired gown she had to have? I pulled strings with a museum curator friend. The fleet of vintage Hongqi cars? I had my father leverage his exclusive business association connections to secure them. The top-tier wedding planning firm, The Imperial Events Collective? I used a personal favor with the CEO just to skip the waitlist. Now, the wedding was ready. The curtain was about to rise. And I, the orchestrator, was tossed aside for being “newly single” and a “bad luck charm.” I saved the screenshot of the ice-cold system notification and the one of Sierra’s sickeningly false public announcement. Then, I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in my pillow. 2 Lexi’s voice messages continued to ping, her anger a hotter flame than my own. “I can’t let this stand! Aubrey, you’re seriously going to let her get away with this?” “She’s doing this because you’re hurting and she thinks you’re an easy target!” “After all you sacrificed for her, she isn’t just ungrateful, she’s actively stepping on you!” “You have to confront her! You can’t let her walk down the aisle in peace!” I reached out from under the comforter, found my phone, and leaned against the headboard. The initial shock and raw sting had subsided, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling calm. I typed my reply to Lexi: “She removed me so I couldn’t confront her.” “If I call her now, she’ll hide behind that fake ‘I was just looking out for you’ narrative.” “Showing up and making a scene will only make me look like a hysterical joke and give her exactly what she wants.” Lexi was frustrated. “Then what? Just let her win? The thought of her getting her happy ending makes me sick!” I stared at the dim light on the ceiling, a slight, humorless smile touching my lips. “Lexi, we are absolutely not letting this go.” Lexi replied instantly: “Okay, what’s the plan? Tell me! I’m in!” I didn’t reply. I didn’t call Sierra to demand an explanation, and I didn’t reach out to her fiancé, Ethan Blackwood, to cry about my hurt feelings. I simply opened my laptop and found the dedicated folder I had created for her wedding. Inside was the culmination of six months of meticulous work. Contracts for over a dozen vendors: planning, photography, the designer gown, the vintage motorcade, the venue… Every single one listed my name and my contact information as the primary client representative. Every contract had the final payment date clearly stamped: The day before the wedding. That is, tonight. I had paid over fifty thousand dollars in deposits, and the remaining balance—just over a hundred thousand dollars—was stipulated in the contracts to be settled by the couple on the eve of the event. I took crystal-clear screenshots of the most critical page of each contract: the Client Representative and the Payment Clause. Then, I opened a group chat called “The Inner Circle.” This was the main chat for our entire social group—hundreds of our closest friends and acquaintances. Crucially, the groom, Ethan Blackwood, and his mother, Linnea, were prominent members of this group. One by one, I sent the dozen-plus contract screenshots. Slowly. Deliberately. After the final screenshot, I typed a caption, my words cool and utterly detached. “Good evening, everyone. Apologies for the interruption. Regarding Sierra Rhodes and Ethan Blackwood’s wedding scheduled for tomorrow: The above are the contracts for all vendors I was managing as the lead coordinator.” “To date, I have personally paid the deposits totaling $50,888. All outstanding final balances were due tonight by 10 P.M.” “I’ve just been informed by the bride that I am no longer involved in any wedding arrangements. Could the new coordinator please contact the vendors immediately to avoid any disruption tomorrow?” “@SierraRhodes @EthanBlackwood. Wishing you both a wonderful wedding.” After sending the message, I muted the chat. A year ago, Sierra had cried to me that her biggest dream was an extravagant, buzz-worthy wedding. She said Ethan’s family had the money but didn’t want to be too ostentatious. It was me, her “best friend,” who had taken the entire burden on. I’d told her: “Don’t worry about the money or the connections. I’ll handle it. You just focus on being the most beautiful bride.” Now, she was about to be the most beautiful bride. And I was the “bad luck charm” she had discarded. Lexi’s private message was instantaneous: “AUBREY! You posted it in the main group?! You absolute legend!” “I saw it! The chat just exploded! Ethan’s mom’s face must be white as a ghost right now!” Lexi added: “My guess is his mother, Linnea, was the one who hated that you were recently single and thought you were bad luck. Sierra threw you under the bus to score points with her in-laws!” “That woman will do anything to marry into that family!” I smiled slightly, not replying. Sierra’s good fortune was about to take a sharp turn. I closed my eyes, pulled the covers up, and went to sleep. 3 The next morning, I woke to a barrage of urgent phone calls from unknown numbers. I ignored the first few. But one kept calling relentlessly. I finally answered, staying silent. A panicked male voice came through the speaker: “Hello? Is this Ms. Miller? It’s Derek Kim from The Imperial Events Collective!” I gave a simple, flat “Yes.” Mr. Kim sounded on the verge of tears. “Ms. Miller, what in the world is going on? Our entire team is waiting at the venue, and we can’t get hold of the bride or groom!” “After your message last night, we called Mr. Blackwood. He said he’d handle it, but now he’s not answering!” “The final contract balance—thirty-eight thousand dollars—is still unpaid! We can’t set up the ballroom! Is this wedding still happening?” My tone was perfectly calm. “Mr. Kim, I am no longer the coordinator. You need to contact the couple directly.” “But we can’t! They’re not answering calls or texts! Ms. Miller, we took this job as a personal favor to you! You can’t just walk away!” I cut him off. “I apologize, Mr. Kim. I’m just an uninvolved guest now.” “The contract clearly states that the final payment is the responsibility of the couple. If they are in breach, you need to follow your legal protocol.” I hung up. The second and third calls immediately followed. “Hello? Ms. Miller? It’s Leo from the photo team! We’re supposed to start the getting-ready shots at five! We don’t even know which suite the bride is in!” “Aubrey! It’s Frank from the car team! Those vintage Rolls-Royces your dad secured—the drivers are waiting! We haven’t been paid the final sixteen thousand, and we can’t start the engines!” “Ms. Miller…” I declined every call, one after the other, and finally set my phone to reject all unknown numbers. Lexi was sending me a live-feed “broadcast” from The Inner Circle chat. The group was in utter chaos. Mr. Kim posted an all-caps message, tagging the couple. “@EthanBlackwood @SierraRhodes. Is the wedding proceeding today? Our staff and equipment are waiting outside the venue. We will be forced to pull out and leave the premises in thirty minutes!” Leo, the photographer, was equally frantic: “@SierraRhodes! Bride! If you don’t appear, your morning robe, first look, and leaving-the-suite photos will all be canceled!” Frank, the car team leader, was blunt: “@EthanBlackwood, Mr. Blackwood, when will the final payment be settled? If we miss the designated start time, who is accountable for the liability?” A dozen vendors were blowing up the chat. Sierra and Ethan, however, had completely vanished, not a single word of response. The friends and relatives in the chat were completely bewildered. “What is going on? The couple can’t be reached on their wedding day?” “Aubrey’s contracts show over a hundred thousand is unpaid? I thought the Blackwoods were rolling in cash!” “I heard Aubrey was kicked out of the bridal party, and she’s not coordinating anymore.” “Why would they kick out the one person running the show? That’s insane!” Finally, Ethan’s mother, Linnea Blackwood—the woman I called Auntie Lin—chimed in. She posted an overly cheerful, awkward emoji. “Oh, don’t worry, everyone! The kids are just being young and had a little spat last night. Their phones must be off!” “The money is absolutely not an issue! I’m heading to the venue now to sort it out! Please, everyone just wait a few minutes!” She thought she could solve everything just by showing up. She thought that simply throwing money at the problem would reset everything. Lexi messaged me: “Aubrey, Ethan’s mom is trying to spin this. She’s trying to save face.” I replied with two words: “Delusional.” The heart of this wedding was never the money. It was me. It was all the favors, relationships, and trust I had leveraged. Mr. Kim replied to Linnea immediately in the group chat: “Mrs. Blackwood, with all due respect, the money is secondary. Our team only recognizes Ms. Miller as the lead client. All logistics, details, and design specifications were negotiated directly with her.” “We cannot guarantee the final result with an impromptu change in leadership. We will not be liable for any issues that arise!” Leo backed him up: “Exactly! We follow Ms. Miller’s direction. She knew every key moment and shot list!” Frank was even more direct: “Mrs. Blackwood, those vintage cars were secured based on a personal favor to Mr. Miller. Now that Ms. Miller has stepped away, our drivers are refusing to proceed. They don’t want the risk.” Linnea was completely blindsided, and then, immediately enraged. “It’s just money! Just do the job! I’ll make sure you are all paid handsomely!”

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I’m an artifact restorer. I had just finished my final painstaking repair on the House of Blackwood’s Dynastic Jade Bangle, a piece from the Tang Dynasty valued at over two hundred million dollars. My fiancé’s long-term “charity case,” Piper Finch, swooped in and snatched it. “Anya, can I just touch it? Please?” she cooed. Before I could answer, she slipped the massive bangle onto her wrist. “Oh, I love this so much! You should just give it to me!” She leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “You could make a fake for the client—they’d never know. Pretty please?” I patiently explained that asking me to commit a felony was, in fact, a felony. The next second, the jade hit the concrete floor of my studio, shattering into irreparable fragments. Piper looked down, gave a tiny, remorseful pout, and stuck out her tongue. “Oopsie, I’m so clumsy! I’m such a big dummy.” She lifted her eyes, blinking innocently. “But it’s okay, right? You’re the best, Anya. I know you can fix it.” She strolled away, leaving me to face a two-hundred-million-dollar loss that would bankrupt me. My fiancé, Grant Sawyer, didn’t blame her. “It’s your fault for not guarding it better. Why take it out on Piper? We can always earn the money back. Don’t make Piper upset.” Piper giggled, flashing a peace sign. “I won’t be upset! Just take me out for hot pot! If one meal doesn’t fix it, two will!” The sheer audacity of it all was enough to trigger my heart condition. I reached for my medicine, only to discover the pills had been replaced with effervescent Vitamin C tablets. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, I saw Piper pouting in Grant’s arms. “Anya is always so moody. I just wanted to give her a vitamin boost and help her skin glow.” I opened my eyes and found myself back in my studio, the very moment I had finished the restoration. 1 Piper was holding the bangle, her eyes greedy. “Anya, you should just give it to me. You could make a fake for the client…” Before the words “a fake for the client” left her lips, I snatched the bangle back. I slammed the vault door shut and twisted the combination lock with a decisive, echoing click. “Absolutely not.” She looked stunned, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “If not, then… why not?” I didn’t bother with excuses. I pointed a rigid finger at the door. “Piper Finch, grab your cheap canvas tote and get out. You’re fired.” She blinked slowly. “Huh? I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I inhaled deeply, nodding to my assistant, Sam, to guard the vault. Then, I unceremoniously shoved Piper toward the exit. “You’re done!” She stiffened, clawing at the doorframe. “Grant told me to intern here! It’s only been half a day! How am I supposed to learn if you send me away?” Smack! I drove my open palm across her cheek. “You asked me to give you a client’s priceless artifact and then commit fraud by creating a forgery! You are unethical, legally delinquent, and morally corrupt. You don’t belong in my studio—not as a restorer, not as a janitor!” She clutched her red cheek, her lips trembling in a wounded pout. “I was just joking! I didn’t actually want it. What exactly did I do wrong?” I gave her a humorless smile and began dragging her toward the main exit. “I was wrong! My little empire can’t contain a grand mess like you!” “Security! Escort Miss Finch off the premises immediately. She is permanently banned from the building!” Watching the security guards physically haul Piper away, I finally let out a shaky breath. Grant had been funding Piper since she was seventeen. When she graduated, he insisted she intern with me. She was a History major, a good fit on paper, so I relented. Who would have thought that half a day with her would cost me everything, including my life? The memory of choking on those Vitamin C fizzies as my chest crushed in the last timeline sent a familiar, terrifying ache through me. I fumbled for my backup medication and swallowed a pill immediately. This time, the bangle was safe, and Piper was gone. I just needed to survive the next few hours until the two o’clock handover. I leaned back in my chair, hoping for a moment of peace, but Sam burst back into the room. “Anya! The Dynastic Bangle! It’s shattered!” I sprang up. “What? How!?” Sam stammered, twisting his hands. “It was Mr. Sawyer. He—he brought Piper back. And then he opened the vault himself.” The air rushed out of my lungs. The vault combination—only Grant and I knew it. Only Grant. My fiancé, the one person I thought I could trust, was the variable I hadn’t controlled. I threw open the repair lab door. The sight before me sent a bone-deep chill through my soul. Piper was humming a tuneless melody, attempting to ‘re-bond’ the hundreds of jade shards with a tube of Super Glue. “I only wanted to wear it for a minute to feel the energy of a thousand years,” she whined. “I don’t know why it just slipped off.” “Grant,” she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Am I really that useless? I mess up everything.” Grant, my fiancé, was stroking her hair. His voice was devastatingly soft. “No one is going to blame you, Pip. It was just a slippery piece of jewelry.” “Now, stop crying.” But Piper’s sobs intensified. “Anya will be even angrier! She fired me this morning just because I wanted to touch it! I have to fix it before she comes back. Come on, Piper, you can do this!” Grant playfully flicked her nose. “It’s nothing. Your Grant will handle her.” I grabbed the nearest object—a heavy ceramic water cup—and hurled it straight at Grant’s face. “It’s nothing?! A thousand-year-old artifact is destroyed, and you’re still defending her and threatening me?” Grant wiped the water from his face, his expression ugly. “Anya, that’s enough! It’s just a broken piece of jewelry. Piper is trying to fix it! Besides, she’s crying! What more do you want?” She’s crying? So her tears are worth two hundred million dollars? Worth my life? I smiled, pulling out my phone. “Fine. I’ll call the police. Piper illegally entered my studio and destroyed a client’s property. We’ll let the law decide.” Grant slammed his hand down, knocking the phone from my grip. “I won’t let you do that! You want her to have a criminal record? To ruin her life forever?” “Anya, be the bigger person! If everyone were as petty as you, the world would fall apart!” Rage surged through me. I lunged to slap him, but he caught my wrist in an iron grip. “You’re just looking for money, aren’t you? Fine! I’ll pay for it!” I stared at him, my teeth grinding. He thought money would solve this? He was a mid-level corporate drone—how could he pay for it? In the last timeline, I had liquidated my studio, borrowed from every friend and relative, and nearly killed myself to come up with the two hundred million. He, meanwhile, had sent me a text. He’d sent me five hundred dollars. Not five thousand, not five million. Five hundred. He’d said, “Baby, I need to save my money to build our home, so you won’t have to suffer later.” He didn’t want me to suffer? He was sending Piper two thousand a month for spending money, but our five-year relationship was only worth five hundred? When I was dying in the ambulance, he was comforting Piper. He hadn’t even looked at me. Now, he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. Fine. I would grant his wish. “We’re done, Grant. I will not be your co-debtor in this disaster. The engagement is over.” Grant’s eyes widened. “Break up? Over a compensation fee?” “A fee?” I laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound, and was about to state the magnitude of the debt when Piper rushed over, presenting the glob of Super Glue and shattered jade. “Anya, look! I fixed it!” “Artifact restoration isn’t hard at all, you know! Took me a few minutes.” She winked triumphantly at Grant. “Grant, am I talented or what?” Grant chuckled, his expression melting into adoration. “You’re the best, Pip.” Fueled by his praise, Piper pulled out her phone and started a Live on her preferred app. She shoved the glue-soaked bangle right up to the camera. “Trust me, you guys! Artifact restoration sounds all high-brow, but you can basically run the game with a tube of Krazy Glue!” “Look at this hot, fresh, thousand-year-old bangle I just fixed. Self-taught, one-shot success, y’all.” The comments section immediately exploded. [Someone call the police!] [She has to be trolling!] The view count skyrocketed into the tens of thousands within minutes. Grant shot me a cold look and immediately started tossing virtual gifts—ten of the most expensive “Carnivals”—into the live stream. “I’ve always got your back, Pip,” he typed. Sam, my assistant, looked faint, frantically refreshing the live stream. “Anya, this is bad. It’s trending. What if he sees it? Should we make her shut it down?” I shook my head. “It’s too late.” The bangle was a Blackwood family heirloom, treated as the dynasty’s lifeblood. The Blackwoods were an international conglomerate, the ultimate gatekeepers of the collectibles world. I had waived my restoration fee to secure a favor from them, a critical networking move. In the last timeline, after Piper broke it, I had groveled to Mr. Blackwood, and had even been held at gunpoint. It was only out of the thin thread of respect for my skill that he agreed to settle the matter for two hundred million. But getting on the Blackwood’s bad side meant more than just money. My phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, I answered, my voice deferential. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.” “Anya,” his voice was unsettlingly calm. “I see my bangle on the internet. What is this ‘Genius Restoration Beauty Brings Thousand-Year Artifact to Live Stream’ nonsense? What is going on?” Cold sweat beaded on my palm. “Mr. Blackwood, I…” Before I could finish, Piper grabbed the phone. “Hi, Grandpa Blackwood! I’m Piper, the genius restorer!” “I’m the one who fixed your bangle, not Anya. She didn’t help at all.” Mr. Blackwood’s tone was impossible to read. “Oh? You call that… fixed?” Piper nodded excitedly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t it be fixed? I worked so, so hard to glue it back together for you, Grandpa Blackwood!” A long silence followed on the line. “Anya, two o’clock this afternoon. I want to see the bangle, perfectly intact. Otherwise… you know the consequences.” Before I could reply, Piper chirped, “Don’t worry, Grandpa Blackwood! I’ll personally deliver it for you!” The line went dead. Piper wrapped her arms around Grant and spun around happily, then tossed her hair dismissively. “See, Anya? You worry too much! Grandpa Blackwood is so sweet. We don’t have to pay a thing!” I was beyond words. I simply turned to Sam. “Sam, tell the staff to clock out early. Miss Finch will be personally delivering the bangle to the Blackwood Estate.” Sam exhaled deeply, clutching his chest in relief. I packed my things and headed for my car. Grant and Piper immediately slid into the back seat. “Drive us to the Blackwood Estate.” His tone was a demand. I laughed, a tight, unpleasant sound. “Why would I?” Grant narrowed his eyes, studying me. “Mr. Blackwood demanded you be there for the handover. You need to be present.” He paused, a flicker of genuine anxiety crossing his face. “What exactly are the consequences he mentioned? Is Piper in danger?” I had occasionally mentioned Mr. Blackwood’s reputation. At least some of it had registered with him. My voice was deliberately playful. “What do you think?” Grant bristled. “Anya! Piper’s safety is at stake! Can’t you just answer the question?” Watching the vein pulse in his temple, I smiled. Mr. Blackwood’s word could launch a career or obliterate a life. Piper thought he was sweet? Well, he only lightly chastised his own grandson for destroying an antique. For outsiders, the fate was often a lot worse. I waited a moment, deciding to give them one last chance to save themselves. “Maybe we should still call the police.” With the police involved, the Blackwoods would at least show some restraint. “Why would we call the police?” Piper’s eyes were wide. “The bangle is fixed, and Grandpa Blackwood accepted it.” “Anya, you keep saying ‘call the police’—are you hoping I’ll go to jail?” A look of sudden, manufactured clarity crossed her face. “I get it! You’re jealous because Grant is nice to me, so you want me to die in prison, right? That way, Grant will be all yours!” She turned to Grant, forcing a heartbreakingly ugly smile. “It’s okay, Grant. If I have to die, I will. But promise me—in the next life, you’ll find me before my alcoholic father kills me. Promise you’ll keep taking care of me.” Grant’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes bloodshot. “Anya!” He raised his hand and brought it down hard across my face. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will kill you!” The blow was vicious. My cheek stung, and I tasted blood on my lip. I licked my mouth, then, without hesitation, spun and delivered an equally brutal slap to Piper’s face. “A mark on her skin, a wrench in your heart, Grant. Fair trade.” Piper froze, then dissolved into hysterical, gut-wrenching sobs in Grant’s arms. “Grant, why does Anya always bully me?” Grant’s eyes flashed with pure hatred. He raised his hand to strike me again. I held his gaze, not flinching. His eyes were filled with disgust and loathing, devoid of any of the love he’d once sworn. Yet, he was the one who had pursued me relentlessly for two years, kneeling and weeping for me to agree to marry him. When had his vision become so completely consumed by Piper? Seeing my face, pale and swollen, his hand froze in mid-air. “Is it your heart?” “Don’t just stand there! Take your medication!” My hands trembled as I reached for my emergency bottle in the car door, but only fizzing tablets spilled out. The sudden, terrifying sense of suffocation returned. Piper had dawdled that morning, making excuses to stay in the car. That was when she’d swapped my emergency supply. Not only had she swapped the pills in my apartment, but now she was trying to eliminate my final fail-safe. Was I doomed to die by her hand again? Seeing me immobile, Grant frantically urged me. “Anya! Take them! Why aren’t you taking them?” Piper threw her hands over her head. “Oh no! I didn’t know Anya had a heart condition! I thought they were just Vitamin C! I thought the fizzies would be sweeter and taste better, so I… I swapped them.” “Grant, did I do something wrong again? Why am I always so stupid?” Grant shook his head, his tone still gentle. “It’s okay, Pip. It wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be kind.” He was telling me it was okay that I was dying because of her? Did he truly believe that Piper could commit murder and still be nothing more than innocently clumsy? The scene was a chilling echo of my death in the previous timeline. Desperately, I fumbled for my phone to call 911, but instead, my fingers brushed against a small, hard object in my jacket pocket—the pill I had swallowed earlier. I retrieved the single tablet and swallowed it dry. The suffocating pressure in my chest finally began to recede. Grant let out a huge sigh of relief. “Anya, you need to keep track of your own medication. You really scared me.”

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I grew up bouncing between continents. My mother, Vivian, terrified I’d bring home a bohemian artist or, God forbid, someone who didn’t understand the rules of the Metropolitan Elite, settled the matter herself. She’d found me a fiancé—a man of status and impeccable pedigree—and demanded I return to Manhattan’s high society for the engagement. I was at a flagship boutique on Fifth Avenue, looking for an engagement dress. I spotted a stunning ivory silk bustier gown. Just as I reached for it, preparing to try it on, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand. “That style is actually rather chic,” she announced to the attendant. “Bring it over. I want to try it.” The attendant, without a word, snatched the gown rudely out of my grasp. “Excuse me?” I said, bristling. “There’s a clear first-come, first-served rule here. I had it first. Do you people have any sense of decency?” She looked me up and down with utter contempt. “That dress is worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Could a pauper like you even afford the sales tax?” She tossed her perfectly coiled hair. “I’m Savannah Reed, the Devlin Group CEO Brooks Devlin’s Ward. In this city, the only ‘decency’ that matters is what the Devlin family decides it is.” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Brooks Devlin was the man I was supposed to marry. I immediately pulled out my phone and called him. “Your Ward just stole my engagement dress. How exactly do you intend to handle this?” 1 The word “Ward,” when she said it, always sounded less like a relative and more like an indiscretion wrapped in an expensive label. If Brooks couldn’t offer a solid, respectable explanation for this whole mess, our engagement was clearly off. But to my surprise, Brooks’s voice on the other end was frigid. “Who is this? And since when do you, an outsider, get to weigh in on my relationship with Savannah?” I was about to snap that I was his fiancée when he simply hung up. My jaw dropped. The nerve. Not only did he allow his “Ward” to harass me, but he hadn’t even bothered to save my number. Savannah, watching the whole exchange, dissolved into delighted laughter. “Bitch! Did you really think getting ahold of Brooks’s number meant you could hitch your wagon to the Devlin star? Dream on.” Her eyes raked over my simple, comfortable outfit. “Even the janitors at the Devlin Group wear pricier things than that.” I’d always prioritized comfort and simplicity over designer labels. It had never occurred to me that one day, my outfit would be used as a weapon against me. “It’s the 21st century, and you’re still pulling the ‘judge-a-book-by-its-cover’ routine,” I shot back. “Brooks must be blind to keep a judgmental waste of space like you around.” The argument had thoroughly killed my interest in the dress. I took it from the sales rack, intending to buy it immediately. The counter clerk looked hesitant. “Ma’am, our store gives priority to our Black Diamond Tier members.” Savannah’s smile widened smugly. She pulled a gleaming, invitation-only card from her clutch and slammed it onto the glass counter. “A million-dollar deposit to even apply for this tier. What are you waiting for, you poor trash?” I am generally not a confrontational person. But Savannah Reed had succeeded in unleashing my fury. I retrieved my sleek, unmarked Centurion Card and handed it to the clerk, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline rush. “Enroll me. Max membership. And then package this dress for me.” Savannah leaned in, her voice a low threat to the clerk. “Manhattan belongs to the Devlins. If you sell that dress to her, my Brooks will buy this entire boutique tomorrow and have you all fired.” The clerk recoiled slightly. “I’m just an employee, ma’am. I truly cannot afford to cross the Devlin Group.” The crowd that had gathered began whispering. “I’ve seen Miss Reed a few times. Mr. Devlin is completely obsessed with her.” “Someone crossed her last year and was ruined. Bankrupted.” “Even if she has some money, it’s nothing compared to the Devlin empire. Just apologize, sweetie. Beg her to let you go.” Savannah was preening, her head tilted back, soaking up the validation. “Bitch, get down on your knees. Shout ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong’ three times. Maybe then I’ll consider granting you mercy.” Twenty-six years on this earth, and this was the first time someone had dared to be this arrogantly insolent in front of me. “Say that again,” I prompted, a slow smile touching my lips. “What am I supposed to shout?” “Are you deaf? ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong!’ Can’t you hear those words?” I allowed the smile to turn into a full, cold smirk. “I heard you perfectly. Since you already know you’re a pathetic phony, why don’t you just get lost and stop cluttering up my sightline?” The realization hit Savannah instantly. She had been played. She shrieked, windmilling her arms as she rushed toward me. It was laughable. She was a stage-four amateur. I’m a black belt. I delivered a clean, hard side-kick. Savannah crumpled to the marble floor, shrieking. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers. “Oh my God! How could she do that to Miss Reed?” “If Mr. Devlin hears about this, he’ll have her shredded.” “The Lord himself couldn’t save her now.” Their panic didn’t move me. The Devlin family’s entire standing in this city was, as I knew, indirectly dependent on my mother. There was no one here I needed to fear. I slapped my card back on the counter. “Checkout. Now.” The clerk was trembling, but she processed the payment, bagged the gown, and handed it to me. I picked up the dress and turned to leave. But Savannah, scrambling back up, blocked my way again. “You can’t just walk away!” I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. “Want to test my hands again?” She flinched back instantly. I scoffed and stepped toward the exit. Just then, a sleek, black Bentley pulled up outside. The first thing that hit the Fifth Avenue sidewalk was a custom, thin-soled leather loafer—Bottega, probably. That’s when the relief hit, a physical gasp in my chest. I followed the line of the leg up, feeling a sudden rush of anticipation. He was easily six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, and lean. And the face. Chiseled, perfect angles. A 360-degree knockout. Savannah immediately dissolved into theatrics, running over to cling to his arm. “Brooksie! She took the dress I wanted and she kicked me!” So, this was my fiancé. I am, admittedly, a sucker for a beautiful face. Brooks Devlin’s looks were exactly the kind of jawline-and-smoldering-eyes that made my pulse jump. For this face, I could almost forgive his earlier rudeness. I offered what I thought was my most charming smile. “Hello. I’m Audrey Bellwether. Your fiancée.” No wonder Mom was so confident I’d approve. She really did know me too well. The onlookers gasped again. “What?! She’s the Devlin CEO’s fiancée?” “A fiancée beats a Ward, right? No wonder she’s so confident.” “Maybe. It depends on who he favors more.” Brooks’s gaze landed on me, and his voice was cold, dismissive. “Don’t flatter yourself. That contract was forced by my father. I never agreed to it.” Savannah draped herself intimately over his shoulder, her eyes burning with pure triumph. “Look at you. You’re such an ugly duckling. Brooks would never marry you.” Someone in the crowd chimed in. “Exactly! Mr. Devlin is going to marry an actual society princess. Not this peasant.” “She’s so low-class, she probably couldn’t even get a job sweeping floors at the Devlin offices.” I knew I wasn’t a goddess, but I was definitely not ugly. Why, in their mouths, did I sound like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe? The human tendency to latch onto power and crush the weak was truly vile. “Brooks Devlin,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Go tell your father that I am breaking off this engagement. You’re not good enough for me.” I knew my mother had made his father jump through hoops to secure this alliance. If his son had ruined it, there would be hell to pay. The thought cheered me slightly. I was done with these idiots. I turned to walk away. But Savannah, emboldened by the presence of her man, blocked my exit again. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch! You stole my dress and hit me. We’re not done settling the score.” I looked at her with disdain. “How do you propose to settle it?” Thinking I was intimidated, she raised her hand to slap me. “By hitting you until I’m satisfied.” I intercepted her wrist with one hand and delivered a sharp, clean slap across her cheek with the other. She stared at me, disbelief twisting her features. “You—you hit a—” I reversed the movement and hit her again, harder. I asked, my voice low and dangerous, “Are you satisfied now?” The two slaps thoroughly extinguished her bravado. She whimpered and scrambled to hide behind Brooks. “Brooksie! You have to protect me!” Brooks pulled her protectively into his arms, then glared at me. “You dare lay a hand on my person? You must have a death wish.” He signaled his bodyguards behind him to grab me. I managed to take out the first one, but I was quickly overwhelmed. They were professionals. After a few solid blows, I was on the ground. Two of them hauled me up, dragging me back in front of Brooks and Savannah. Brooks gave Savannah a sympathetic look. “Go on, Sav. Settle it. Do whatever you want. I’ll take care of the fallout.” That was all the assurance she needed. She swung her arm, slapping me twice, then spat a stream of saliva right onto my face. “Bitch! You were so tough a minute ago! Where’s that attitude now?” Then, she kicked me hard in the lower abdomen. Clutching my stomach, the pain blinding me, I looked up at both of them. “You will both regret this. I swear, I will never let you get away with this!” Savannah laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The Devlin family is one of the three pillars of power in this city! What are you, a street urchin, going to do against us?” “Today, I’m going to make sure you remember what it costs to cross me!” She pulled a silver nail file—no, a set of clippers—from her purse and dragged the sharp edge across my cheek. A searing heat erupted, and my skin swelled, blood quickly beading along the line. “I told her not to cross the Devlins,” a woman whispered mournfully. “What a shame. Such a lovely face. Now it’s ruined.” “We common people just have to know when to keep our heads down.” Savannah raised the clippers for another swipe. The sheer terror of being permanently scarred seized me. I immediately started pleading. “I’m sorry. The dress is yours. I shouldn’t have fought you for it.” Not a gentleman’s revenge; a quiet one. But Savannah carved another line across my face. “Too late for apologies, bitch! I’m not done until I’ve satisfied my rage!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. I looked at Brooks. “Brooks Devlin, don’t you care who I am? Allowing her to do this to me—you will regret it!” He looked disgusted. “Your identity? You mean your tramp of a mother, who sweet-talked my old man until he lost his mind and forced this engagement? That identity?” Savannah’s eyes glinted with malice. “A gold-digger’s daughter. You must be a little gold-digger yourself. I think we need to strip you down and wash the stench off you!” “No!” Just then, my cell phone rang inside my purse. I struggled frantically, but Savannah snatched it before I could reach it. She swiped the answer button. My mother’s voice, calm and warm, filled the air. “Audrey, how did the dress shopping go?” I screamed into the phone. “Mom! Please, help me! I’m being beaten, and they’re going to strip me!” Vivian’s voice snapped with immediate panic. “What! Who is doing this?” Savannah’s voice, arrogant and loud, cut across the line. “It’s me, your worst nightmare! Your little gold-digger is out here soliciting attention, so I’m giving her a lesson in manners!” My mother’s voice was deadly quiet. “I don’t care who you are. Release my daughter immediately, or when I get there, you’ll be the one learning a lesson.” “Oh, do come over! I’ll be right here waiting for you, witch. I’ll peel the skin right off you both!” Smash. Savannah slammed the phone down, shattering it. She backhanded me again. “You two are cut from the same trashy cloth! When your mother gets here, I’ll strip her too!” Time crawled by. It felt like half a century, though barely five minutes had passed. Finally, a familiar, armored Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into the loading zone outside the boutique. My mother, Vivian, pushed the car door open and stepped out. “I’d like to see who is planning to peel my skin.” The moment I saw her, the shame and pain of the last hour collapsed into pure relief. “Mom!” I choked out. Vivian rushed toward me, pulling me into her embrace. Finally, nestled in her familiar, expensive scent, I felt safe. The onlookers gasped again, their whispers changing direction. “Look at that car! That’s a custom-armored Phantom. Global limited edition.” “Only old-money or serious power owns a car like that. Miss Reed might have just kicked a steel plate.” “A steel plate? No one is harder than the Devlins!” Savannah was of the same mind. She marched right up to my mother, oblivious to the danger. “So, you’re the old witch. Your daughter tried to steal the dress I wanted and she attacked me. Tell me, how exactly are you going to pay for this?” Vivian simply raised an eyebrow. “Tell me. How do you want to be paid?” Savannah, mistaking my mother’s stillness for fear, crowed her demands. “The dress has been touched, so you owe me ten times the price for compensation. For the two bruises I got, she needs to kneel before me, kiss my shoes, and give herself twenty open-hand slaps. Most importantly, the engagement to Brooks is canceled.” She made a grand, condescending gesture. “If you agree to all of this, I’ll be merciful and let you leave the store. Otherwise, neither of you is walking out of here.” My mother, hearing the sheer gall of the demands, actually started to laugh. She patted my shoulder reassuringly, then walked slowly toward Savannah. “The engagement between Audrey and Brooks will certainly be called off, because Brooks Devlin is utterly unworthy of being my son-in-law. As for the rest of your demands…” Vivian raised her hand and delivered a savage, precise slap across Savannah’s face. “You can forget about them. The only people not walking out of here today will be you.” Savannah was stunned for a second, then tried to retaliate. One of my mother’s bodyguards moved with lightning speed, kicking Savannah’s legs out from under her, forcing her to her knees. Her arms were pinned behind her like steel restraints. “Brooksie, it hurts! Help me!” Savannah cried out, looking up at him. Brooks signaled his own bodyguards, but they were quickly dispatched by Vivian’s team. Within moments, Brooks Devlin was also forced to his knees, pinned directly in front of me. My mother slapped Brooks with equal force. “Since you were a child, I haven’t allowed a single finger to be laid on my daughter. You allowed her to be subjected to this humiliation. You will pay for it tenfold, a hundredfold!” Brooks shouted defiantly. “I’m the CEO of the Devlin Group! You crazy old woman—do you have any idea the consequences of hitting me?” “You dare to hurt my daughter? I wouldn’t hesitate to slap your father just as hard if he were here!” The crowd gasped again.

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After working nonstop for the better part of a year, my wedding was supposed to be my escape—a blissful, week-long vacation. Instead, my new husband Liam’s “little sister” from his graduate program showed up unannounced at our door in the frigid north, wanting to experience life as a “delicate Southern flower who’s never seen snow.” Liam, worried about her staying in a hotel alone, insisted she stay with us. On her first day, she cranked our thermostat up to eighty-five degrees. “Jane, Vivi gets cold easily. Just keep the heat on, don’t touch it.” “Jane, Vivi needs her fruit peeled and sliced. Could you handle that for her? She’s a bit clumsy, and I’d hate for her to cut herself.” “Jane, Vivi doesn’t eat much. Can you find a child-sized bowl for her?” Just like that, Vivian’s arrival transformed me from the lady of the house into the live-in help. 1 I was melting in the living room, my pajamas sticking to my skin with sweat. I retreated to our bedroom and cracked open a window for a breath of fresh air. It hadn’t been open for a minute before Liam burst in. “What are you doing? Vivi’s face is pale from the draft!” he hissed, slamming the window shut. “I told you she can’t handle the cold. She’s our guest. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” “I’m in our bedroom. How is my open window bothering her?” Vivian appeared at the doorway, her voice a soft, fragile whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jane. I’ve just been delicate since I was a child. The slightest chill gets to me. Liam is just a little overprotective. I told him I could stay in a hotel, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She offered a polite, placid smile. “Jane, if you’re really that uncomfortable, maybe… you could get a hotel room?” The words, though spoken sweetly, were a clear provocation. “This is my home. You want me to go to a hotel?” Vivian’s lower lip trembled as she looked to Liam for support. “She has a point, Jane,” Liam said. “If you’re too hot here, a hotel might be more comfortable for you.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Liam, how long have we been married?” “We just had the wedding, you know that.” “Exactly. We’re newlyweds. And you want your wife to sleep alone in a hotel while you and your ‘little sister’ stay in our marital home?” A flicker of unease crossed his face. He softened his tone. “Jane, come on. Vivi is only here for three days, then she has to go back to work. Just put up with it for a little while. Once she’s gone, I’ll take you to see the Northern Lights. I promise.” The Northern Lights. It was a dream I’d held onto for years, always postponed because I never had anyone to go with. “Really?” “Have I ever lied to you?” My anger subsided slightly. I went to my closet to find some lighter pajamas, but Liam’s voice stopped me. “Oh, and Jane? Could you sleep in the guest room for the next few nights? The master bedroom faces south, so it’s warmer. It’ll be better for Vivi.” “If I’m in the guest room, where are you sleeping?” “I’m scared of sleeping alone,” Vivian chimed in from the doorway. “Liam has to stay with me.” I let out a laugh that was sharp and humorless. “Does being young give you a free pass to act like a clueless child and treat everyone else like an idiot?” “Jane, what are you thinking?” Liam said quickly. “I’ll sleep on the floor!” I inhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. “In that case, why don’t I sleep on the floor in there with you, Vivi? After all, your precious Liam is a married man. It wouldn’t look good if word got back to your university, would it?” Vivian pouted. “No. I don’t know you that well.” 2 I knew there was no reasoning with someone like Vivian. She operated without a moral compass. “Fine,” I said. “But I feel I should warn you, little sister. We have security cameras in the bedroom and the living room.” Her face fell. “Liam, what is she talking about?” “Why would you tell her that?” Liam snapped at me. “I’m just being thoughtful,” I said, my voice dripping with false concern. “She’s a young woman. It would be a shame if the cameras captured her doing something… indiscreet.” Vivian’s expression was thunderous. I didn’t bother giving Liam a pleasant one either. “Here’s the plan,” he finally declared. “Vivi, you sleep in the master bedroom with the door open. Jane, you sleep in the guest room with your door open. I’ll sleep on the floor in the hallway between you. Happy now?” I smirked. “Works for me.” Vivian forced a smile. “If Jane’s okay with it, then so am I.” And so, Liam spent the night on the floor. The next morning, he woke me at the crack of dawn. “Get up. We’re taking Vivi to see the ice sculptures today. Hurry up and make some breakfast.” When I placed a traditional breakfast of millet porridge and steamed buns on the table, Vivian wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Jane, where I’m from, we have coffee and sandwiches in the morning. These buns are so greasy, and the smell is so strong. I’m not used to this kind of food.” I took a slow sip of my porridge. “Vivi, if I remember correctly, you’re from a small town in the Midwest, aren’t you?” “You work in the city for two years and suddenly you think you’re a coastal elite? Aren’t these the same buns you grew up eating? How can you not be ‘used to them’ anymore?” I added, “And just because you’re short doesn’t make you a delicate Southern flower.” Her face flushed a deep crimson. “You don’t have to be so hostile toward me, Jane!” “I’m not being hostile. I’m just stating facts.” The doorbell rang. Liam rushed to get it. “I knew you wouldn’t like the local food,” he said, returning with a takeout bag. “So I ordered something for you.” Vivian shot me a triumphant, sideways glance. “I knew you’d take care of me, Liam.” After breakfast, she pulled a wool coat from her suitcase. “Liam, what do you think of this one?” “It’s beautiful, but it’s ten below zero outside. That coat isn’t nearly warm enough.” “You’re the one who can’t handle the cold,” I muttered from the side. “You’ll freeze to death in that thing.” Vivian shot me a dirty look before turning a sweet, pleading face to Liam. “But it will look so good in pictures. I have to wear this one.” She got her way. As we headed out, she slipped into the front passenger seat before I could. “Jane,” Liam said quickly, “the vents are better in the front. Vivi gets cold, so let her sit there.” “Liam and I always ride like this when we go out,” Vivian added, a smug little smile playing on her lips. “He always said his passenger seat was reserved for me.” I let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine. You sit there.” I was morbidly curious now. I wanted to see just how far Liam and Vivian would take this charade over the next three days. 3 We’d barely entered the ice sculpture park before Vivian started shivering uncontrollably, hugging herself for warmth. Liam immediately shrugged off his own down jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I told you it was too cold for that coat.” “But you gave me this coat,” she said, her voice trembling. “It cost twelve hundred dollars. I never get a chance to wear it, and I wanted to take some nice pictures to remember the trip.” I froze. “Liam, you bought her a twelve-hundred-dollar coat?” He looked flustered. “Vivi’s just starting out, her salary isn’t high. She’d been admiring it for a long time, so I bought it for her birthday. It’s just a coat, Jane. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” “She doesn’t have a high salary? You don’t have a salary at all! You haven’t even graduated! I’m the one paying for your tuition, your life! You used my money to buy her a designer coat!” His face flushed with anger. “What’s yours and mine? We’re married, Jane. What’s yours is mine. What’s wrong with me using my own money to buy my friend a gift?” “Liam, I never realized you were so shameless!” In our ten years together, the most expensive gift he’d ever given me was a twenty-dollar necklace. He always said that once he finished his Ph.D. and got a good job, he’d buy me anything I wanted. I thought he was being frugal. Now I realized he was only frugal with me. “Oh, Jane,” Vivian said sweetly. “The style is a bit young for you anyway. Otherwise, I’d offer to give it to you.” “Who wants your second-hand trash?” I snapped. Her eyes welled up with tears. Liam’s temper flared. “That was a nasty thing to say, Jane. I was having a good day, and I don’t want to fight with you. Just drop it!” Vivian tugged on his arm. “Liam, you gave me your jacket. Your lips are turning blue.” She took his hands in hers and blew on them. “Is that warmer?” He couldn’t hide his smile. “Much warmer.” “I should give it back. I don’t want you to get sick.” She started to take the jacket off. “I’m a man, I can handle it. You’re the one who’s delicate. You wear it.” “No,” she insisted. “I’d rather get sick myself than see you suffer. If you won’t wear it, then neither will I.” They went back and forth until Liam finally gave in and put the jacket back on. Vivian stood there, shivering violently but insisting she wasn’t cold. Suddenly, Liam’s gaze fell on me. “Take off your jacket and give it to Vivi.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It took me a moment to process his words. “What? Why?” “You’re not the one who’s cold! What do you need such a thick coat for?” “I may not get cold easily, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it at all!” “Stop arguing and give her the jacket.” He reached for me. I stumbled backward. “What are you doing? I never said I would give it to her! Let go of me!” He ignored my protests, his hands grabbing at the zipper of my coat, trying to pull it off me. I fought back, clutching the fabric desperately. Vivian’s teeth were chattering. “Liam, don’t… don’t make things hard for Jane. I’m fine, really. I won’t freeze to death.” Hearing the tremor in her voice only made Liam more determined. He yanked harder. The ground was slick with ice. In the struggle, my feet went out from under me, and I fell backward, my head cracking against the frozen ground with a sickening thud. Thankfully, I was wearing a thick, padded hat, or there would have been blood. Even so, the impact left me stunned and disoriented. While I was dazed, Liam ripped the down jacket off my body. By the time my vision cleared, my coat was on Vivian. “Liam,” she said, “I think Jane is hurt. Maybe you should check on her.” “People from up here fall on the ice all the time. Besides, she’s tough as nails. A little slip won’t kill her.” He then turned his cold eyes on me. “If you’re cold, you can take a cab home. It’s not like you haven’t seen these sculptures before. I can stay here with Vivi.” 4 Liam wrapped his arm around Vivian, and they walked away without a backward glance. The other tourists stared at me. Some whispered, others pulled out their phones to record. I knew that soon, videos of me would be online, captioned with all sorts of stories. Maybe they’d even call me the mistress, caught and shamed by the wife. But none of that mattered anymore. I struggled to sit up. The ten-degree wind felt warm compared to the ice in my heart. I finally had to admit it. My ten years of devotion, all wasted on a dog. I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the park entrance. It took almost an hour to get a cab. By then, I was numb, my body a block of ice. “Miss,” the driver said with concern, “why are you out in this weather without a proper coat?” “I guess I let a fool make my decisions for me,” I said quietly. If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have supported him through seven years of graduate school? If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have been the one to buy the ring and propose to him? Back home, I buried myself under a pile of blankets, trying to stop shivering. Liam and Vivian didn’t return until after dark. She was still wearing my jacket. “Jane, I brought you some barbecue. See? I’m not so bad,” Liam said, holding out a greasy bag. “Eat it before it gets cold.” “You brought me your leftovers?” “They’re not leftovers! I saved these for you!” “You know I don’t eat lamb.” His face soured. “The vendor must have mixed up the order.” I wasn’t feeling well. A cough escaped my lips. Vivian gasped dramatically. “Oh no, Jane! You don’t think you have the flu, do you? I heard this year’s strain is really contagious and hard to get over.” Liam grew anxious. “Vivi, your immune system is weak. You can’t get sick.” “What should we do? We’re all living under the same roof.” “Let’s go to a hotel,” he decided instantly. “This whole house is probably contaminated by now.” He grabbed Vivian’s purse and started for the door. “Jane, I’m taking Vivi to a hotel. We’ll be back after you’re better.” “Vivian,” I called out, my voice flat. She turned. “It was Liam’s idea, Jane. I couldn’t stop him.” “Don’t worry, Jane,” Liam added. “We’ll get two rooms.” “Oh? Were you planning on getting one?” He scowled. “Don’t worry, Jane,” Vivian said with a smirk. “Even if we were in the same room, Liam would just be helping me with my thesis.” “I just wanted to tell you one thing, Vivian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m a soldier in the United States Army.” She scoffed. “So what? Does that make you better than the rest of us?” Destroying a military marriage, however, comes with a price. I watched them leave, then I called my best friend, Chloe. “Liam took his little protégée to a hotel. Can you find out where they went?” Chloe’s family owned a chain of luxury hotels. Liam, with his inflated ego, would never take Vivian to a cheap motel. It was almost certainly one of Chloe’s properties. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she sent me a location and two room numbers. They had indeed booked separate rooms. I texted Chloe: Keep an eye on them for me. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “Jane,” Chloe said, her voice urgent. “That little witch just went into your husband’s room!” I was calm. “Are you free right now?” “For you? Always.” “Good. Let’s go catch a cheater.” I raced to the hotel, pulled out my phone, and started a livestream, even paying for a traffic boost. “Hi everyone! My husband is a Ph.D. candidate at the research institute. He’s so hardworking and thoughtful,” I began, my voice bright and cheerful. “We just got married two days ago, and he’s already pulling an all-nighter at a hotel with his junior colleague to work on their thesis.” A comment popped up immediately: Are you sure they’re working on a thesis and not… something else? “Of course!” I laughed. “He’s only doing it at a hotel because I have a little cold, and he didn’t want to disturb my rest. Besides, he’s about to graduate and has a prestigious position waiting for him. Any misconduct would get him expelled and ruin his career. Seven years of hard work down the drain. He would never risk that.” “Also,” I added casually, “I’m an active-duty soldier, and his colleague is actually a well-known influencer. I trust them. They know the law. They wouldn’t jeopardize their futures.” The chat exploded, asking for the influencer’s name. I gave them Vivian’s handle without hesitation. She had a few hundred thousand followers, all built on a carefully crafted persona of a smart, independent woman who didn’t need a man. “I bought them their favorite cupcakes to surprise them,” I said to my phone. “Let’s go, friends! I can’t wait to see the look on my husband’s face.” Chloe used her master keycard. The door clicked open. I burst into the room, phone held high. “Surprise, honey!” The two figures tangled on the bed froze in horror.

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My 60-year-old husband went on a reality TV show to marry his childhood sweetheart, a wedding forty years late. Even my own son and daughter-in-law were there, smiling as they called her “Mom.” Everyone said I was the lucky one. A washed-up starlet with a scandalous past, married to a world-renowned scientist. Ten million comments petitioned for my husband to divorce me and rekindle his old flame. A scientist, they said, shouldn’t win in his career only to lose at love. Meanwhile, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Chemotherapy had stolen all my hair. With the clock ticking down, I held one last concert. A final farewell to my fans, dressed in a wedding gown. The moment I stepped offstage, my breathing stopped. They rushed me to the hospital. After I died, a tribute video from my most devoted fan of forty years was released. It silenced everyone. 1 I was in a daze as they loaded me onto the ambulance. Voices swam around me. “She’s faking it, right? She knows today is Eleanor’s birthday, and Professor Lake planned this huge surprise for her. She’s just trying to steal the spotlight. We’re not blind.” “I don’t know… her lips were completely white. I think she might actually be sick…” “Oh, please. She could have gotten sick any day of the year, but she picks Eleanor’s birthday? Lydia Thorne’s tactics are as cheap and childish as ever. No wonder Professor Lake never got over his first love. Imagine being married to a woman that vindictive and pathetic for decades. It must have been hell.” “She’s sixty years old, for god’s sake. Can’t she just let it go? The world would be a quieter place for the Lake family if she just died already.” The lights of the operating room were blinding. I couldn’t open my eyes. Anesthesia flowed into my veins, but my mind remained cruelly awake. Tears, salty as brine, streamed down my face. A flash of white light. I thought, with a surge of relief, that I was finally free. But I woke to the sound of my son and his wife arguing by my bedside. “Mom just had to pull a stunt like this. Dad’s entire surprise for Eleanor is ruined,” my son, Marcus, spat. “I told you she was a drama queen, always needing to be the center of attention. She can’t just stay home, she has to go out and compete with Eleanor. She’s an old woman, why can’t she just act her age?” “Your dad has put up with her for far too long,” my daughter-in-law added, her voice sharp. “If I were married to a piece of work like that, I would’ve divorced her ages ago. Your dad’s just too nice. He pitied her, gave her a home, and she started thinking she was some kind of princess everyone had to worship.” I didn’t open my eyes. I just listened to the venom from my only son. The tears soaked my pillow again, hot and bitter. I knew they resented me. I just didn’t know their resentment had festered into such a deep, obsessive hatred. Wiping my eyes on the corner of the duvet, I used every ounce of strength I had to sit up. Seeing me awake, Marcus’s face twisted into a scowl. He jabbed a finger at me. “Mom, I’m serious,” he said, his voice thick with blame. “If you need money, just ask. It’s not like we’re starving you. But you go out and make a public spectacle of yourself, pulling these cheap tricks. What are people supposed to think? That we’re broke?” “Dad is a world-famous scientist. He’s dedicated his whole life to his work. The least you could do is be a supportive wife, but all you do is embarrass him. Is it any wonder he prefers Eleanor? You should take a good, long look at yourself, Mom.” “Is it so hard to just stay home and be the perfect professor’s wife?” The words to defend myself died in my throat. All I could manage was a faint, whispered, “…Okay.” I don’t have long left. Soon, they’ll be free of me. They can finally call Eleanor “Mom,” just like they’ve always wanted. My daughter-in-law slipped a gold chain from her wrist and tossed it onto the bed with a look of disgust. She barely glanced at me. “Mom, seriously, stop the drama. My father-in-law finally managed to get some time off, and you’ve ruined it all. You don’t want to be kicked out of the house after forty years of marriage and become a laughingstock, do you?” “Here,” she said, nodding at the chain. “Sell this. It should get you a decent amount. You’re an old woman, you need to stop throwing money around. I won’t call you shameless, but you can’t stop what other people will say.” My hand trembled as I picked up the chain. It was a family heirloom I had given her on her wedding day. It wasn’t worth much, but it was my symbol of acceptance. Clearly, my acceptance means nothing to them anymore. Marcus took his wife’s hand. “We’re busy, Mom,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. “Once your IV drip is finished, just go home.” And they left. A moment later, my assistant, Tina, burst in, her face alight with joy. “Lydia! The research lab overseas contacted us! They said you can be in the first group for the clinical trial! You have a chance!” “No, thank you.” 2 “What did you say?” Tina’s eyes widened. I offered her a soft, serene smile. “I said, no, thank you. Give the spot to someone who needs it more. I don’t want to waste it.” “But, Lydia…” “There are no buts,” I said, beckoning her closer. “Tina, my dear, when I’m gone, I need you to burn all my records for me. I plan on launching a singing career in the afterlife, you know.” Tears welled in Tina’s eyes as she sniffled. “Lydia, I’m begging you. Let’s just go try the new treatment. If not for yourself, then think about your fans. Look—” She handed me her phone, and I saw the comments section under my social media page. I debuted forty years ago. My fans were older now, too. They didn’t know how to do PR spin or post glamorous photos. All they left were simple blessings and likes. [Lydia, I’ve been listening to your music for forty years. Please take care of yourself. You’ve made it this far, and I know you’re strong enough to ignore all the vicious rumors. We’ve seen your strength all these years.] [Because you once said men who study medicine are handsome, I went from being a dropout to reenrolling, getting into medical school, and eventually earning my PhD. I’m a doctor now because of you. You changed my life. Let them say what they want. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to us fans.] [A concert after twenty years. It brings back so many memories. It’s like my youth is alive again. Keep fighting, Lydia!] I smiled faintly. Then I clicked on the “Trending Topics” banner at the top of the page. Professor Nick Lake Proposes to First Love, Spurned Wife Lydia Thorne Fakes Collapse at Concert to Steal Thunder Lydia Thorne: The Mad Queen in the Cold Palace. Was Her Concert Collapse Real or a Desperate Ploy for Attention? Petition to Divorce Lydia Thorne Reaches 15 Million Signatures. Will Her Antics Finally End Her Marriage? It was a bloodbath. [Even someone as patient as Professor Lake can’t stand Lydia Thorne. It just proves all the rumors about her are true: she’s a diva, cheated on him with producers, has a nasty temper, sabotaged other artists, lied about her education, a pathological liar… Any one of those would get you canceled. She’s guilty of all six. If it weren’t for the Professor’s reputation, she would’ve been doxxed into oblivion by now.] [Any assassins here who also hate Lydia Thorne? [praying hands emoji] Next time you’re on a job, could you swing by the hospital and pull her breathing tube?] [I wish I could go back in time and un-exist her. Why does she even exist? God, just take her already.] Tina snatched the phone away, hiding it behind her back. Her smile was strained. “Lydia, people online are just full of hate. Don’t pay them any mind.” Just then, the door to my room was thrown open. A woman in a sharp black pantsuit stood there, leaning against the frame, catching her breath. “Lydia,” she said. “Come with me to the Arctic. Let’s go see the Northern Lights.” Her eyes were intense. “This world is a toxic mess. Just leave it all behind. Come with me. Please?” 3 The day I was discharged from the hospital, our house was strung with fairy lights. Fireworks exploded over the roof of the villa, painting the night sky in brilliant colors. Tina pushed my suitcase behind me, pouting. “Professor Lake is really something else. So this is why he didn’t visit you in the hospital. He was planning a birthday surprise for you. About time he did something right for once.” I paused, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. When did I stop celebrating my birthday? Right after I married Nick Lake. I pushed the door open. The lively chatter inside instantly died. When they saw me, the smiles on their faces froze. It was the crew from the reality show. So, they were filming Nick’s show here. At my home. There were cakes and “Happy Birthday” banners everywhere. I picked up a small slice of cake and started to head toward the garden, but the show’s producer stopped me. “Ms. Thorne, I’m sorry, you can’t go in there. We’re filming.” I didn’t break my stride, just offered him a gentle smile over my shoulder. “But isn’t this all for me? You can’t very well film without the guest of honor, can you?” With that, I reached the garden entrance. In that instant, the cheerful strains of “Happy Birthday” ended, and a massive firework shot into the air. “To my darling little Gigi,” Eleanor Vance cooed, holding a small poodle in her arms and twirling around. “Happy birthday, my sweet baby. May all your days be filled with joy and full food bowls.” Nick stood nearby, a Polaroid camera in his hand, his eyes filled with a tender adoration I had never seen before as he snapped picture after picture. But I remembered. Nick had once told me his hands were only for the lab. Asking him to even fold a shirt was an insult to his genius. So I did everything. I washed his underwear by hand, prepared three meals a day, drank on his behalf to secure funding, and smoothed things over with his superiors. I even spoon-fed him and washed him when he was too preoccupied. One time, I asked him to turn off the light before bed, and he flew into a rage. “What do you have hands and feet for? If you’re not going to use them, I’ll cut them off.” At sixty years old, Nick could still burn a pot of water trying to boil an egg. Eleanor lifted the poodle up, placing it in his arms. He took it with exquisite care, as if handling the most precious jewel in the world. But what about my dog? My little dog, who Nick beat to death ten years ago because he was supposedly allergic to dog hair. I came home from a tour to find nothing but a pool of blood on the floor. My son, Marcus, had taken what was left of him and made a stew. He served it to me with a grin, asking how it tasted. That was the one time I couldn’t contain my fury. I flipped the dining table over. As punishment, Nick locked me in the dark, damp cellar with the spiders and rats for three whole days. When he finally let me out, I was barely breathing. My vision blurred. I scrubbed at my eyes. Marcus, dressed in a tuxedo, placed a tiny crown on the poodle’s head, scratching it affectionately. “Gigi,” he cooed. “Call me big brother. I’m your brother now.” A perfect family portrait. It was broken when my grandson shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled and fell. The six-year-old boy’s eyebrows shot up, and he pointed a finger at me. “Daddy! The mean grandma is here again!” 4 Suddenly, every eye in the garden was on me. Tina rushed to help me up, her jaw tight with anger. “What is wrong with you, you little brat? Who taught you such terrible manners?” My daughter-in-law shrieked and ran over. She shot me a glare before scooping the child into her arms. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “Setting such a terrible example for her own grandson. Picking on a little child.” At that moment, my eyes met Eleanor’s across the lawn. I didn’t miss the flicker of triumph in her gaze. The disgraced versus the glamorous. After all these decades, our roles had finally reversed. Once, I was the superstar, married to a handsome, brilliant man on the rise. Her wealthy husband had gone bankrupt, leaving her with a mountain of debt and a trail of illegitimate children. She had knelt outside my villa gate in a torrential downpour, begging me to take her in, appealing to our old school ties. I was no saint. I had no intention of helping her. But Nick was. The next day, Eleanor moved into my house. The next year, her belly began to swell. I was the one who personally forced an abortifacient down her throat. I watched the blood pool on the floor around her, and I laughed, a wild, sharp sound. That night, Nick flew back from Los Angeles. He slapped me dozens of times, beat me until my bones fractured. They didn’t take me to the hospital until dawn. He pressed his thumb into one of my bruises, his voice a venomous hiss. “Lydia, if you don’t learn to obey, you’ll die in this hospital.” The memory faded. I looked at the Eleanor standing before me now. Her hair was a glossy black, without a single strand of grey, a jade pin nestled in the ends. A sleeveless silk dress clung to her trim figure, revealing not a hint of a belly. The diamonds on her ears, neck, wrist, and fingers glittered under the lights, broadcasting her immense wealth. She smiled elegantly. “Oh, it’s you, dear,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “I didn’t expect you. Well, Gigi can’t eat all this cake. Would you like a piece?” She spoke as if she were the lady of the house. I curled my lip into a smile. “No, thank you. I’m just here to pack my things. And also—” Tina pulled a folder from her bag and slapped it down on the table with a theatrical flourish. “The divorce papers.” 5 At the sight of them, Nick’s eyes went wide. The initial shock quickly morphed into pure rage. “Lydia, what new drama is this? It’s Gigi’s birthday, and we’re filming a live show. Do you have to make a scene and humiliate everyone?” Tina glared right back at him. “Professor Lake, it’s just a divorce. There’s no need to get so worked up. You don’t love her anyway, so what’s the big deal?” “Look at yourself,” Nick sneered at me. “You think you’re some young starlet? Who’s going to want you at your age? Without me, you’re nothing!” My voice was ice. “Nick, I don’t need anyone to ‘take me in.’ And you certainly don’t get to control me anymore.” Nick was so furious his glasses trembled on his nose. Eleanor gently tugged at his sleeve. “Darling, you’ve always been so impulsive,” she murmured, loud enough for the cameras to hear. “The same as you were decades ago. You haven’t changed a bit.” “I remember when Nick and I were dating, you were always so jealous. Every time we went on a date, you’d demand he pay you a hundred dollars as ’emotional compensation.’ I thought of you as a little sister then. I never imagined you two would end up together. It made things rather awkward for me.” “We’re all getting on in years,” she finished with a sigh. “We should all know when to behave with a little dignity.” In a few short sentences, she had painted me as the homewrecker. The live chat exploded. [OMG, I always felt a little weird shipping the Professor with Eleanor since he’s married, but it turns out they were the original couple! This just makes it better! Star-crossed lovers!] [True love wins! They married other people, but it was just a detour on the long road back to each other. I’m not crying, you’re crying.] [Just sign the papers already! I’ve been sick of Lydia Thorne forever. Her music’s okay, I guess, but her personality is trash. Get this homewrecker out of the entertainment industry and out of the Professor’s life!] Nick nodded curtly, and Marcus immediately understood. A moment later, Marcus returned from upstairs with a small ring box. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nick strode to the table, signed the papers, then took the wedding ring from the box and hurled it into the nearby lake. “There, Lydia,” he snarled. “You’d better not live to regret this!” I gave him one last, long, meaningful look. “I won’t.” “I hope you won’t either.” I took the signed divorce papers. Before I could even make it to the door, a spray of blood erupted from my mouth. The world went black, and a piercing ring drowned out all other sound. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard Nick’s voice, dripping with scorn. “Lydia, what new trick is this? I knew you’d regret it.” Then, Tina’s frantic sobs. “Lydia! Lydia, please, just hold on! I’m begging you…” But I knew. My flame had finally gone out. The light above the operating room door switched off. On camera, the doctor emerged, his expression grave. “The patient had a terminal illness. You should have been prepared for this day to come.” “Who’s the next of kin? You should go in and say your goodbyes.”

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1 The day my father and his ex-girlfriend made headlines at a gala, everyone was laughing at my mother. She had given up a flourishing career to be with a man from a powerful dynasty, only to spend thirty years without a title, without a ring, without even the right to call out his mistress. After a long cry, my mother looked at me, her eyes clouded with exhaustion. “He betrayed me first,” she said softly. “So I’m done with him.” She took my hand. “Ellie, will you come with me?” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from John, my boyfriend of seven years. [Elara, it’s just a piece of paper. Can’t you still be my girlfriend?] I stared at the screen for a long moment, then slowly nodded at my mother. And so, on the day of their wedding, my mother and I vanished in the flames of the villa. … The second I saw the news alert, I rushed home. My mother was sitting by the window, gazing out at the rose garden she and my father had planted together. “Ellie, he lied to me.” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “He promised that once he had full control of the Torrence empire, he would marry me.” “I waited thirty years, Ellie. And what I got was the news of his wedding to Isabelle.” I knelt beside her, taking her cold hands in mine. “It’s just tabloid gossip, Mom. We don’t know if it’s true.” “Remember how Grandpa and Grandma threatened to disown him, and he still wouldn’t leave you? Now that they’re gone, why would he abandon you?” She picked up an embossed invitation from the table and handed it to me, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “Mr. Peterson, his assistant, delivered this. He said he hoped I would be prepared, and that I wouldn’t… make a scene.” “He feels sorry for Isabelle, for the son she raised all alone,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “But did he ever once think about me? I gave up everything for him. I was willing to be his wife in all but name for three decades!” “And my daughter… my daughter has been called a bastard for over twenty years!” “And in the end, all I get is a warning not to ‘make a scene’?” A son? So that was it. That was why my father was breaking his promise to my mother. Because Isabelle had secretly given him a son, an heir to the so-called family empire. And to fulfill his ridiculous sense of ‘responsibility,’ he was going to make my mother bear the weight of his betrayal? My mother broke down, pulling me into a desperate hug. “He broke his promise,” she sobbed, “and he expects everything to just stay the same.” “But I am not a mistress. And my daughter is not a bastard.” She pulled back, her fingers gently tracing my face. “Ellie, will you leave with me?” “Or will you stay here, in Northgate, with that Smith boy?” At the mention of John, I glanced down at the message on my phone. [Elara, it’s just a piece of paper. Can’t you still be my girlfriend?] I forced a smile and hugged my mother back. “No,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m your daughter, Mom. Of course, I’m going with you.” “As for John and me… there’s nothing left.” My mother’s tears stopped. She looked at me, her face etched with worry. “What happened?” “You and John were together for seven years. How could he…” I gave a humorless laugh, locking my phone. “Thirty years meant nothing to my father. What’s seven years to John?” “The Smith and Bishop families have a major joint venture in the works.” “John already agreed to the arranged marriage. Their wedding is on the fifteenth of this month.” “And as for me… he said everything could stay the same.” My mother’s face flushed with anger. “Stay the same?” “He wants you to be his mistress! That boy has some nerve!” “This is all my fault,” she whispered, fresh tears streaming down her face. She held me tighter, murmuring apologies over and over. “It’s because of me that you can’t even have a normal relationship.” I stroked her back, my own tears falling silently. “Mom, this was never our fault.” “Maybe it’s better that we found out now. We can leave this place and start over.” “Okay?” After I settled my mother in her room, I drove back to my apartment. The moment I opened the door, I saw them. John and Kate Bishop, standing in the middle of my living room. “Ellie, you’re back,” John said, a relieved smile on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to throw away what we have.” My eyes fell to the wedding band on his finger, and a sarcastic smile touched my lips. “John. You’re wearing your wedding ring, with your future wife, trespassing in my apartment.” “You can’t possibly expect me to be happy to see you, can you?” Hearing the ice in my voice, John rushed to explain. “Ellie, why don’t you understand? I’ve told you a hundred times, marrying Kate is temporary.” “The partnership between our families is out of my hands. And Kate said… she said she’s willing to accept your presence.” Kate stepped forward then, looking down her nose at me. “John’s right.” “Miss Torrence, you may not be aware, but I’ve seen plenty of girls like you in our circles.” “As long as you don’t cause too much trouble, I won’t have to get my parents involved. I can even put in a good word for you with the Smiths.” Her condescending gaze swept over me. “After all, being a Torrence is one thing, but being a Su is quite another.” The blatant insult was the final straw. I grabbed a glass of water from the table and threw it in their faces. “Ah!” Kate shrieked. John fumbled for a tissue, frantically dabbing at her face. “Elara, are you insane?” he yelled. “You’re the ones who are insane!” I shot back, my eyes cold. “Miss Bishop, are you deaf or just stupid? John and I were in a serious relationship for seven years. And now I need your acceptance?” “Did you ask for my permission before putting on this pathetic little play in my home?” “Now get out of my apartment. Both of you!” Enraged, Kate stormed up to me. “What are you so proud of, Elara?” “Your mother shamelessly latched onto the Torrences for years without a marriage license to her name. Now that Mr. Torrence is marrying Isabelle, what is your mother but a common mistress?” “Like mother, like daughter. You were born to be a mistress!” “If John hadn’t begged for you, you’d never even get a foot in the Smith family’s door!” SLAP! Before she could finish, my hand connected with her cheek. The next second, John shoved me. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the corner of a table. I clutched my forehead, the room spinning. “Elara, don’t you dare go too far!” John snarled, protectively shielding Kate. “Don’t you get it yet? Once Mr. Torrence marries Isabelle, you and your mother will be nothing but a shameful mistress and her bastard daughter.” “With a background like yours, you’re not even worthy of being a kept woman!” “It’s Kate who is being generous, tolerating you for my sake.” “If you don’t learn your place, don’t blame me for what happens next.” “What happens next?” I laughed, a low, hollow sound. I pushed myself up from the floor and, without a second thought, hurled the empty glass at his head. It shattered on impact, leaving a trail of blood on his forehead. Kate screamed, threatening to call the police, but one look from me and she fell silent. “John, you brought another woman into my home without my permission,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “That’s breaking and entering. I’m the one who should be calling the police.” “And I don’t need her ‘generosity.’ Consider my last seven years a gift to the dogs.” Dazed, John stumbled toward the door, but not before firing one last shot. “Elara, take a good look at yourself. Do you really think you’re fit to be the lady of the Smith family?” “I’ll be waiting for the day you come crawling back to me!” The moment the door slammed shut, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, silent tears streaming down my face. John and I had known each other since we were kids. Seven years together. He knew everything I liked, celebrated every anniversary, and was always there when I needed him. I thought I had found the person I would spend my life with. We had dreamed about our future together countless times. But he knew how much I despised infidelity. And yet, for such a pathetic reason, he tried to force me into that very role. All those years… it was all a joke. He used to say he didn’t care about anything else, as long as he had me. Now, he was telling me to question if I was even worthy of being his wife. The thought gave me a surge of strength. I got to my feet and looked around the apartment. From the photo albums to the trinkets and stuffed animals, every single thing had been chosen by us together. He had called it our “little home,” excitedly asking for my opinion on every detail, buying everything I loved. “Ellie, no matter how mad you get at me in the future, you have to look at all this effort and give me one more chance, okay?” That’s what he had said, holding me, teasing me. But I had been serious. “That depends on what you do. If you do the one thing I hate most, I will never, ever forgive you.” He had sworn up and down, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. “That will never happen. If it does, I’ll go to Lover’s Leap where we had our first date and jump off to atone for my sins! Then you can burn my body and scatter the ashes!” The memories were a knife in my heart. I picked up my phone and made a call. “Yes, sell the apartment. As fast as you can.” I had everything ready. Plane tickets for my mother and me were booked. But my father’s assistant found out. He stationed bodyguards outside our house, watching us day and night. Even on the day of his wedding, he was determined to force us to attend. When we arrived at the reception, the guests stared. “It’s Mr. Torrence’s wedding day. How dare they show their faces here?” “Isn’t it obvious? They’re shameless. They must have insisted on coming.” “An actress… did she really think she could marry into the dynasty?” “And her daughter is just as bad. Tried to snag the Smith heir, but he was just playing with her.” “I heard the Smith boy is getting married today, too.” “Yes, to the Bishop girl. A perfect match. A girl like her is completely out of his league.” The whispers and judgmental stares followed us everywhere. I looked at my mother with concern, but she just squeezed my hand, her grip firm. “Don’t worry about me, Ellie.” Her voice was calm. “It took thirty years to see him for who he really is. It’s a high price to pay, but at least my eyes are open now.” “From now on, we live for ourselves.” The grand doors opened. Isabelle, radiant in a white gown, walked down the aisle. My father, dapper in a tailored suit, watched her approach, his face filled with a tenderness I had never seen. Their son, Julian, placed Isabelle’s hand in my father’s. “Dad, I’m entrusting Mom to you now.” “She suffered a lot to raise me all these years. I hope you’ll treat her well.” A look of pride crossed my father’s face. He clapped Julian on the shoulder. “Listen to you, lecturing your old man.” “Don’t just talk about me. You need to work hard, too.” “One day, the Torrence empire will be in your hands.” It was a picture of familial bliss, and the guests murmured in appreciation. Then, my father’s gaze fell on us. “And another thing,” he said, his voice carrying across the hall. “Your Aunt Liana has been with me for many years. You will show her the proper respect in the future.” “What is rightfully yours will be yours.” “But don’t get any foolish ideas. I know where to draw the line.” The warning was clear. The scornful, suspicious looks returned. I squeezed my mother’s hand back. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a video. On the screen, John was gazing into Kate’s eyes, making a solemn vow to her parents. “Mom, Dad,” he said earnestly. “You have my word. I will take good care of Kate. I will never let her suffer, not for a single moment.” I took a deep breath and stood up. “Mr. Torrence, you can spare us the sanctimonious act.” “If my mother were the kind of gold-digger you seem to think she is, she wouldn’t have wasted thirty years on you.” “I have no interest in the Torrence name, and neither does my mother.” “You can keep your so-called empire for your precious son.” My father’s face contorted with rage. He clearly hadn’t expected me to cause a scene. “Insolence!” he roared. “This is not the time or place for your theatrics!” “If you don’t want to be here, then take your mother and get out!” A group of bodyguards in black suits quickly surrounded us. They practically dragged us out and shoved us into a car, taking us back to the villa and locking us inside. As soon as the guards left, I calmly took out my phone and made a call, telling our man, Arthur, to pull his people away. Years ago, his wife and child were gravely ill. My mother and I paid their medical bills and saved their lives. To repay us, Arthur took a job as a security guard for the Torrences. I never thought we’d actually need his help. On the television in the living room, news coverage of both weddings was playing. Watching the two couples share passionate kisses, I saw that the old sadness was gone from my mother’s eyes. She looked at me with a serene smile, picking up her suitcase. “Ellie,” she said. “Let’s go.” I nodded firmly. I called the car we had waiting, and took one last look at the villa I had lived in for over twenty years. Then, I walked away and never looked back.

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1 For a decade, I’ve been GBC’s “News Queen,” yet my most frequent story is my husband’s latest affair. Tonight, paparazzi trapped him in his car with another. My phone rang nonstop—his mother demanding I protect the family name. Leaving the studio, I washed my face, forced a smile, and performed the usual damage control: pastries, calls, and checks. The paparazzi apologized to my face, but their whispers stabbed my back: “The great News Queen, still the woman everyone knows is cheated on.” He’s the man who once knelt publicly, declaring me his life’s love. He’s also the man whose mistresses now make me a citywide joke. After buying their silence, I texted him: “Give me 20% of the company stock, and you can have the Ashworth name back.” … Hank and I arrived home at almost the same time, his sports car pulling into the driveway moments after my town car. He saw me and his eyes narrowed into a lazy, charming smile. “What’s this? Angry, darling?” I didn’t bother to respond. I just pulled the divorce papers from my briefcase—papers I’d had drawn up months ago—and handed them to him. The smile evaporated from his face. He snatched the document, his knuckles white, and stormed out of the car. I followed him up the stone path. “Hank, when are you going to sign them?” He stopped dead, whirling around so fast I almost collided with him. His eyes were bloodshot with fury. “Claire, don’t you dare think you can scare me with a piece of paper. It won’t work.” He paced back and forth on the manicured lawn, his tailored suit seeming to constrict him. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, laced with that old, familiar manipulation. “Our son is seven years old. You can’t take him, you know that. Are you really willing to leave him?” Willing? Leo has been raised by Mrs. Ashworth, living in her wing of the mansion. He doesn’t call me “Mom.” He calls me “her” or “that woman.” He shows more affection to Hank’s flavor-of-the-week than he does to me, his own mother. He’s my flesh and blood. I could never understand why he hated me so much. Until I overheard him talking to his friends. “My dad married some nobody from the sticks. Why would I call her my mother? Calling her ‘her’ is already giving her too much credit.” The memory made a bitter laugh escape my lips. “He’s the designated Ashworth heir, Hank. Why wouldn’t I be willing to leave him in his rightful place?” My unyielding tone made his face darken into a thunderous mask. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, his voice a low growl. “Claire! You don’t want a husband, you don’t want a son—what the hell do you want?” I ripped my arm free and threw my phone at him. It bounced off his chest and clattered onto the stone. “What do I want?” My voice was sharp, brittle. “Hank! You could have slept with anyone in New York City, but you had to choose my biggest rival at the network!” “The tabloids call me a saint for my patience, my colleagues call me a doormat. You’ve dragged my face through the mud, and now you’ve set it on fire!” Hank’s anger flared, but his eyes caught the phone screen, which had lit up with a crystal-clear photo of him in bed with Isabelle Vance. The fight went out of him. He sighed, a long, weary sound, and reached for me. I shoved him back, hard. That was the last straw. The charming facade shattered. “That’s enough, Claire!” he roared, his arm sweeping out and knocking over a porcelain vase on the entryway table. I stumbled backward, right into the shards. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and a moment later, a slick of crimson began to seep through the white fabric of my slacks. Hank’s eyes widened in shock. He started to reach for me, then hesitated, pulling his hand back as if burned. “My mother was right,” he seethed, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ve spoiled you. You’ve forgotten that this family’s name is Ashworth, not yours!” “You keep pushing, and I’ll have you thrown out of GBC. Don’t think I can’t do it.” He spun on his heel and stormed up the grand staircase. I stared after him, a dizzying wave of nostalgia washing over me. Everyone used to say Hank Ashworth was the kindest, most gentle man in New York society. And he was. When he loved you. When I was a scholarship kid at NYU, I was an outsider. The other students bullied me, poured soda on my textbooks, shredded my clothes. He appeared like a knight in shining armor, replacing everything, taking me under his wing. I was just a girl from the Midwest, completely lost in the big city. He was endlessly patient, coaching me, helping me lose my accent, teaching me the unspoken rules of his world. When I interned at GBC, he’d sit in the coffee shop across the street every single day, just waiting for me. The Ashworth family matriarch refused to approve our marriage. So he stood up to her in front of the entire board, forfeiting his trust fund just to be with me. Then he knelt on the pavement outside the GBC studios and proposed in front of the world. But that fairy tale lasted only two years. Then his true nature surfaced, and the affairs began. I tried to fight it at first. I screamed, I cried. In response, Mrs. Ashworth simply took my son away. As she left my room, she paused at the door, a cold smile on her face, and told me the truth. “Hank said the biggest benefit of marrying you was your background in journalism. You know how to handle a crisis. If you don’t learn to be obedient, you will never see your son again.” I questioned it, denied it, screamed until I was hoarse. It wasn’t until Hank himself admitted it that the fight finally left me. The Ashworth empire needed a First Lady who was an expert in damage control. “But you said you loved me!” I cried, my eyes raw. He cupped my face with those gentle hands, but his words were brutal. “I do love you, Claire. But I also love Lisa, and Amanda, and that dancer from the club…” It was then I understood. In his eyes, I was no different from a high-class call girl. I just had a more respectable title. A hollow laugh bubbled up from my chest. I tried to use the wall to pull myself up, but my hand slipped, and I fell back into the pile of broken porcelain. The pain made me gasp. My seven-year-old son, my Leo, just stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with cold disdain. “Grandma’s right,” he sneered. “You really are a useless waste of space.” I thought I had run out of tears years ago. But as I looked down at the blood on my leg, they came faster than the pain. I was about to tell him we were getting a divorce, that I was leaving. But then he shoved past me without a second glance, throwing himself into the arms of the woman who had just walked in. “Isabelle! You came to see me!” he squealed with delight. I smelled the familiar scent of gardenias before I even saw her face. My rival, Isabelle Vance. She’d stolen my assistant, poached my sources, and tried to take my time slot. Now, she was brazenly walking into my home to steal my son. Isabelle put on a show of mock sympathy. “Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry. Hank insisted I come over to see Leo.” The easy familiarity between them told me this wasn’t her first visit. Leo, impatient with the pretense, tugged her toward the stairs. His childish voice was laced with a poison that went straight for my heart. “Don’t talk to her, Izzy. You might catch her germs.” Isabelle shot me a triumphant smirk over her shoulder. Then, with a flick of her thumb, I knew she had just sent a video of this humiliating scene to the GBC staff group chat. A moment later, my phone began to buzz incessantly. I didn’t have to look. I could already imagine their pitying, mocking words. My son. The baby who used to gurgle with laughter in my arms, who would wipe away my tears with his chubby little hands. Now he called me useless. Dirty. And he called another woman… Mommy. I had endured seven years in the Ashworth cage. My reward was Hank’s brazen betrayal and my own son’s visceral disgust. Just then, a text from my family doctor back home lit up my screen. I’m so sorry for your loss. My mother was gone. My bloody fingers smeared streaks across my face as I tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. A strange, guilty sense of release mingled with my grief. My mom was gone. It was time for me to go, too. Sitting in the shadows of my bedroom, I pulled up a number I hadn’t called in years. I typed a single line: “Save me a spot.” The message had just sent when Hank burst into the room. He stared at me, his expression unreadable. “Isabelle is here. As the lady of the house, aren’t you going to entertain our guest?” I didn’t even look at him, my face a numb mask. “Sign the papers, and I’ll roll out the red carpet for your little whore.” “Claire!” Hank’s eyes blazed, his teeth gritted. “You’re that desperate to leave?” My gaze met his without flinching. “Yes.” He loosened his tie, a cold, humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Don’t forget, I made you the News Queen. I can just as easily break you.” “Go ahead.” Those two simple words shattered his composure. He lunged forward, grabbing me, pulling me so close I could feel the heat of his rage. His dark eyes were like burning coals. For seven years, I had seen every version of Hank Ashworth: the shrewd negotiator, the charismatic interviewee, the tender lover. But I had never seen this—this raw, uncontrolled fury. I let out a small, contemptuous laugh and slowly closed my eyes. His breathing grew ragged. I braced myself for a blow, but instead, he let me go, shoving me away. “You’ll regret this, Claire,” he said, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. “You just wait.” The punishment was swift and brutal. The next day, when I walked into the network head’s office, he threw a cup of scalding coffee at me. It missed, splashing against the wall behind me. “Claire! You’re finished!” he screamed, his face purple with rage. “GBC is terminating your contract, effective immediately! Isabelle Vance is taking over your evening news slot!” I had been expecting it. I calmly placed my employee ID on his desk. As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. “You think you can just walk out of here?” Before I could ask what he meant, the glass doors to the newsroom shattered inward. A mob of people surged in, led by a screaming woman who launched herself at me, her nails raking across my face. “You bitch! Some famous anchor! You’re nothing but a high-class whore!” she shrieked. “You seduced my husband during an interview! Hold her down! I’m going to kill her!” Hands grabbed my hair, tore at my blouse. The cold air hit my exposed skin, and I started to tremble uncontrollably. “I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” I choked out, but my denials only fueled their rage. A fist connected with my mouth, and I tasted blood. It dripped from the corner of my lip onto the pristine floor. Through the chaos, I could see my former colleagues crowded outside the office, watching the spectacle like it was a zoo exhibit. And there was Isabelle, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, a smug, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She sauntered over and knelt down, her face inches from mine. “My, my. Such a tough girl. Want to bet I can make you confess in five seconds?” I spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto her perfectly made-up face. Her smile twisted into a snarl. She slapped me, hard, then pulled out her phone and dialed a number. A moment later, Hank’s voice echoed from the speaker, a thunderclap in my ringing ears. “Do you want your mother to have a proper burial?” My blood ran cold. “Then do what Isabelle says. Confess. Give her the position.” “Hank, do you know what she’s accusing me of—” My voice broke. “I don’t care,” he cut me off, his tone utterly indifferent. “Just do whatever Isabelle wants! All that matters is that she’s happy!” The world went silent. The phone slipped from Isabelle’s grasp. She grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my skin. “Well?” she whispered, her voice dripping with triumph. “Are you going to confess?” I thought of my mother’s body, lying in a morgue thousands of miles away, her final peace held hostage. I swallowed the blood pooling in my mouth and gave a ragged, broken laugh. “I confess… I confess.” “Not good enough! I want you to slap yourself while you say it!” I looked into Isabelle’s venomous eyes. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else as I raised it and began to strike my own face, over and over. “I’m cheap… I’m a slut… I seduced him…” The rest is a blur. Flashing lights, camera lenses shoved in my face, a cacophony of clicks and shouts. Hank didn’t just want to destroy my career; he wanted to obliterate my name, to erase me from the industry entirely. This was the same man who once stayed up all night with me, brewing coffee and cheering me on when I was struggling with a script. He had witnessed every step of my rise over the past seven years. And now, he was personally orchestrating my fall. I lay in bed, ignoring the hurricane of filth and vitriol online, and stared at the ceiling, a strange, empty smile on my face. The door creaked open. Leo stood there, holding a steaming pot. For the first time in years, he looked at me and said the word. “Mom.” A flicker of warmth stirred in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak. And then he lifted the pot and threw its contents at me. The searing heat of the scalding stew was an inferno against my skin, raising blisters in its wake. Leo clapped his hands, his eyes wide with glee. “Die! A bitch like you deserves to die!” I froze, staring at him in numb shock. My own mother had just been buried, and my own son wanted me dead. Hank walked in at that moment. He scolded Leo, telling him he shouldn’t have done that. Then, just like he used to, he opened the first-aid kit and began to expertly treat my burns. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even look at him. He sighed, his beautiful, expressive eyes fixed on me. “Isabelle is pregnant, Claire. She can’t be under any stress. Let her have this. Once the baby is born, I promise I’ll get you your anchor position back.” He made his promise with such sincerity, as if he had nothing to do with the character assassination being broadcast on every channel. Whether he knew the full extent of it or not didn’t matter anymore. What I had lost, I would take back myself. For the next few days, I was a prisoner in my own home. Mrs. Ashworth would drift by to call me a useless burden and ask when I was finally going to get out of her house. I slammed the divorce papers down on the table in front of her. “The 20% stock transfer. Get your son to sign it, and I’m gone.” Before the matriarch could reply, Isabelle, who had just swept in, spoke up. “I’ll do it.” As the heiress to the Vance fortune, I knew she had the means to make it happen. The next day, two signed documents were placed in my hands: the divorce decree and the stock certificate. I had just forwarded them to my lawyer when Hank stormed in. He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed a fistful of my hair and started dragging me out of the room. “When did you become so vicious? I told you that baby is mine! How could you not spare it?” In the living room, Isabelle was collapsed on the sofa, covered in what looked like blood, clutching her stomach and wailing. When she saw me, her cries intensified. She slid to the floor and began banging her head on the marble, begging. “Claire, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have taken your job! I’ll never do it again! Please, don’t hurt my baby…” “I’m begging you! Do whatever you want to me!” Hank looked utterly devastated. He rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms. He turned to his bodyguards, his voice cold as ice. “The knife she used on Isabelle… I want her to feel the same pain.” The guards hesitated. “What are you waiting for? Do it!” Hank roared, then quickly turned his head away, as if he couldn’t bear to watch. They tied me to the bed like a rag doll. From across the room, wrapped in Hank’s protective embrace, Isabelle shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. The bodyguard holding the knife was trembling, unable to bring himself to do it. A wild, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. With a sudden burst of strength, I lunged, snatching the knife from his hand. I locked eyes with Hank, saw the dawning horror on his face, and plunged it deep into my own stomach. Warm liquid gushed out, spattering my face. Through the red haze, my voice was a blade. “Hank, just as you wanted. You forced me to kill your son with my own hands!”

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I was working late at the office when a notification popped up on my phone: “Unusual vehicle motion detected.” A cold dread washed over me. I opened my car’s security app and tapped into the live interior camera feed. And there they were. My boyfriend, David, and my best friend, Zoe, having sex in the backseat of my car. White-hot rage flooded my system. I bolted from the office, sped home, and found my car parked in its usual spot. I yanked the back door open, a scream of accusation on my lips. But before I could speak, David looked up at me, his eyes wide and completely blank. “Who are you?” he asked. 1 I froze, the fury in my chest burning even hotter. So that was his game. The bastard gets caught red-handed and pretends not to know me, thinking he can just weasel his way out of it? I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him, stark naked, out onto the pavement. Inside the car, Zoe shrieked, clutching the car blanket to her chest. “David, you son of a bitch!” I slapped him so hard he stumbled and fell. He scrambled backward, his eyes filled with genuine terror. “Lady, I know what we were doing wasn’t exactly classy, but that’s no reason to get violent.” “Still playing dumb? Who are you calling ‘lady’?” My patience snapped. I stared him down, but his expression remained one of pure, bewildered confusion. Even though it was late, the complex was full of people walking their dogs or enjoying the evening air. A small crowd was already starting to form. Panic flashed across David’s face. He scrambled to his feet, shoving my hand away. “You’re crazy! I don’t know you! Get away from me, or I’m calling the cops!” Furious, I turned my attention back to the car, leaning in to glare at my so-called best friend. “Zoe, why would you do this? Why would you seduce my boyfriend?” “Who are you?” she screamed, her voice shrill with fear. “I don’t know you! Help! Somebody help me!” “Get away from my wife!” David’s roar was thunderous. He grabbed me, shoved me backward, and I fell hard onto the asphalt. My world tilted. The whispers of the onlookers reached my ears. “What’s going on? Is she catching him cheating?” “That guy’s a real piece of work. Hitting his own girlfriend for his mistress.” “Hey, you’ve got it wrong. That couple lives downstairs from me. They’ve been married for ages. I’ve never seen this woman before.” “What? Seriously? So… is she actually just crazy?” My head throbbed. The world spun around me, a chaotic blur of confused faces and accusatory whispers. Before I could process any of it, David and Zoe scrambled into the front seats and sped away. How could this be happening? The three of us—me, David, and Zoe—we grew up together. Twenty years of friendship, of shared history. And tonight, they not only betray me but act like I’m a complete stranger. I stumbled back to my apartment building in a daze, but when I tried my key, it wouldn’t turn in the lock. No matter how many times I tried, the door wouldn’t open. I slammed my fist against the wood in frustration and trudged back to the office. “Leah? Where’d you go?” My coworker, Sarah, asked, slurping a mouthful of instant noodles. I collapsed into my chair, my voice catching in my throat. “My boyfriend is cheating on me.” Sarah paused, a noodle dangling from her lips. She gave me a strange look. “Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend?” 2 Her words were like a slap in the face. I shot to my feet. David used to bring me lunch every single day. There was no way Sarah didn’t know him. Why was she playing dumb, too? I slammed my hand on the desk. “Why are you saying that? Are you in on it with those two?” Sarah put down her noodle cup, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Leah, you really don’t have a boyfriend.” “Yes, I do! We grew up together! We live together in Eastwood Estates!” Her look turned from concern to pity, with a hint of ridicule. “Leah, did you eat some bad takeout or something? A condo in Eastwood Estates costs millions. How could we, on our salaries, ever afford a place like that?” I stared at her, my blood running cold. I remembered being the sales manager, with a six-figure salary. A genuine fear, cold and sharp, began to pierce through my anger. My life, the one I remembered so clearly, didn’t seem to exist. Where did it all go wrong? Over the next few days, I reached out to other friends. Every single one of them gave me the same story: they had never heard of David or Zoe. They scoffed at the idea that the CEO of a major tech firm like David would ever be interested in a “broke girl” like me. I retreated to my new reality—a cheap, cramped rental I apparently lived in—and sank onto the lumpy sofa, my mind reeling. Was I going crazy? Was this some kind of delusion? No. It couldn’t be. They were all lying to me. This was a conspiracy. I clenched my fists. I would find out the truth myself. 3 I spent the next few days tailing David, and with every passing hour, my heart grew colder. He and Zoe were, by all accounts, a couple. Everyone in their circle treated them as such. It was as if I had been completely erased from their history. David was the CEO of the city’s largest publicly traded company. Zoe had been parachuted into my company as the new sales manager—the very position that, in my memory, was mine. Somehow, Zoe hadn’t just stolen my boyfriend. She had stolen my entire life. I refused to accept it. There had to be a rational explanation, a plot behind all this. I decided my only option was to break into the condo at Eastwood Estates—the home that was supposed to be mine. If there was any evidence of my old life, it would be there. Eastwood Estates was a high-end, exclusive community. Normally, a stranger wouldn’t be able to get past the front gate. But on the night I caught them, the security guard hadn’t stopped me. That meant he must have recognized me. This time, however, when I approached the gate, he blocked my path. “Residents only,” he said, his face a stern mask. “I am a resident. I live in building two, apartment 305.” The guard hesitated for a fraction of a second. “That’s Mr. Sterling’s residence. Who are you to him?” I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “You really don’t recognize me?” His eyes flickered away for a second before he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, please maintain a respectful distance. I don’t know you. If you have no further business here, I have to ask you to leave.” I sighed and turned away, feigning defeat. But I knew a secret. There was a service entrance on the far side of the property, an unmonitored back way in, designed for discretion. I slipped through it and made my way to what I still considered my home. I didn’t have a key, but I’d taken a lock-picking course for fun years ago. After a few tense minutes of work, the lock clicked open. As I pushed the door, I felt a sudden prickling sensation on the back of my neck, as if someone was watching me. I spun around, but the hallway was empty. I slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me. The apartment was mostly as I remembered it. The furniture, the layout—it was all familiar. Where to start? I walked into the bedroom. The blue comforter was the same. My vanity table was still in the corner. The only difference was that all the photos of David and me had been replaced with photos of him and Zoe. I searched frantically, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Then, in the back of the closet, I found it: a beautifully bound journal. I didn’t remember David ever keeping a diary. This had to be it. This had to hold the answers to what had happened. My heart hammered in my chest. I was about to open it when I heard the sound of a key in the front door lock. I spun around in terror. A second later, the door swung open. 4 A man and a woman stumbled in, locked in a passionate embrace, their moans and whispers filling the apartment. It was David and Zoe. “Hey, what’s the rush? What if someone saw us?” Zoe giggled. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve missed you like crazy.” They kicked off their shoes and tumbled onto the bed, their clothes falling in a heap on the floor, just inches from my face. I flattened myself under the bed, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. The irony was suffocating. I was the rightful partner, yet here I was, hiding under the bed like a common mistress. The bed frame began to creak rhythmically. Between gasps, they started talking. “So, tell me again,” Zoe said. “Who was that crazy woman the other night? Why did she say she was your girlfriend?” “Oh, her? Just some lunatic. I have no idea how the security guard let her in.” “You’re sure you’re not sleeping with her?” “Silly girl,” David murmured. “My heart belongs only to you. Besides, you saw her. She was so plain. Definitely not my type.” “Hmph. That’s more like it.” I ground my teeth in fury. But a horrifying realization dawned on me. This wasn’t an act. They weren’t trying to deceive me anymore. I wasn’t here. They truly didn’t know who I was. What the hell was going on? How could my entire life be rewritten overnight? Were my memories all fake? As I wrestled with these impossible questions, the sounds from the bed grew more intense. Suddenly, Zoe let out a sharp cry. It wasn’t a sound of pleasure. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated pain. Before I could process what was happening, her scream turned into a blood-curdling shriek. The bed began to shake violently. A torrent of warm, sticky liquid streamed down the side of the mattress, pooling on the floor in front of me. The coppery stench of blood filled my nostrils. Then, something round and heavy rolled off the edge of the bed and landed with a wet thud right in front of me. It was Zoe’s severed head. Her terrified eyes were wide open, staring directly into mine.

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Three years after I was released from prison, I ran into my adoptive brother, Danny, at the hospital. I was there for my psychiatry appointment. He was carrying a bag from the high-end cosmetic clinic, filled with the signature facial masks his new sister, Isabelle, loved. When he caught sight of me, thin and worn, a frown creased his brow. “Why didn’t you say anything about being released early?” My expression was neutral. “You changed your number. I couldn’t reach you.” He cleared his throat, a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes. “Well, since you’re out, you should come home.” I took a step back. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Shock flashed in his eyes. “Carol, are you still angry with me?” I just shook my head, saying nothing. I had found my real brother. You can’t love or hate someone who has become irrelevant. … I bent down to pick up the medical file he’d knocked from my hand, but he was faster. The words “Autism Spectrum Disorder” printed neatly on the cover seemed to sting him. His brow furrowed. “Carol, it’s been years. Isabelle has forgiven you. So have I.” “You shouldn’t let these negative emotions consume you.” I offered a faint smile. “I won’t.” After a polite and distant goodbye, I started to walk away, my gait uneven. Behind me, Danny’s eyes turned red. “Carol, your leg… is it injured?” His voice was strained. “How can you dance like that?” I paused for a second, my gaze dropping to the prosthetic beneath my slacks. I managed a small smile. It had been a long time since its existence had caused me any pain. Danny rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. His voice was a low, urgent whisper. “You have a prison record, a bad leg… how are you supposed to survive on your own?” “Come home with me. I’m your brother, and Isabelle’s. Even if you made mistakes, I’ll still take care of you both, just the same.” Before I could refuse, Isabelle stepped out of the clinic, a radiant smile on her face. The smile froze when she saw me, but it returned a second later, brighter than before. “Sister! You’re out of prison?” Her voice was deliberately loud, drawing the eyes of everyone in the hallway. Danny’s frown deepened. “Isabelle, keep your voice down. Carol is still my—” He trailed off as Isabelle’s expression crumpled into her usual look of wounded innocence. I cut him off. “It’s fine.” “No need to hide it. She’s telling the truth.” Isabelle reached for my hand, but I shifted away. Her smile never faltered. “It’s my birthday today. My brother brought me for a six-figure rejuvenation treatment. So expensive, isn’t it?” “He also baked me a cake himself, and since he knows I love a celebration, he ordered fireworks for the whole city.” She paused, then covered her mouth, her brow furrowed in mock concern. “Oh, sister, I’m so sorry.” “What I mean is, I wanted to invite you to my birthday party. It’s just one more plate at the table. My brother and I wouldn’t mind.” Danny shot her a warning glance before turning to me, his tone placating. “Carol, I’ll do all of this for your birthday, too. Just… come tonight, say hello to everyone.” I looked at them both, my face a placid mask. “No, thank you. I have plans. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” The silence stretched for a moment. Danny’s voice was laced with bitterness. “All your old friends cut ties with you after what happened. Who could you possibly have plans with?” “Carol, I know you blame me, but no matter what, we are the closest people to each other in this world.” I gave a noncommittal smile. Once, that was true. I was born with a severe form of autism. Everyone called me a monster. My mother, unable to bear the whispers and stares, took my older brother and ran. When my father was at work, he left me with the old woman downstairs. The neighborhood kids would throw rocks at me, trying to see if they could make the silent monster speak. Danny was always the one who chased them away, pressing a lollipop into my hand afterward. Then he saw his mother having an affair with his uncle. At an age where secrets are impossible to keep, he told his father. That night, his father murdered them both before leaping from the roof of their apartment building. The day social services came for him, I clung to his hand and refused to let go. So he stayed. That day, my father gained a new son, and I gained a new brother. To escape the whispers that Danny had caused his parents’ deaths, my father moved us to a small coastal town. During a typhoon, my father was swept out to sea while saving Danny from the churning waves. That night, Danny held me as I huddled in a corner and swore an oath. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make up for all the love you’ve lost.” He delivered milk at dawn, hauled bricks on construction sites during the day, and delivered takeout at night, all to pay for my expensive therapy. Seeing his bruised shoulders and cracked hands, I began to understand. I found something I loved: dance. The doctors said it would help me open up, so Danny worked himself to the bone to send me to the best dance academy. One afternoon, the studio caught fire. By the time Danny arrived, the flames were painting the sky red. Someone shouted that the quiet, non-verbal girl was still inside. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the inferno. “I have to save my sister!” The fire singed his hair, but he kept pushing forward. I saw him through the crowd, choking on the thick black smoke, and for the first time in my life, I spoke. “Brother, I’m okay.” In that moment, Danny, who never cried, held me and wept with joy. “Carol, you spoke! You finally spoke!” After that, everything changed. I went to school, I danced, and Danny, free from worry, built an empire. In just a few years, he became one of the city’s most successful entrepreneurs. Everyone knew he had a sister he treasured more than life itself. Cocooned in his absolute devotion, my autism receded. I became a happy, thriving dancer. I thought we would live like that forever. Then he brought Isabelle home. She was a dance student from a prestigious university, working as a summer intern at his company. She’d been disowned by her mother for exposing an affair between her mother and a senior partner. Her father blamed her for driving his wife away and left her to fend for herself. Danny said her lonely, desperate state reminded him of himself as a boy, so he decided to take her in. I knew how much his parents’ death still haunted him, so I agreed. One day, Isabelle looked at the locket I always wore. “Your locket is so beautiful, sister.” Before I could respond, Danny unclasped it from my neck and handed it to her. “Think of it as a welcome gift.” I snatched it back instinctively. Danny’s face fell with disappointment as he met Isabelle’s tear-filled eyes. “I’ve bought you so much jewelry, Carol. It’s just a locket. Is this who I’ve spoiled you into becoming?” Tears of betrayal streamed down my face. “I have a lot of jewelry, but this… this is the only thing my father ever gave me.” I ran out of the house in a rage, forgetting my phone. I sat on a bench outside, just as I had countless times before, and began counting down from twenty, waiting for him to come and apologize. I counted through the entire night, but he never came. When I finally returned home, he was feeding Isabelle breakfast. At that moment, something inside me began to harden. That evening, Danny apologized, promising he would never favor Isabelle again. I let it go and threw myself into rehearsals for the dance company’s national tour. A month later, Danny decided to throw a lavish party for Isabelle, to celebrate her “new life.” He insisted that as her older sister, I had to be there. Not wanting to ruin the mood, I took time off from rehearsals and bought Isabelle a pink diamond as a gift. But at the party, she fell to her knees before me. “Sister, I don’t want the diamond. My lifelong dream has been to be a principal dancer. Please, just give me your role in this tour. Please?” It was a role I had worked over a decade for. I refused without a second thought. The party ended on a sour note. On the first day of the tour, someone hid nails in my dance shoes. My feet were shredded. I fell from a ten-foot platform. While I was in the emergency room, Isabelle took my place as the principal dancer, dazzling the audience. Danny was there, recording her entire performance. The hard shell around my heart grew thicker, heavier. I couldn’t breathe. I trashed my entire hospital room, demanding that Danny send Isabelle away. His expression was cold. “You were careless. It has nothing to do with Isabelle.” “She coveted the role!” I screamed, hysterical. “She put the nails in my shoes!” He looked at me with the same expression I had seen so many times in my childhood, when others called me a monster. “Do you have to be this way?” “Have you forgotten? It was this monstrous side of you that drove your mother away.” His words were more devastating than a thousand stones. The shell around my heart tightened, suffocating me. After I was discharged, I frantically searched for proof, obsessed with making him see that he was wrong, that Isabelle had hurt me. But all the security footage had been tampered with. I offered a huge reward for information. Finally, another dancer came forward with a video on her phone, showing Isabelle planting the nails. I put the video online. It was my last stand, my final attempt to make him see the truth. But Isabelle was more ruthless. She slit her wrists, waiting until the floor was slick with blood before allowing Danny to “discover” her. Outside the operating room, for the first time in his life, Danny hit me. “Isabelle is just insecure! She never meant to hurt you,” he seethed. “Because of you, she has nightmares. She spends every day praying for forgiveness. Isn’t that enough?” His words cut through my shock. “So you knew? You knew she put the nails in my shoes? The security footage… you had it erased?” His eyes flickered. He didn’t speak, but I had my answer. “She didn’t mean for it to be serious,” he said softly, trying to placate me. “Otherwise, your legs would have been permanently damaged.” “It’s just a principal role. If you post a clarification for Isabelle right now, I’ll buy you your own dance company. You can be the principal every day.” I slapped him, my hand stinging. “So that’s it, Danny? You’re trying to insult me with your money?” His face was a blank mask. “What else is there?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “If you think I will let you destroy Isabelle,” he continued, his voice cold, “you are mistaken.” He picked up one of the nails from the evidence bag and drove it into his own foot. “I’m paying for your pain with my own. Is that enough for you?” Drops of crimson splattered on the white floor. Isabelle ran out, crying, pressing her hands to his wound. “Brother, I’m sorry. I was just jealous of her,” she sobbed. “Jealous of your love, of her career. I couldn’t control myself.” He comforted her gently. “It’s okay. I know you’re a good, kind girl at heart. I’ve shed her blood for her. She has no right to blame you anymore.” I lost control. “Danny! This isn’t over between us!” He looked at me with disgust. “Carol, if Dad could see how vicious you’ve become…” “You have no right to talk about my father!” I shrieked. “You’re the one who’s blind! I will prove it to you!” I hired a private investigator. It didn’t take long to discover that Isabelle was no innocent flower. I bought a compromising video of her and her boyfriend. In it, she was tied up, crying for help as he had his way with her—a scene that looked exactly like an assault. But her boyfriend explained it was just a game they played, a BDSM-style roleplay that she loved. I threw the USB drive at Danny. “Isabelle is not who you think she is! She’s been making videos like this since she was eighteen! She doesn’t deserve to be part of our family!” At the same time, the clip of Isabelle “being assaulted” was leaked online. She collapsed into Danny’s arms, weeping. “Sister hates me so much… she’s exposed my most painful trauma to the world. I can’t live with this shame. The life I owe you, brother… I’ll repay it in the next one.” She raised a dagger to her heart. Danny caught the blade with his bare hand, blood dripping from his palm. His gaze pierced through me, his voice like ice. “Can’t you see she was forced? Do you have any idea how important a girl’s reputation is?” “The video online… it wasn’t me who—” I tried to explain. He cut me off as if he hadn’t heard. “It seems you don’t. Perhaps it’s time you learned firsthand.” He hired the best lawyers in the country. The trial was broadcast live. He had me convicted for slander and invasion of privacy and sent to prison. I became a pariah. When I tried to appeal, he crushed my hope. “You look down on my money? I want you to understand that everything you have, I gave to you. As long as I’m here, you won’t find a single lawyer in this city to help you.” “I hope five years in prison will teach you respect, compassion, and weakness.” The shell around my heart sealed shut, trapping me in an endless darkness. My last memory was of him walking away with Isabelle, never once looking back. The man before me blurred, merging with the face from my memories. I felt no pain, no resentment. Nothing at all. My psychiatrist was right. I had truly moved on. I smiled calmly. “The closest person in your life can be your sister, Mr. Crawford, or your future wife. But it will never be me.” The bitterness in Danny’s voice deepened. “Carol, do you have to speak like this? I know my punishment was harsh, but I just didn’t want you to become spoiled and arrogant.” “Listen to me. Come home. I’ll take care of you. The world is a dangerous place. You’ve been sheltered your whole life. Only at home can I give you the best protection, the best medical care, the best of everything…” “Carol!” A voice from down the hall cut him off. I turned and saw my brother, Adrian, jogging toward me, a mask covering his face.

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The company-wide raise added a cool two grand to my monthly paycheck. To celebrate, I treated myself to a Mango Paradise smoothie at lunch. My coworker, Leo, sauntered over. “Well, look at you, Sophie. Living the high life, huh?” He leaned in, squinting at the price sticker on the cup, and his voice jumped an octave. “Nine bucks for a smoothie? Man, it must be nice being single. You guys can just throw money around. Not like us poor saps with families to feed. We have to think twice before buying bottled water.” I put down my drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He threw his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “Whoa, it’s just a joke! I’m just riffing with you. Can’t you take a little banter? No sense of humor?” A hot flash of anger rose in me, but just then, his phone rang. He didn’t even look at the caller ID, just hit the speakerphone button. His wife’s voice, tinny and whining, filled the air. “…this month’s budget is a disaster.” “No money? Just ask Sophie for a loan,” Leo said into the phone. “She’s single, practically rolling in money she doesn’t know what to do with. Besides—” Heads were starting to turn in our direction. He shot me a smug wink and drawled, “Just doing a bit with the wife for you, Sophie. Don’t take it to heart, okay?” A knot of anger tightened in my chest, hot and suffocating. 1 The anger was a stone in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it, and I couldn’t spit it out. Leo, still on his live call, had the audacity to add, “See, honey? Sophie’s all flustered. I’m just riffing, she gets it.” His wife mumbled something else before he hung up, chuckling. I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on him. “Leo, I want an apology.” He wiped the grin off his face and replaced it with a look of exaggerated innocence. “An apology? For what, Sophie? It was just a little office banter, you know? Just riffing to liven things up.” He spoke loudly, making sure the entire open-plan office could hear. “If you can’t even handle a simple joke, how are you ever going to connect with the younger generation?” he said, shaking his head as if he pitied me. A few cubicles over, I heard a stifled snicker. My fingernails dug into my palms. “I didn’t find it funny,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. My mistake. You’re the bigger person, I get it.” With that, he swaggered back to his desk, leaving me stewing in a cloud of silent fury. It felt like punching a pillow—all effort, no impact. At two o’clock, our team lead called a quick huddle. We had a notoriously difficult client, one whose project plan had already been rejected six times. Nobody wanted to touch that hot potato. As our lead agonized over who to assign it to, Leo’s hand shot up. “Give it to Sophie!” he boomed. “She’s a powerhouse, and with that nice raise she just got, she should be taking on more responsibility.” He turned to me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “The rest of us have to pick up kids and keep the home fires burning. We can’t guarantee we won’t have to clock out right at five. But Sophie? She’s single, her time is her own. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to shine.” I immediately pushed back. “Mark, I’m already juggling three projects. First drafts for all of them are due next Wednesday. My schedule is packed. And this client’s demands are… unique. I’m worried I won’t—” Leo cut me off. “High demands just prove how skilled you are! The most capable person should handle the toughest jobs. Don’t be so modest, Sophie. Everyone knows you’ve got the most potential in this department.” Sarah, sitting next to me, chimed in. “He’s right, Sophie. It’s good for young people to challenge themselves. For those of us with kids and aging parents, our hands are tied.” Another colleague, Dave, nodded in agreement. “Leo has a point.” Our lead, Mark, pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at them, then at me. “Sophie, you are very capable. This client is a headache, but it could also be a major win. How about it… can you take one for the team?” I looked at Mark’s pleading face, then at Leo’s triumphant smirk, and swallowed the rest of my protests. “Fine,” I said. Leo’s smile was painfully sincere. “That’s the spirit! We’ll all be cheering for you.” My stomach churned. Just before quitting time, the office admin came around collecting money for the last team-building event. It was eighty bucks a head. Leo followed her over, rapping his knuckles on my desk. “Sophie,” he said, his voice oozing with forced familiarity. “You just got that big raise, and you’ve got no dependents. Why don’t you cover an extra two hundred? Call it a treat for the team. Let everyone share in your good fortune.” I looked up at him, my expression flat. “We’re splitting it evenly. I’ll transfer my share.” The smile on his face flickered. “Tch. No fun at all. It was just a suggestion, you know? A joke. Don’t be so literal.” As he transferred his eighty dollars to the admin, he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Makes all that money and she’s still so stingy. No class.” The admin shot me an awkward glance before scurrying away to the next desk. I sat there, feeling a hot flush creep up my back. It was pure rage. The second the clock hit five, I was out of my chair and bolting for the door. One more second in that room and I might have actually exploded. I was heading for the subway when I spotted Leo in the designated smoking area near the main entrance. He was with a guy from another department, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His back was to me; he hadn’t seen me leave. I heard his voice, laced with laughter and dripping with condescending pride. “…don’t worry about it. That Sophie in our office? She’s a naive little thing with deep pockets and a thin skin. Next time you have a nightmare project, just push it our way. I’ll feed her a few compliments, and I guarantee she’ll snap it right up.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring. “People like her? They’re the easiest mark in the world.” 2 A cold night breeze swept over me, and I shivered. I slipped away before he could spot me, his words echoing in my head all the way to the subway station. For the next few days, I did my best to avoid Leo. He dropped the difficult client’s file on my desk with a cheerful “The best person for the job!” and washed his hands of it completely. I spent an entire week buried in that project, working late every single night. Finally, I hammered out a proposal that I thought might actually work. On the day of the presentation, the client loved it. They approved it on the spot. A wave of relief washed over me. At least the miserable week had paid off. But less than ten minutes after the confirmation email went out, Leo tagged me in the department group chat. Leo: “Congrats, Sophie! Got it approved in one go, you’re a rock star! To be honest, I threw in a lot of suggestions for that proposal myself. Looks like the sparks from our collaboration really paid off!” I stared at the screen, my blood beginning to boil. He hadn’t offered a single concrete suggestion beyond dumping the mess on my lap. I didn’t argue in the group chat. Instead, I scrolled back through my direct messages with him, found our conversation about the project, and took a screenshot. It clearly showed me asking for background information, and him replying with a series of “Not sure” and “You figure it out.” I dropped the screenshot into the group chat without a word. The chat went dead silent. A few minutes later, a private message from Leo popped up. Leo: “Sophie, why are you being so serious? I was just riffing, trying to make it look like we have good teamwork. Dropping screenshots like that makes us look divided to the managers.” I typed back: “It is what it is.” He sent a single eye-roll emoji. “So lame.” After that incident, I started working closely with Josh from the tech department on a new project. We were constantly huddled at my desk or booking conference rooms to hash out the details. It only took a couple of days for things to feel… off. Josh started avoiding my gaze. Whenever I tried to talk work with him, he’d give me clipped answers and find an excuse to bolt. Then one day in the breakroom, I overheard Leo talking to another colleague. “…see that?” he was snickering. “Sophie won’t leave poor Josh alone. Someone’s getting desperate to get married.” It all clicked into place. That afternoon, I saw Leo holding court with a few others across the office, his eyes flicking towards me as he spoke. I walked straight over and stood in front of him. “Leo, why are you telling people I have a thing for Josh? What gives you the right to spread rumors like that?” My voice was loud enough to carry, and the chatter around us died down. Leo looked startled for a second, then plastered on a wounded expression. “Sophie, what are you talking about? I was just trying to help you out! You’re single, so I thought I’d riff a little, you know, create some buzz!” He spread his hands wide, appealing to the onlookers. “Am I wrong here, people? I was just playing matchmaker! Maybe something good could have come out of it. Why can’t you appreciate a good deed?” Someone nearby let out a low chuckle. I stared at his shameless face. “Leo, you’ve gone too far!” He took a theatrical step back, feigning fear. “Whoa, look at her go! Firing up again!” he shouted to the remaining coworkers. “It’s just friendly concern! A joke! I’m just riffing! Seriously, you need to work on that temper. Who’s going to set you up on dates if you fly off the handle like this?” The others quickly buried their heads in their work, pretending to be busy. I was shaking with rage. I grabbed my bag and stormed out. I was almost at the elevator when I remembered a document I needed for the morning. I turned back to grab it from the printer. The machine was still humming, spitting out the last few pages of a job. I walked over and saw it wasn’t a work document at all. It was a thick stack of fifth-grade math worksheets. On the top page, written in neat handwriting, was the name of Leo’s son. I glanced around. No one was watching. I picked up the stack of paper, still warm from the machine. I flipped through it. The paper was company stock. The ink was from the company’s toner cartridge. This was a hefty stack. The cost of the toner alone wouldn’t be cheap. I placed the worksheets back in the tray. An idea began to form in my mind. 3 The next morning, I made a point of getting to the office early. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Leo strolled into our section, a USB drive in his hand, making a beeline for that specific printer. He plugged it in and started clicking away. The printer whirred to life. I walked over and stood right beside him. “Morning, Leo,” I said sweetly. “Printing some personal files?” He jumped, spinning around. A flash of panic crossed his face when he saw me, but it was quickly replaced by his usual brand of arrogant nonchalance. “Oh, hey, Sophie,” he said, patting the printer. “This thing was just sitting here gathering dust. Figured I’d print out some homework for my kid. Help you guys use up the toner before it expires, you know?” I watched as another worksheet, covered in dense, black ink, slid into the output tray. “Company policy says the printers are for business use only,” I stated calmly. “Policies are made to be broken, right?” he chuckled. “It’s a small thing. Don’t be so rigid.” I didn’t waste any more words on him. I stepped over to the connected computer, opened the printer settings, and, right in front of him, set a password for all future print jobs. “What are you doing?” he sputtered. “Preventing excessive waste of company resources,” I said, then walked back to my desk. Leo stood there for a few seconds, his face darkening. Then, he suddenly raised his voice, shouting to the entire office. “Hey, everyone, come and see this! Can you believe it? Sophie just password-protected the public printer! I guess none of us get to use it anymore! So much for being a team player. How selfish can you get?” A few colleagues looked over, drawn by the commotion. Sarah, the one who always played peacemaker, spoke up. “Sophie, we’re all colleagues here. It’s just a printer. There’s no need for that, is there?” Dave chimed in, “Yeah, a password is just going to make things inconvenient for everyone.” Seeing he had allies, Leo pressed his advantage. “Exactly! And it’s not like I was printing my novel. It’s for my son’s education! I’m investing in the next generation! What’s so wrong with that?” I couldn’t stand it, but I knew explaining would be pointless. I said nothing. At the end of the month, a supervisor position opened up in our department. Myself, Leo, and one other colleague all met the basic qualifications. I threw myself into preparing my presentation for the promotion review, determined to let my work speak for itself. One afternoon, I went to our manager’s office to give him a progress report. As I approached the door, I heard Leo’s voice from inside. “…and listen, Mark, Sophie’s skills are top-notch, no question. But sometimes… she just doesn’t fit in. She takes jokes too seriously, gets defensive. If she were in a management role, leading a team… I just worry her communication style might be a little… difficult.” I heard Mark murmur something like, “I’ll take that into consideration…” I stood frozen outside the door, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the office felt strange. I asked Chloe, a newer colleague I was friendly with, what was going on. She reluctantly told me that Leo was spreading a rumor that I was so desperate for the promotion, I’d been secretly bad-mouthing the other candidates to management. I tried to explain myself to Mark, but he just gave me a placid smile. “Sophie, focus on your work. Don’t let office chatter distract you. The company values overall performance.” A crushing sense of helplessness washed over me. That night, I worked late again. Needing a break, I headed for the stairwell to get some air. I had just pushed open the heavy fire door when I heard Leo’s voice floating up from the landing below. He was on the phone, his tone thick with smug satisfaction. “…don’t worry, she’s not a threat. I’ve seen her type before. All pride and a paper-thin ego. I’ll just turn up the heat, spread the word a little more, and she’ll pack her own bags and run…” 4 I gently closed the door, shutting out the sound of Leo’s voice. For a long time, I just sat there in the vast, empty office. On Friday, the department went out for dinner. The mood was festive, with plenty of food and drink. Leo was in his element, bouncing from table to table, making toasts and cracking jokes that had the managers roaring with laughter. I had no appetite. I picked at my food, wishing the night would just end. After a few rounds of drinks, he staggered to his feet, tapping his glass for attention. “Everyone! A toast! Let’s raise our glasses to our dear Sophie!” All eyes turned to me. “Why Sophie?” he asked, pausing for dramatic effect. “Because she’s the one who handles all the impossible tasks in our department! And why is that? Because we’re all tied down with families, while she has no one and nothing to worry about! She dedicates all her time—and her raise—to the company! Isn’t that spirit worth a toast?” A few of his cronies half-heartedly raised their glasses. I set down my fork. I could feel the blood draining from my face, my hands clenched into fists under the table. Leo saw my expression and immediately shifted to his innocent-victim act. “Whoa, Sophie, don’t get mad! I’m just riffing! It’s a compliment, really! I’m saying you’re more capable, more enlightened than us common folk!” A wave of laughter rippled across the table. I sat there, feeling like an animal in a zoo, a spectacle for their amusement. Monday morning, our manager, Mark, called me over, his expression urgent. “We have an emergency project. I need a proposal by this afternoon. Leo says he has the baseline data; I need you to build out the core strategy.” Leo appeared moments later, clutching a folder. “The data’s all in here. It’s a tight deadline, so we’re counting on you!” “Is it all verified?” I asked. “Don’t worry, I double-checked everything!” Leo said, puffing out his chest. “Now get to it. The client’s waiting.” I worked through my lunch break, skipping even a sip of water, and managed to send out the proposal just before noon. That afternoon, Mark summoned me to his office. His face was thunderous. “Sophie! What is this data in your proposal? It’s completely wrong! It doesn’t match the client’s reality at all! The client just called me, absolutely furious, and said we were being grossly unprofessional! Do you not check your data before you send things out?” “The data was from Leo,” I stammered. “He said he verified it…” “Get Leo in here!” Mark roared. Leo walked in, picked up the folder he’d given me from my desk, and flipped through a few pages, his face a mask of shock. “Oh my god… this data… This was from some old scratch notes I took. It’s probably not accurate. It was just meant as a rough reference.” He turned to me, his voice dripping with reproach. “Sophie, didn’t I mention you should probably double-check it, just in case? For something this important, how could you just use unverified numbers?” “You never said that!” I trembled with fury. “What do you mean I never said that?” he shot back, his face a picture of innocence. “It was just a casual comment, a bit of a riff. How was I supposed to know you’d take raw data and send it straight to a client?” Mark rubbed his temples. “Enough! Stop arguing! Sophie, you wrote the proposal, you’re responsible! I want a formal letter of apology on my desk by the end of the day.” I felt a chill run through me as I walked out of his office. Leo trailed behind me. “Sorry about that, Sophie,” he whispered. “I really didn’t think it would blow up like this.” I ignored him. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing my apology, feeling the weight of my colleagues’ stares. Leo ambled over to my desk, a mug in his hand. He leaned in, his voice low and slick with faux concern. “Sophie, honestly, after all this, I’m starting to think… maybe you’re not the right fit for our company culture.” My fingers froze over the keyboard. “You’re just too serious,” he continued. “You can’t take a joke. Look at you, you’re making yourself miserable. Why put yourself through this? Maybe… you should consider other options?” His words hung in the quiet office, audible to the few colleagues still at their desks. Under their silent, watching eyes, I slowly lifted my head. To everyone’s surprise, I didn’t lash out in anger or crumble in defeat. Instead, I offered Leo the most genuine smile I had in months. “Leo,” I said softly, my voice shockingly calm. “You’re right.” He froze, clearly not expecting this reaction. I kept smiling, holding his confused gaze, and said, word by word, “I really should start thinking about… my next move.” You want to “riff”? Fine. I’m about to show you how it’s done.

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