Author: Momo Chan

1 It was an evening like any other. I was at the sink washing dishes when Toby’s voice drifted in from the living room, carrying its usual cool detachment. “Can’t you read a book or something? Try to improve yourself.” My hands stopped moving. He continued, “In the future, Lily is going to need more than a mother who’s just a housekeeper.” Clang. The plate hit the drying rack with a sharp crack. I froze. And in that single, shattering moment, I understood everything. He was comparing me to someone else. Some new standard I was failing to meet. … 2 Our six-year-old daughter was in the room, so I held my tongue and finished tidying the kitchen without a word. “Lily, honey, why don’t you go to your room and draw for a bit?” Once she was gone, I turned on the television and flipped to a trashy soap opera. A frown creased Toby’s brow. “Aren’t you going to do the dishes? They’ll start to smell.” He had a sensitive nose. The house had to be immaculate, free of any lingering odors. Anything that might create a smell had to be dealt with immediately. I poured myself a cup of tea and kept my eyes glued to the screen. “If it’s a job anyone can do, then you do it.” Toby let out a short, humorless laugh. “I was just offering a suggestion. It’s for Lily’s benefit, too. Is there any need to be so dramatic?” “Wash them or don’t. It’s up to you.” The drama on screen was reaching its climax. The wife and the mistress were in a screaming match in public. The husband wrapped his arms protectively around the mistress, shouting at his wife. “Look at you, you’re acting like a madwoman! Do you have any shred of dignity left? Every day I have to look at your sloppy, unkempt face, and it makes me sick.” The wife looked utterly destroyed, incapable of fighting back as her husband stormed away with the triumphant mistress in his arms. It was, admittedly, garbage television. I turned my head to look at Toby. “Do you think all cheating men invent excuses like that to cover up the simple fact that they can’t control themselves?” His expression tightened for a second before his cool mask slipped back into place. “What kind of question is that? How would I know?” I didn’t reply, just held his gaze. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He spoke again. “If you have so much free time on your hands, you should sign up for a class. Improve your skills. Don’t waste your life on this meaningless drivel.” I switched off the TV and stood up to go to the bedroom. As I passed him, I made sure to add, “Don’t forget the dishes, Professor.” The next day, I hired a part-time housekeeper to handle the cooking and cleaning. When Toby came home that evening, Lily and I had already finished dinner. He saw the stranger in our home and frowned, his eyes questioning me. “The new housekeeper,” I said simply. “You know I don’t like having strangers in the house. You should go back to cooking. I’m used to your food after all these years.” I smiled. “After all these years, shouldn’t you be sick of it by now?” I’ve never been one to suffer in silence. Back in school, when bullies came after me, I’d fight back so effectively they’d be crying for their mothers, but you’d barely find a mark on them. I, on the other hand, always made sure to look like the victim. Faced with my sarcasm, Toby sighed. “I make one little comment, and you hold a grudge this long. Thea, you can’t stay a child forever. Some of those rough edges need to be smoothed out. You need to be a better role model for our daughter…” I picked up a water glass and hurled it at his feet. It shattered on the floor. “Are you done?” “If you’re not eating, I’ll have the housekeeper throw it out.” Ignoring his stunned expression, I turned to the startled woman and spoke in a gentle voice. “That’s all for tonight, thank you. Please come back at the same time tomorrow.” “Ma’am, should I do the dishes?” I shook my head. “No, thank you. I have someone else in mind for that job.” After she left, Toby looked like he was about to explode. “You act like this in front of strangers?” “What, am I embarrassing you? Tarnishing the great Professor’s reputation? Am I not worldly enough for you? Not cultured enough? Not as good as whoever you’re comparing me to out there?” “Thea, you’re being completely irrational!” He slammed the door on his way out. Irrational. Right. 3 But he used to love this part of me. He once told me that my bright, fiery personality had shown him a world he never knew existed. He was captivated by the collision of our two different worlds, our opposite natures. He said it made his life complete. I joined the university’s kickboxing club as a freshman. I was one of the few women who endured the brutal training all the way to the finals. Toby, who looked like a delicate scholar who might be knocked over by a strong breeze, fell for me the first time he saw me in the ring, sweat-drenched and fearless. “Your name is Thea,” he’d said once, “It sounds so gentle. It doesn’t match your personality at all.” “What? You see a name like that and expect some delicate literary genius? Sorry to disappoint you, professor. I’m more of a fighter.” He shook his head, flustered. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I think you’re… you’re so cool. Like a warrior from an old story, fighting for justice. I’ve… I’ve never met anyone like you.” He’d lowered his head then, his ears turning bright red. “Well, you have now,” I’d said. “Guess you’ll get used to it.” I turned to leave, but his urgent voice stopped me. “Wait! Can I… can I get your number?” “Sure.” He was a man of few words, and I wasn’t much for small talk. We didn’t interact much after that. Then one day, he was on his way back from his part-time job when a group of local thugs cornered him, demanding protection money. With his slender build, it was clear he couldn’t take a punch. Since he’d called me a warrior, and I happened to be there, I figured I should probably live up to the title. “Hey! Picking on someone weaker than you? How brave. Why don’t you try a few rounds with me?” They swarmed me instantly. Clearly, I was the more interesting target. Toby had been prepared to take a beating rather than give them his money. But seeing them turn on me, his eyes went red with fury. “Thea! Run! Don’t worry about me!” I shot him a look. “Maybe try a different kind of cheerleading.” I didn’t have much time, so after a quick warm-up, the fight was on. I had some training, but there were a lot of them. I took a few hits—a couple of scrapes on my face, a twisted arm. Toby cried the whole way to the clinic, and I laughed at him the whole way there. After that, he said a debt like that could only be repaid with a lifetime. Later, we graduated. I started my own business. He went on to grad school, climbing the academic ladder until he became a tenured professor. I funded most of that journey. He went from a small-town kid who studied his way out to a level of success most people only dream of. Back in his tiny hometown, he was a local hero. His parents, who had been farmers their whole lives, were the envy of the entire town. He used to say I was his guardian angel. Our life got better and better. We moved into bigger houses. We had our daughter. To take care of her, I stepped back, handed the daily operations of my company over to a professional manager, and focused on building our home. And now, he was starting to resent me for it. I didn’t know how far things had gone with his “reference point” out there, but my gut told me they were still in the early, simmering stages. Without proof, there was nothing I could do. For now. But I had money, and I had time. I was more than willing to play his game. Toby remained meticulous. His hair was always perfect, his shirts crisp and without a single wrinkle. He never came home smelling of anything he shouldn’t. He was still the dedicated academic, Professor Toby. The only change was that after that night, doing the dishes became his job. It was another ordinary day. I needed a book on contract law for a potential company acquisition, so I went into his study. I found it and was about to leave when a flash of red from a gap in the bookshelf caught my eye. It looked out of place. A strange feeling pulled me toward it.

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In my darkest year, the company’s new CEO launched a full-scale, aggressive pursuit of me. He promoted me, took me to dinner, and declared, “Cole Young stole my business, so I’m going to steal his girl. It’s only fair.” I chewed on my steak, thinking. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Cole already had a cherished love, a girl he’d been hung up on for years. He showered me with money and affection. I let it happen, half-heartedly playing along, coasting through six months of a numb, loveless arrangement. Then, at a gala, she returned. His long-lost love was back in the country. Urged on by the crowd, she blushed and linked her arm through Cole’s. My stomach dropped. I met the CEO’s confused gaze. The next second, Cole spoke. He toyed with the pink scrunchie on his wrist, his eyes landing coolly on me. “I have a girlfriend.” And just like that, I was even more lost than before. Because we had broken up two years ago. 1 It was the sixth month of Liam Hayes’s relentless pursuit. Our “relationship” had finally taken a small step forward: I had agreed to see a movie with him. He looked moved enough to cry. He turned away, muttering under his breath, “She’s so hard to get. No wonder Cole Young is so obsessed with her.” He handed me a hot milk tea to warm my hands, then placed a soft cushion on my seat. “Your period is in a couple of days, right?” he said, his voice full of concern. “Is work too stressful? I’ll have them turn down the AC in the office. Is there anything you can’t eat right now?” I waved a hand dismissively, my eyes fixed on the screen. “Don’t go to the trouble.” A shadow passed over his eyes. He’d misunderstood. “Is it because Cole did it better? Did he know you better?” I paused, swirling the warm tea in my hands. The sweetness, the flavor—it was exactly how I liked it. I could tell he’d done his research. “No,” I said. “You’re great.” A ripple of memory disturbed the calm surface of my mind. The truth was, Cole had never cared about those kinds of details. He was always busy, always exhausted. And he had a girl tucked away in his heart, a girl he thought about every single day. The first time he ever bought me a milk tea was to thank me. The day before, he’d cancelled a meeting at the last minute and hopped on a flight to see Clara Lane. When his mother found out and was about to explode, I’d covered for him. He’d shoved the drink into my hand. “Thanks,” he’d said flatly. “Let’s get dinner tonight. I don’t like owing people.” I’d caught a cold from running around for him that day. He hadn’t noticed the drink was iced. That night, my cough was so bad I had to cancel. “Aria, did you just compliment me?” Liam’s eyes lit up. He pressed his advantage. “Is the movie good? I spent a long time picking it out.” “It’s fine. I don’t really watch movies.” He froze. For a second, I thought he was about to figure something out. But then he just pulled out his phone and started typing in his notes app. Watching a romance movie with a girl increases intimacy. Can’t believe Cole Young is so clueless. This is my chance to get ahead! I smiled but said nothing. It wasn’t that Cole was clueless. He just didn’t want to watch movies with me. We didn’t speak for the rest of the film. 2 “You know, that male lead is the worst! I have zero sympathy for him.” “If you have a problem, just say it! It’s not that hard!” I fumed. Liam quietly cut my steak, sometimes looking down at the plate, sometimes up at me, a gentle smile on his face. A few frustrated tears welled in my eyes. “What do you think? You have to be on my side!” “Of course!” Liam blinked. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you this emotional before. It makes me happy.” He said it like a profound discovery. “My research says that people only show their true emotions to those they feel safest with!” I was taken aback. I realized that over the past six months, I had grown comfortable with him. Our conversations had become easy, relaxed. We were around the same age, with the same strange tastes. Liam was in his early twenties, a pampered rich kid who’d been dropped into our company as the new CEO. When he first arrived, he was full of ambition, ready to conquer the business world. He’d immediately run headfirst into the calm, experienced wall that was Cole Young. He lost every time. Then, one day, he’d gotten a tip from somewhere. He’d found me, the girl who made coffee and ran errands, and declared through gritted teeth, “You’re his girl, aren’t you? I’m going to win you over!” For the past six months, he’d stopped pulling all-nighters on projects and instead dedicated his energy to studying me. “If I can win over the woman he loves,” he’d reasoned, “then taking his projects will be a piece of cake.” Thinking about it now, it was almost funny. Cole had grown up with nothing. He was quiet, reserved, and had always fought to be number one. He’d nearly worked himself into the ground building his company from scratch. It would be strange if he lost to a sheltered rich boy like Liam. As he paid the bill, I put down my fork and tested the waters. “So, what made you think I was the one he… loved?” After all, in the three years Cole and I had been together, he had been, at best, lukewarm. We were never officially public. Liam suddenly went quiet, turning his face away. “Because… because I saw him once, carving a jade bracelet.” I blinked. “He’d go to this jade shop every day after work, sit under the warm light, and just carve for hours. And then… I saw you wearing it once.” The memory was hazy. A bracelet? I couldn’t quite recall. Cole had given me many things, but each gift was transactional, a way of keeping the score even. If I ordered him a cake, he’d give me earrings. If I picked him up in a storm when he was drunk, he’d give me a necklace. They were all bought by his assistant, placed silently on my nightstand. They weren’t cheap, but they weren’t special, either. The only time he put any thought into a gift was right before he flew to London to see Clara. Only then would he pick up his phone and choose something himself. Seeing my silence, Liam’s jealousy flared. “He’s just good at pretending. I treat you way better than he does. He barely even comes to see you anymore!” “Hmm,” I said noncommittally. As we were walking, he spotted a claw machine. “Aria, which one do you want?” he asked, his eyes wide with excitement. I wanted to tell him the truth. He was too good for this charade; I didn’t want to deceive him. But watching him concentrate so fiercely on winning a stuffed animal for me, a strange feeling stirred in my chest. “You’d better not regret this,” I mumbled. He didn’t hear me. He pulled a fluffy bunny from the machine and tucked it into my arms. “Don’t worry. Your boss is a pro. A few tokens are nothing to regret.” 3 A month later, I went to Norway for a business trip and landed a small project. It was an opportunity I only had because Liam had promoted me. The day I returned, it was snowing in the city. He was waiting for me downstairs, rubbing his hands together to stay warm. I gave him a scarf I had knitted myself. He was overjoyed. “There’s a gala tonight,” he said. “I need a date.” “Okay.” I didn’t think much of it. At the event, I followed quietly behind him. I found a delicious dessert and casually offered him a bite. “Do you want to try…” Before I could finish, Cole Young walked in. Our eyes met. Neither of us expected him to be there. Liam froze for a second, then took my hand, a possessive, deliberate gesture. “Thanks, Aria.” I looked down, letting him hold my hand. Cole probably wouldn’t care anyway. But he stood there for a long time, his gaze burning into me. Someone asked, confused, “Mr. Young, there are seats inside. Why are you standing by the door?” Liam stepped in front of me, a smug smile on his face. “Aria, let me give you your coat. Wouldn’t want you to be bothered by any creeps…” He was just about to provoke Cole when a bright, feminine voice called out from the doorway. “Cole! Wait for me!” A beautiful, stylish woman in stilettos hurried over. “What’s wrong? Did my talking about marriage make you shy?” The room buzzed with excitement. “Wow, you two are moving fast! No wonder Mr. Young has been working so hard these past few years.” “Of course! She’s his long-lost love, the one he’s been hung up on for years. Think of all the plane tickets he’s bought back and forth.” Cole’s expression remained unreadable. Clara Lane blushed and naturally linked her arm through his. She was back. It was all so sudden. I had been bored, just observing the drama. Now, Liam looked from me to her, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “And this is?” Someone explained, “That’s Mr. Young’s true love. He’s been secretly in love with her for years. She just got back, so it’s normal that you wouldn’t know…” “Excuse me, I have a girlfriend.” No one expected Cole to speak. He said it calmly, as if discussing the weather. The entire room fell silent. All eyes went to his wrist. Where a cute, pink scrunchie was wrapped around it. I stared at it, completely baffled. I remembered begging him to wear it once, and he’d just rubbed his temples and said, “Are you a child?” Besides, we had broken up a long time ago. Clara’s smile froze. She awkwardly removed her hand. She had never met me, but she knew he’d had a girlfriend at some point. “Sorry,” she said, forcing a laugh. “You never told me about her. I thought you two had broken up.” In the silence, Cole walked past me as if I wasn’t there. He stared directly at Liam and suddenly smiled. But his words were for the room. “Since this is a dinner party, let’s all take a seat.”

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I must have told my best friend to dump him a thousand times. In the end, I was the one drinking champagne at their wedding. On the day of the wedding, I sat at the head table with the groom’s chief strategist, auditing the damages on our phones. Turns out, every time those two had a meltdown, we were the collateral damage. Our chat histories were eerily identical. [It’s over. For real this time.] [But what am I supposed to do? I can’t stop thinking about him/her.] The Groom’s Strategist: [Get a new job. The circus is hiring clowns.] Me: [You owe me emotional damages.] 1 I must have told my best friend to break up with him a thousand times. In the end, I was the one drinking champagne at their wedding. The day the news dropped, my heart was a placid lake as I let out a hollow laugh—the kind you’d expect from a jaded queen in an old tragedy. But as Grace Evans’ ride-or-die since we were kids, I showed up. I was her maid of honor, after all. I even came bearing a hefty check and a lavish wedding gift. It was a joyous occasion, but I couldn’t crack a smile. Finally, Grace looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Tracy, if you can’t smile, don’t. You look cool and mysterious with a straight face anyway.” “…” Fine. My best friend might be a hopeless romantic, but she was marrying into a family whose net worth had more commas than a grammar textbook. Plus, she still loved me. I could tolerate it. When the groom’s party arrived, I noticed one of the groomsmen looked even more miserable than I did. He seemed to fundamentally disapprove of this marriage. He was handsome, though, in a completely different way from the groom. A single black stud gleamed in his left earlobe, accentuating his sharp, sculpted features. He had a roguish charm, and the tailored suit added a layer of dangerous sophistication. One of the other bridesmaids noticed him and whispered to Grace, asking who he was. And then I heard the name that had been a curse word in my vocabulary for years: Caleb Vance. Just as I was Grace’s best friend, this Caleb Vance was apparently the groom, Liam Foster’s, childhood confidant. For the longest time, I had harbored a bone-deep hatred for this man I’d never met, a hatred second only to my feelings for Liam himself. Because every time I thought those two were finally done for good, this damned Caleb would whisper some brilliant strategy into his friend’s ear, and that dog Liam would somehow win my best friend back. He was the master strategist behind their reunion. This wedding should have been his ultimate victory. So why the long face? Was he trying to provoke me? 2 While the bride and groom were grinning like absolute fools, Caleb and I stood there, our faces frozen masks of indifference. After what felt like an eternity of ceremonies, I finally found my seat at the main table. I don’t know if the seating planner was a chaos agent, but Caleb was seated right next to me. The air buzzed with cheerful chatter, but a bubble of silence surrounded the two of us. We could have been mutes. I watched him idly swipe through his phone before he turned his head, his gaze locking directly onto mine. Normally, when strangers make eye contact, one of them looks away after a second or two. This man did not look away. Okay? I was now certain he was challenging me. So I held his gaze, refusing to back down. After a long moment, amidst the lively din of the reception, I heard his low voice. “Ms. Shaw. I’ve heard a lot about you.” So, he knew who I was. I offered a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Mr. Vance. A pleasure.” But that wasn’t enough to convey years of pent-up frustration. I added, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “This day wouldn’t have been possible without you. Your contribution has been… invaluable.” A slight frown creased his brow. “Thank you. The same could be said for you.” I scoffed. “Oh, I don’t think we’re quite the same. If Grace and Liam’s relationship was a road full of bumps, I was the pothole.” God knows when I started trying to break them up. From the moment they were just flirting, I knew Liam was wrong for her. And sure enough, their five years together were a dizzying rollercoaster of breakups and makeups. I don’t know if they were exhausted, but the drama was enough to make me swear off men for life. Dating? I’d rather adopt a dog. A few seconds later, Caleb replied, “Then I must have been the roadblock.” “Huh?” I turned to face him again. “Weren’t you the one always pushing for them to get back together?” “Who told you that?” Something wasn’t adding up. I narrowed my eyes. “If you weren’t his master strategist, then why did Liam always come crawling back right when they were on the verge of a real breakup?” 3 Caleb looked genuinely offended. He unlocked his phone, scrolled back about three months, and angled the screen toward me. Liam: [Bro, this might be it for real. I’m done with that heartless woman!] Caleb hadn’t replied. Two hours later— Liam: [Bro, she said yes! (Grinning emoji)] Liam: [Congratulate me, I’m getting married!] Caleb: [?] Caleb: [Have fun being her lapdog for the rest of your life. She tugs the leash, you bark.] Caleb: [You were born a man, but you’re choosing to live like a poodle. Stay close to your master.] Liam: [Are you just jealous I’m getting a wife?] … Caleb looked at me, his expression deadpan. “Do you have any idea how close I was to having an aneurysm? They cry breakup at every little thing. Who knows if they won’t cry divorce next? I’m doomed to be tortured by these two for the rest of my life. Do you understand my despair?” Silently, I opened my own phone and found my chat with Grace from that same day. Grace: [Tracy, I broke up with him.] Me: [For how many days this time?] Grace: [No, this time it’s for real! I’m completely over him!] I replied with a single, skeptical emoji. Two hours later— Grace: [Tracy, I have to tell you something. Please don’t be mad.] Me: [You got back together?] Grace: [He proposed! (Shy emoji)] Grace: [I said yes.] I said quietly, “I felt my world collapse.” Caleb stared at me. “…So you were trying to break them up?” “You were too?” Our eyes met, and a silent, horrified understanding passed between us. We started comparing notes, scrolling through our phones like two auditors examining a fraudulent account. And we discovered that history was alarmingly consistent. 4 Liam: [We broke up. For real this time.] Liam: [But what do I do? I can’t get her out of my head.] Caleb: [Listen to me. Get a new job. The circus is hiring clowns.] Grace: [Tracy, I’m really done with him this time.] Grace: [But I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about him.] Me: [You owe me emotional damages.] Grace: Wire Transfer – $520.00 I tolerated it. Caleb’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Why does your best friend compensate you for her breakup drama?” “Your buddy doesn’t?” Caleb fell into a profound silence. As I scrolled further, I realized just how vicious Caleb’s texts could be. Liam: [Thinking about my ex. What should I do?] Caleb: [Go stand on your balcony.] Liam: [What? Did you tell Grace to come see me?] Caleb: [Let the cold wind clear your head. If an hour doesn’t work, try all night. If that doesn’t work, just jump.] Liam: [I looked it up. Capricorns are just slow to warm up.] Liam: [That’s why it’s taking so long to win her over.] Caleb: [What celestial sin did we Capricorns commit to be slandered by you like this?] Liam: [I sent her this huge paragraph. Why isn’t she replying?] Liam: [screenshot.jpg] Caleb: [All I see is a wall of text memorializing your dead dignity.] … Then, a look at my own chats— Grace: [I broke up with him. His parents are setting him up with someone from a ‘good family.’] Grace: [I’m done with love forever.] Me: [Okay.] Grace: [I’m in love again!] Me: [New guy?] Grace: [It’s still him.] Me: [Respect. Blessings. May you be locked together for eternity.] Grace: [He forgot our anniversary. He obviously doesn’t love me anymore.] Me: [People get forgetful when they get older. It’s normal.] Grace: [He’s not old! He’s my age!] Me: [A man is basically 60 after he turns 25. Trust me, find someone younger.] Grace: [But he’s… he’s still so good to me. (Shy emoji)] … Looking back, it seemed Caleb had actually tried to be supportive at first. It was only after years of this torture that he turned into this venomous, cynical wreck. There were countless chats just like these. But through the years, neither my efforts nor Caleb’s acid tongue could permanently sever the bond between those two. The power of a love-addled brain was truly terrifying. One was bad enough, but this was a case of two. Caleb and I locked eyes again. This time, we saw the same shared misery reflected in each other’s souls. “Bro,” I said. “Sis,” he replied. It was time to formalize our alliance. 5 Two souls, united by shared suffering, exchanged contact information. Caleb’s voice was weary, aged beyond his years. “How long do you give them?” My face was numb. “I’m hoping for a month.” We talked for a long time, our conversation drifting from the newlyweds to our own lives and work. “You work at the Innovatech Campus too?” he asked, surprised. I blinked. “Too?” “I just got transferred back there. I’ll take you out for dinner sometime, sis.” 6 On the first workday after the wedding, Caleb made good on his promise. Caleb: [Sis, your bro is here to deliver. Dinner tonight?] I felt a slight twitch at the word “sis.” Me: [Bro, you promised. Your treat.] Caleb: [Don’t worry, your bro’s got money.] Satisfied, I put my phone away. After work, I waited for him downstairs. A sleek black Mercedes G-Wagon pulled up to the curb, and the window rolled down to reveal Caleb’s aggressively handsome face. He wasn’t in a suit today, but a black technical jacket. The stud in his ear caught the last rays of the setting sun, glinting softly. He looked even more roguish. “Get in. I know a great spot.” I slid into the passenger seat. He took me to a hidden gem of a restaurant, tucked away on a quiet side street. The ambiance was serene, the food was divine. I dug in, and Caleb poured me a cup of tea from across the table. “Slow down. No one’s going to steal it from you.” I mumbled an affirmative through a mouthful of food. Halfway through the meal, my phone rang. It was Grace. My heart skipped a beat, a familiar sense of dread washing over me. Sure enough, the moment I answered, her tearful voice came through the line. “Tracy, I don’t think Liam loves me anymore!” “…” I shot a look at Caleb, who returned it with an expression that said, I know that tone. “It’s been, what, three days, my dear sister?” I hissed into the phone. “Did you have a fight on your honeymoon?” “No, we haven’t even gone on our honeymoon yet.” “Then what is it now?” “He said he was working late tonight on a huge project. But I was just scrolling through my feed and saw a picture his coworker posted. They’re out for a team-building event! They’re at a karaoke bar!” “He lied to me! He doesn’t care about me at all!” I took a deep breath, feeling my blood pressure spike. “Is it possible that they finished the project and are celebrating?” “No way! He just doesn’t love me anymore!” As I was racking my brain for a way to calm her down, Caleb suddenly held his hand out to me. I paused, then handed him my phone. Caleb cleared his throat and spoke into the phone in a calm, authoritative voice. “Grace, hello. This is Caleb Vance.” The other end of the line went dead silent. “Liam’s project tonight? I was in charge of it. We just wrapped up,” he continued smoothly. “My team has been killing themselves over this for the past two weeks. I’m treating them tonight, on my dime. I picked the place. Liam didn’t even want to come, I had to drag him here.” “He didn’t give you the details because he didn’t want you to worry. That was his mistake. But I can personally guarantee you, he is absolutely devoted to you.” “If you don’t believe me, I can put him on the phone right now.” After a few seconds of silence, Grace’s small voice came through. “N-no, that’s okay, Caleb. I’m sorry, I misunderstood. I hope you guys have fun.” The call ended. I stared at Caleb, dumbfounded. “Bro, with skills like that… you’re wasted in tech. You should be in PR.” Caleb handed my phone back, his expression unreadable. “You get used to it.” “I did this all the time when they were dating. Standard procedure.” “Calm one party down, then give the other an easy way out.” “What else are we supposed to do? Let them actually tear their lives apart?” I suddenly realized he was even more of a long-suffering parent than I was. Just then, Caleb’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, answered it on speaker with a deadpan look. It was Liam. “Bro! Help me!” Liam’s panicked voice yelled. “I think my wife is mad at me! She’s not answering my texts!” “I think she’s going to ask for a divorce!” Caleb said, “Leave the karaoke bar right now. Go to the nearest flower shop and buy a bouquet of roses. Then go to a bakery and get her favorite strawberry shortcake. Then go home and get on your knees.” Liam was confused. “Huh? Why?” Caleb’s voice was dangerously calm. “Because when your wife called in a panic, I, in an effort to cover for your sorry ass, told her that I was in charge of your project tonight.” “And I,” he paused for effect, “am currently having dinner with your wife’s best friend, Ms. Tracy Shaw.” Silence from Liam’s end. A full thirty seconds of it. Then, his voice, now filled with a strange mix of terror and gossip-fueled excitement, whispered, “Whoa. Bro, are you… hooking up with my wife’s maid of honor?” A vein pulsed in Caleb’s temple. “Get lost.” He hung up and looked at me, exhaustion etched into his features. “See? This is our life.” I nodded in solemn solidarity. “You’ve worked hard, bro.” This meal felt less like a date and more like a strategy session between two war-weary veterans. 7 After that night, Caleb and I started talking a lot more. Since we worked in the same tech park, we often met up for lunch. His company’s cafeteria was amazing, and I shamelessly mooched off him several times. Before long, it seemed like everyone in his office knew who I was. One time, when I went to find him, the receptionist greeted me with a knowing, teasing smile. “Ms. Shaw! Here to see Director Vance again?” “He’s in a meeting, but you can wait in his office.” The title “Director Vance” threw me. I always assumed he was just another programmer from a wealthy family, like Liam. I had no idea he was an executive. I sat in his spacious office, looking around. The decor matched his personality—a cool, minimalist palette of black, white, and grey. But there were touches of something else. A complex LEGO spaceship sat on his desk. A row of anime figurines lined a shelf. It was a fascinating contrast to his roguish, handsome face. Just as I was admiring the collection, Caleb walked in. He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it casually over the back of his chair, and loosened his tie. “Been waiting long?” “Nope, just got here.” I put my hands together in a mock martial arts bow. “Director Vance. I am not worthy.” He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Stop messing around.” “Got plans tonight? If not, dinner’s on me.” “Sure. It’s my turn to pay. Can’t have you going broke on my account.” “Deal.” He walked over and, in a gesture that felt surprisingly natural, ruffled my hair. “What are you in the mood for?” My heart skipped a beat. The gesture was so intimate. I could smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. I turned my head away, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “Anything… anything’s fine.” Caleb seemed to realize it too. He retracted his hand, clearing his throat. “How about that hidden spot from last time?” “Sounds good.” The atmosphere had suddenly become charged, a delicate tension hanging in the air. Neither of us spoke. The spell was broken by Grace’s frantic phone call. “Tracy! I’m pregnant!” “…?!” I glanced at Caleb. He’d clearly heard. The look of sheer panic on his face mirrored my own. I shakily put the call on speaker. “Grace, are you serious?” “Of course! Two lines on the pregnancy test! I just took it!” “I haven’t even told Liam yet! You’re the first person I called!” “What do I do now, Tracy?! I’m so nervous! I’m not ready to be a mom!” Before I could even process the information, Caleb spoke, his voice a beacon of calm in the storm. “First, go to a doctor and get a proper confirmation.” “Second, tell Liam.” “Third, take a deep breath and try not to spiral.” Grace’s voice was timid on the other end. “C-Caleb? Why are you there?” “I’m with Tracy,” he said simply. “…Oh.” That single “oh” was loaded with a universe of meaning. I could practically feel her gossip-loving heart combusting with curiosity. After the call, Caleb and I just stared at each other. “Those two,” I sighed. “As long as they’re breathing, they’ll find a way to create chaos.” Caleb rubbed his temples. “Come on, let’s get dinner.” “After that, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I blinked. “Why am I going to the hospital?” “Your best friend is pregnant. Aren’t you going to be there for her?” he asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s probably a nervous wreck, and we both know Liam is useless in a crisis.” “You go keep an eye on things. It’ll put my mind at ease.” A warmth spread through my chest. This guy, for all his cold and cynical posturing, was incredibly thoughtful. 8 I went with Grace to her appointment, and the pregnancy was confirmed. When Liam heard the news, he hugged Grace, laughing and crying like a fool. Infected by his emotions, she started crying too. I watched them from the side, a mix of amusement and genuine affection swelling inside me. These two lovebirds, as exhausting as they were, truly loved each other. It was late by the time we left the hospital. Caleb had been waiting for me by the entrance the whole time. When he saw me, he handed me a warm cup of hot chocolate. “You’ve had a long night.” “It was fine. I’m just a little hungry.” “Get in. Let’s get you some food.” Soft music played in the car. I held the warm drink in my hands, watching the city lights blur past the window, and a sudden sense of peace washed over me. “Caleb.” “Hmm?” “What are we?” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it was the gentle mood of the night, or maybe being around the happy, chaotic couple had stirred something in me. Caleb’s hands tightened on the steering wheel for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at me, the glow of the streetlights softening the sharp lines of his face. “What do you think we are?” he asked back. “Siblings from another mother?” I ventured. He laughed. “Tracy, are you an idiot?” “We’re two single adults who met through mutual friends, who seem to get along pretty well, and who enjoy spending time together.” “You call that being siblings?” My face grew hot. “Then what do you call it?”

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Abandoned in London for three years. While I was being beaten on a cold, unfamiliar street, Josh Rojas was back home, sending a lavish bouquet of Valentine’s Day roses to Serena Dalton, the woman he cherished. While I was wasting away in a damp, rented flat, waiting to die, Josh Rojas was throwing a magnificent birthday gala for Serena. Just when I was sure I would breathe my last in England, one of his assistants came for me. “Miss Shaw,” he said, his face impassive. “It’s time to go home.” On the private jet, I wiped the condensation from the small, round window. His assistant approached. “We’re preparing for landing, Miss Shaw.” He paused, his voice softening slightly. “Once you’re back, let go of Josh. He and Miss Dalton are about to be engaged.” My hand froze against the cool glass. After a long moment, I shook my head. “That was then. I was young and foolish.” 1 I stood at the gates of the Shaw estate, my luggage laughably small. From inside the grand house, I could hear my parents’ raw, furious argument. A teacup shattered on the marble entryway just outside the door. “How dare she come back looking like that? Why didn’t she just die over there?” my mother shrieked. “From the very beginning, she was never as good as the Dalton girl,” my father roared back. “Look at the state of her! Serena Dalton is already the brilliant, accomplished heiress to the Dalton fortune!” The sky bled from dusk to black before Martha, our housekeeper, finally opened the door. She wiped tears from her eyes and pulled me inside. As we passed my parents’ bedroom on the way upstairs, I hesitated. “Father, Mother,” I called out softly. “I’m home.” The only reply was the thud of something heavy hitting the door from the inside. Martha quickly pulled me away. “Oh, my dear girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with pity. “Why are you still so naive?” 2 The next day, I was ordered to find a job at a hotel. As I was leaving, my father stopped me. “Wait.” His voice was cold steel. “When you get there, you drop the pampered princess act. You are not a Shaw anymore; you’re just another worker. If I hear that you’ve told anyone who you are, you’ll regret it.” I nodded and left. It took a long walk to get out of the wealthy district before I could catch a bus. As we moved through the city center, the bus jolted violently. “We hit something!” someone yelled. “What kind of car is that? It looks expensive.” “The driver is done for. That’s a Maybach. He’ll be paying that off for the rest of his life.” I looked up from the resume I’d been studying. Our bus had sideswiped a multi-million-dollar Maybach while changing lanes. I recognized the vanity plate instantly. My fingers clenched around the paper in my hands. It was Josh’s car. The bus was out of commission. As I queued up to get off, I saw the driver of the luxury car open the rear door. A perfect couple emerged: the impeccably dressed Josh Rojas and the elegant, long-haired Serena Dalton. A murmur went through the crowd. “Who are they?” “He’s handsome enough to be a movie star.” “She’s gorgeous, too. They look perfect together.” Standing at the back of the crowd, I instinctively touched my earlobe. The hole from the piercing I once had was long gone. Three years ago, Josh had admired a pair of pearl earrings at an auction. Even though I was terrified of pain, I went and got my ears pierced. On his birthday, I wore them, hoping he would like it. But by a cruel twist of fate, Serena wore an identical pair that day. My presence seemed to deeply upset her. To appease her, Josh ripped the earring straight from my ear. “A pathetic imitation,” he’d sneered. The snow-white pearl fell to the ground, stained by crimson drops. 3 Shaking myself free from the memory, I clutched my portfolio and hurried toward the next bus stop. Last night, my phone had buzzed with warnings from their friends. Aria, you idiot. How dare you come back. Listen up. The title of Mrs. Rojas belongs to Serena. Get that through your thick skull. If you ever hurt Serena again, we’ll skin you alive. You worthless snake. Even your own parents say you’re an ungrateful wretch. I blocked each number, one by one. They were worried for nothing. For me, the word “love” had long since lost its meaning. As I boarded the next bus, I had the strangest feeling that a pair of eyes from the accident scene was fixed on me. I didn’t turn to look. I just got on the bus and disappeared into the city. … At the Celestial Hotel, the interview concluded, and the General Manager walked over to me. “You interviewed very well. Work hard, and you’ll have a bright future here.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you. I can start immediately.” She looked surprised. “Excellent. Head over to HR and get your paperwork started.” The hotel was constantly busy, a whirlwind of guests and staff. I never had a moment’s rest, but I didn’t feel tired. My salary was commission-based; the busier the hotel, the more I’d make. I was energized. “Mr. White, what kind of tea can I get for you?” “Mr. Rojas, you’re too kind. It’s an honor just to have you pour.” I was passing a private dining room, taking notes on a clipboard, when the voices from within made me freeze. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, Josh Rojas sat at the head of the table, commanding the room. Business documents were spread out before him. A nearby staff member saw me and hurried over. “Manager Shaw, aren’t you going to go in and serve them personally?” In the competitive hotel world, when a major client was present, the area manager was expected to make an appearance, perhaps offer a complimentary dessert or a bottle of wine. But this was Josh Rojas. If I walked in there, his face would turn to ice. “No, that’s not necessary,” I said quickly. “Just make sure they have everything they need.” I turned to leave, but as I did, my eyes met Josh’s through the crack in the door. Our gazes locked. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt as though I’d been turned to stone by some immense, terrifying force. The world went silent. Three years of torment abroad had conditioned me to run, to put as much distance as possible between myself and this man. But I couldn’t make a scene. I forced the same polite, professional smile I used when a guest was screaming in my face, gave a slight nod, and walked away. 4 Two hours later, the staff was cleaning the private room. “Manager Shaw, the guest left a fountain pen behind.” I was about to say, “Take it to the front desk…” when the staff member added, “Manager Shaw, I think it has your name on it?” I walked into the room and took the pen. When I saw it clearly, a tremor went through me. Could this be the handmade fountain pen I gave him for his birthday all those years ago? I had a tiny ‘A’ engraved on the pure gold nib. “Manager Shaw, should I still take it to the front desk?” My hand tightened around the pen. “I’ll handle it.” … Back in my office, I didn’t send the pen to the lost and found. I couldn’t figure out if Josh had left it on purpose or if it was a genuine mistake. And I certainly couldn’t understand why he would ever use something I had given him. To him, my gifts were like cursed objects, tainted by an evil he refused to touch. After a moment of internal struggle, I placed the pen in my desk drawer. Logically, it should have ended up in a trash can years ago, just like everything else I’d ever given him. Just then, an employee rushed in, looking flustered. “Manager Shaw, the guest is back! He’s asking for you.” I didn’t understand. “What guest?” “Mr. Rojas. He came back for the pen.” I frowned. “That pen doesn’t belong to him.” The employee paled. “I… I accidentally mentioned that you had it. He said he wants to see you. Immediately. Manager Shaw, he seems… very powerful.” 5 My hand trembled as I entered the meeting room. Josh Rojas turned from the floor-to-ceiling window. “Where is it?” His gaze was sharp, landing on my empty hands. With me, his aura was always brutally cold, without a fraction of the warmth he showed Serena. But it was fine. After being abandoned by them for three years, unable to reach anyone by phone, my heart had long ago frozen solid. I forced myself to remain calm. “Are you referring to the fountain pen? It’s not yours.” His cold eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to destroy your family’s flagship hotel?” My fists clenched, a subtle tremor running through them. It took a moment before I could find my voice. “Mr. Rojas, perhaps you’ve forgotten. When I was eighteen, I flew halfway across the country and apprenticed with a master craftsman to make that pen. My hands were raw for weeks. It’s my creation.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You must have mistaken it for a gift from Serena, didn’t you?” I knew how hard his heart was. I wasn’t naive enough to think he would ever use something from me. The only logical explanation was that he’d forgotten its origin. As I expected, he stood there, tall and silent, offering no reply. I bowed my head slightly. “My apologies for the confusion, Mr. Rojas.” He walked past me, pausing for a few seconds without a word, before striding out of the room. 6 The atmosphere at home that evening was surprisingly calm. My mother’s expression had softened, and for once, my father wasn’t angry. My mother gestured for me to sit. “How is work? Are you settling in?” I nodded. “It’s fine.” She reached out and stroked my hair. “The hotel’s Vice President called. He said you’re doing an excellent job.” It had been so many years since I’d felt this kind of warmth from her. It felt like a dream from another lifetime. I sat stiffly, unsure how to react. After a few minutes, my mother spoke again, her tone hesitant. “Aria, Josh’s grandmother has invited us to dinner tomorrow night.” I froze, looking at her in confusion. She averted her gaze. “You’ve been back for a while now. You must have heard about the Rojas and the Daltons. They’re getting engaged. The Rojas feel they owe us something, so they’ve invited us for a meal before the official announcement.” My fingers curled into a tight fist. My father’s temper flared instantly. “What’s that look on your face? You’re not still hung up on him, are you? Serena is a well-educated, gentle, and understanding young woman. You’re a failure. You can’t compare.” I clutched the documents in my lap. “Father, Mother, may I please not go tomorrow?” 7 The Rojas Mansion. When we arrived, the Daltons—Serena and her parents—were already there. The living room was filled with lively chatter, the atmosphere warm and congenial. The butler cleared his throat. “Madam Rojas, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw have arrived.” The conversation stopped abruptly. My gaze met Serena’s, who was sitting beside the Rojas matriarch. The air was thick with a hellish tension. Even my parents looked uncomfortable. But the Rojas family controlled the city’s largest conglomerate. No one dared to cross them. My parents presented their gift with forced smiles. The most important guest of the evening, Josh himself, was apparently very busy. By seven o’clock, he still hadn’t arrived. His grandmother looked displeased. Dinner had already started when he finally walked in. He strode into the dining room, his eyes sweeping over the tense gathering. He seemed to frown. “Grandmother, what is this?” I felt his scrutinizing gaze land on me. I immediately looked down, stirring the soup in my bowl. “Josh, what are you waiting for?” his grandmother said sharply. “Sit next to Serena.” As the youngest guests, Serena and I were seated together. But Josh chose the empty seat on Serena’s other side, putting her between us. My hand tightened on my spoon. I remembered when we were children. I was selfish and possessive, insisting that only I could sit next to him. I would throw a tantrum if anyone else took my spot. Back then, he was like an older brother, always indulging me. But as we grew up, his patience wore thin. Eventually, my presence just seemed to irritate him, and he would punish me for the slightest annoyance. I learned to be more careful, to walk on eggshells around him. But my fierce, unyielding love for him always made me lose my footing, always made me cross the line. 8 Throughout the entire dinner, my family was invisible. The Rojas elders spoke exclusively to Serena and her parents. We were left in an awkward, humiliating silence. Perhaps only then did my parents understand. This wasn’t an apology dinner. It was a power play. A warning. Our families are about to be joined. Know your place, Shaws. Control your daughter. Don’t cause any more trouble. Even so, my parents swallowed their pride. When you’re outmatched, you have no choice but to bow your head. I glanced up at Mrs. Rojas. There was a time when she would hold my hand and say, “My dear Aria, you’re the only granddaughter-in-law I’ll ever want. On your wedding day, I’ll give you a whole chest of family heirlooms. You’re so lovely, my dear.” Looking back, I realized that was only because the Shaw family business was still thriving. A Shaw heiress was a suitable match for a Rojas. But then the Daltons rose to power, and I was no longer their choice. Lost in thought, my spoon slipped from my fingers and clattered against my plate. It was a breach of etiquette. Every head turned toward me. Mrs. Rojas scoffed. “A few years abroad, and Aria still hasn’t learned any grace.” Josh’s mother looked at me with a condescending smile. “Aria, dear, you must learn to control your need for attention.” I’m sure my face was ghostly pale. I opened my mouth to explain, then realized there was no point. But as I looked up, my eyes met a pair of intense ones already fixed on me. Josh. He committed an even greater sin of etiquette by pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips. His mother shot him a death glare, and only then did he remove it, tossing it onto the table. Serena leaned closer to him. “Josh, look. Alex and the others are in Norway seeing the Northern Lights. They’re asking if we want to join them.” I lowered my eyes, staring at the lines on my own hand. The air in the room was growing thin. I felt like I was suffocating. My phone vibrated. I used it as an excuse. “I’m sorry, I have to take this call.” 9 Once outside, I answered the call, my voice tight with emotion. “Matt?” A low, magnetic voice replied, “Aria. I miss you.” I forced a smile, but the words felt foreign and clumsy in my mouth. “I… I miss you… too.” “Come on, silly. You promised you’d say it to me often. Don’t tell me you’re taking it back already.” The words still felt stuck. “Matt, I…” “I’m getting angry!” he teased. I closed my eyes. “I… I miss you… too.” Suddenly, there was a clatter behind me. I spun around, terrified, and my eyes locked with Josh’s. He was squinting, his expression dangerous. I quickly lowered the phone. When had he come outside? A cold sweat broke out on my back. “Silly girl, what’s wrong?” Matt asked from the phone. Something felt terribly wrong. Josh opened his cigarette case, lit one with a deliberate, menacing slowness, and his face was terrifying. It was the same look he’d had three years ago, when he’d casually destroyed my life with a single sentence. Mr. Shaw, Aria ran into Serena. Should she go to jail, or should we send her abroad to learn some manners? I ended the call and tried to walk away. I had made a mistake. This secluded bamboo grove was Josh’s private sanctuary. But as I reached the edge of the veranda, a hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Who is he?” Josh’s voice was freezing. Pain shot up my arm. He was never gentle with me. I fought back the tears, forcing myself to look at him through a sheen of cold sweat. “Josh, I’m sorry. I trespassed. It was my fault.” I stared at him, my voice steady. “I understand the meaning of tonight’s dinner. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you and Serena ever again.” “I wish you both a happy engagement and a lifetime of happiness.” I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was like a vise, filled with a deep, simmering hatred, as if crushing my bones was the only way to erase my sins. The more I struggled, the tighter he squeezed. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to let him see me cry. He glanced down at me, then yanked me forward. Without warning, the glowing red tip of his cigarette pressed into my palm. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. “Ah!” A scream of pure agony tore from my throat. He leaned in, his voice a low, terrifying growl, each word a threat from the depths of hell. “Aria. I’m asking you. Who… is… he?” The fire seared my skin, the pain radiating straight to my heart. I stared at him in shock. Suddenly, the dining room doors burst open, and a crowd of people spilled out onto the veranda. The moment Josh released me, someone stormed forward and slapped me across the face with tremendous force. CRACK. “Shameless hussy!” I was already disoriented. The blow sent me staggering back against the railing. I clung to it for support, my head ringing, the world a blur. Josh’s mother stood over me, her voice dripping with venom. “Is this how the Shaws raise their daughter? To be a desperate, shameless leech? Josh is Serena’s fiancé!” I pushed myself upright, my burned palm screaming in protest. Straightening my back, I met her furious gaze. “You’ve all misunderstood. I learned my lesson a long time ago. What happened in the past was just childish foolishness. And tonight, I wasn’t clinging to anyone.” I held up my phone with as much dignity as I could muster. “I forgot to mention. For the last three years, I’ve had a boy…” “Aria, shut your mouth!” Before I could finish, I was grabbed and dragged away. I stumbled, trying to keep up. “Josh!” He was pulling me, almost running, away from the mansion. My ankle twisted, sending a fresh wave of pain through me. Behind us, his mother and grandmother were shouting in shock. “Josh!” He shoved me into his car. Before I could even scramble out, he was in the driver’s seat, the doors locked, trapping me inside. “Drive,” he commanded his chauffeur. 10 He took me to one of his private residences and locked me in. I stared at him in disbelief. “Josh, what are you doing?” He was tall, imperious, and holding my phone. His face was a dark mask as he scrolled through it. I lunged for it, but he held it high above my head, dangling it like a toy in front of a clown. “Give me back my phone!” That night, my throat went raw from screaming, but I never got it back. Sometime after midnight, overwhelmed by terror and exhaustion, I finally closed my eyes. In a hazy, restless sleep, I felt a cool sensation on my hand. My eyes flew open. The sight that greeted me was shocking. Josh was carefully applying ointment to the burn on my palm. Our eyes met. A chill ran down my spine, and I snatched my hand back as if I’d been burned again. I saw the front door was open and made a break for it. I only made it two steps before he grabbed me from behind. “It’s the middle of the night. I’ll take you home in the morning.” I twisted around and bit his hand, hard. He grunted in pain and loosened his grip. I shot him a cold smile and tried to leave again, but he caught me by the collar and slammed me against the wall. His tall frame completely eclipsed mine. His perfect, handsome face was inches from my own, his scent overwhelming me. “Do you hate me this much now?” he whispered. I looked up at him and laughed, a hollow, empty sound. “Josh? Aren’t you the one who hates me? What’s wrong?” “You should let me go. What if Serena gets jealous?” Just then, a phone started vibrating in the room. I craned my neck and saw it was mine. I tried to push him away to answer it.

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A tube of lipstick lay on the passenger seat of my husband Leo’s car. An unfamiliar shade of Lancôme L’Absolu Rouge. In my past life, the day after this discovery marked the beginning of my transformation from a respectable, wealthy wife into a madwoman in the attic. I installed a GPS tracker on Leo’s phone. I hired private investigators to follow him. I called the police to raid hotels, hoping to catch him in the act. I stooped to every sordid, undignified trick in the book. Finally, through my relentless efforts, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I caught him in bed with his secretary. Our divorce battle became a public war. He dismantled my life with the precision of a corporate takeover, clinging to every penny of his fortune. I consulted every lawyer in the city and walked away with a settlement of just forty-eight dollars. Shortly after the divorce, I was diagnosed with cancer. When the pain was so intense I thought I was dying, I swallowed my pride and knelt before Leo. He stood by and let his secretary slap me three times, then refused to give me a single cent. Penniless and broken, I froze to death on the doorstep of the home I had lived in for seven years. So in this life, seeing the exact same lipstick in the exact same spot, I calmly picked it up and placed it in the glove compartment for him. 1 My simple action seemed to unnerve Leo. He suddenly felt the need to explain. “That lipstick belongs to Jenna.” “I took her to a business dinner last night,” he said. “The silly girl thought she could land the contract by drinking the client under the table. She started downing glasses of wine the second she sat down. She got the deal, but she was completely wasted.” “I know you don’t like other women in the passenger seat, but Jenna is the daughter of a dear family friend. He helped me out when I was just starting my company. I couldn’t just leave her there.” He’d said the exact same thing in my last life. Back then, the sight of the lipstick, combined with the fond, gentle way he spoke about his new secretary, had sent me into a blind rage. I’d unbuckled my seatbelt and screamed at him. “Stop the car, Leo! You and this car are equally disgusting.” I don’t remember the details of what happened next. I only remember him pulling over, spitting the word “psycho” at me, and speeding away, leaving me on the side of the road. I walked for four hours in the cold winter drizzle, tears streaming down my face. My heels rubbed my feet raw until they bled. I ended up with a fever of 104 degrees. And as I lay in bed, sick and miserable, Leo was on a plane with Jenna, heading overseas for a business trip. Photos and videos of him adjusting the strap of her slip dress, of her leaning in to kiss his cheek, became the top gossip on his company’s internal forum. How stupid was I in my past life to think that hurting myself would ever make him care? The irony was so bitter that a smirk unconsciously touched my lips. The next second, Leo slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt in the emergency lane. He turned to me, his voice sharp. “How many times do I have to tell you? Jenna is the daughter of my father’s friend. I’m just looking out for her.” “There is absolutely nothing going on between us. Can you please stop being so unreasonable…” Seeing the sudden anger flash across his face, a familiar bitterness welled up in my chest. But this time, it wasn’t for him. It was for the woman I used to be. In my last life, I had pancreatic cancer, one of the most painful forms of the disease. Every day was a blur of nurses jabbing long needles into my skin, leaving me a sobbing mess. Or I’d be curled on the floor, clutching my stomach, begging for a quick death. When I was at my most desperate, I’d taken a fruit knife and stabbed at my own emaciated body, just hoping for a single night of uninterrupted sleep. Yet even then, I could never bring myself to sell our wedding ring for another dose of painkillers. When the doctor told me I had a month to live, I dragged my skeletal frame out of the hospital to find Leo, intending to ask him to remarry me. After all, when my parents died, he had sworn he would take care of me for the rest of my life. But when I finally reached the house we had shared for seven years, I had to kneel and beg the security guard just to call him for me. Leo heard my voice, said my name, and then replied with chilling calm, “Vera, we’re divorced. That means we have no relationship anymore. Whatever happens to you, don’t contact me again.” Then he hung up. I collapsed in the backyard of the villa we once called home. In the final moments before my life faded away, I saw him through the window. He was holding Jenna, his secretary, in his arms. In the home I had so carefully decorated, they were using the dishes I had bought, drinking from the wine glasses I had chosen, sharing a romantic dinner, kissing intimately. The pain in my chest was a physical weight, stealing my breath. Shoving the memory away, I calmly took an eye mask from my purse and slipped it on. “I believe you. There’s nothing going on between you and Jenna.” “Now, can we please get moving?” Leo’s face was a canvas of shock, but I simply pulled the mask down, shutting out the world. 2 The moment we got home, I went straight to our bedroom. I called the hospital, made an appointment with a top specialist, and scheduled a full physical for the next day. Whether in this life or the last, all I ever wanted was to live. Just as I hung up, Leo pushed the door open. “What was that in the car all about?” he demanded. “Vera, can you stop giving me the silent treatment over every little thing?” Ever since Jenna became his secretary, Leo had become exceptionally harsh with me. No matter what I did, he found fault. It was his change in attitude, coupled with Jenna’s constant provocations, that had driven me mad in our last marriage. I fought back the suffocating ache in my chest and turned to him calmly. “Leo, believe it or not, I’m not angry. I’m not trying to start a fight, and I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” “I honestly don’t care about the lipstick.” Without another glance at him, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. When I came out, he was gone. But my phone was blowing up with notifications. It was Jenna’s signature move. Whenever she was with Leo, she would bombard me with photos of them together, treating my message inbox like her personal cloud storage. In my past life, this would have sent me into a spiral of crying fits or provoked me into a screaming match with Leo. But now, as I looked at the photos she sent, I didn’t curse her. Instead, I offered some sincere advice. You’re holding the phone at the wrong angle. Leo’s profile is more handsome. Try holding it higher next time. And you should crop the photo tighter. Less empty space. It’ll make you and Leo look closer. She replied almost instantly. Has your account been hacked? I sent a smiling emoji back. Nope. Just wanted to let you know, he’s all yours. Then, I blocked her. This new arrangement worked for me. I wanted the title of Mrs. Vance and the supplementary credit card. As for Leo’s body and his affection, Jenna could have them. Unlike the foolish woman I was in my last life, I no longer wanted his love. 3 After dealing with Jenna, I lay down and closed my eyes. But even with a second chance at life, sleep didn’t come easily. Just like when I was sick, my dreams were haunted by memories of Leo and me. When we were kids, Leo was quiet and introverted. His mother, a strict teacher, was constantly punishing him. I’d wake up at midnight and see him still at his desk, thick glasses perched on his nose, scribbling away at worksheets while his mother stood over him with a cane. For every wrong answer, the cane would come down hard on his back. Living across the street, I’d watch this happen and my heart would ache for him. Whenever I got candy, I’d sneak it into his backpack at school. “Leo,” I’d whisper with a smile, “eat one when your back hurts.” The first time I gave him candy, his face turned bright red. He waited until I was a hundred feet away before mumbling, “I… I don’t eat candy.” I just waved back, grinning. “Leo, you should talk more. You have a really nice voice.” It became a habit. The boy who was always a loner started waiting for me, waiting for me to slip candy into his bag. In the small alley outside our neighborhood, we walked through countless springs, summers, and winters together. Then, when we were eighteen, Leo, the valedictorian of our county, was accepted into a top university. He awkwardly handed me a brochure for another school. “I checked,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. “This one is really close to mine, only a ten-minute walk. Your scores aren’t high enough for a four-year program, but you could get into this two-year college.” Looking at his nervous face, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my parents had already decided I would go to a four-year university, even if it was a less prestigious one. They could afford it. I secretly changed my application, a decision that earned me a lecture and grounding from my parents, but I never regretted it. We went to college in the same city. Away from his mother, Leo blossomed. He swapped his thick glasses for contacts, grew his buzz cut into stylish curls, and traded his plaid shirts for crisp white ones. His old black sneakers were replaced by clean white ones. I didn’t understand the sudden transformation until I was gushing about my favorite band coming to town for a concert. Leo grabbed my arm, his eyes red-rimmed. “I’ve changed everything about myself to be the person you like,” he said, his voice raw. “Can’t you still find a way to like me?” The word “like” hit me like a sledgehammer. Even though we were at different schools, I’d heard the legends about him—the programming prodigy who won national competitions as a freshman, the coding genius who had job offers from major tech firms by his sophomore year. A group of girls had even started an online forum dedicated to documenting his transformation. I thought an ocean separated us, that we would forever be just friends. I never imagined he felt this way. Without a second thought, I, the girl who was never shy, stood on my toes and kissed him. We started dating. My life revolved around feeding him my favorite milk teas, desserts, and pastries. I had no career plans; my days were spent deciding what to feed Leo or where to take him for fun. Meanwhile, his life continued its meteoric rise. He started his own company while in grad school, secured multiple rounds of funding right after graduation, and by the time he finished his Ph.D., his tech company was ranked among the top 10 in the country. My life went in the opposite direction, as if cursed. I failed the entrance exam to transfer to a four-year program. After graduation, I lived off the allowance Leo gave me. In my second year out of college, my parents, who had always doted on me, were rushing to see me in the hospital for pneumonia when they were killed in a car crash. Suddenly an orphan, I clung to their bodies, my tears soaking through their clothes. And Leo knelt beside me, in front of their bodies, and under his mother’s cold, disapproving gaze, he swore he would take care of me for the rest of my life. We got married. I had multiple miscarriages. Every pregnancy ended in loss. And then, Leo met Jenna. He started to find fault with me. I had no substance, he said. All I ever did was ask him what he wanted to eat or drink. Unlike Jenna, who could discuss world-famous paintings with him, who could debate the future of the tech industry. Tears welled in my eyes. I blinked them open and realized the sun was up. Just like in my last life, my pillow was soaked. Just then, a message from Leo came through. We’re going to the nursing home to see my mom this afternoon. 4 I calmly replied: I’m busy today. I can’t make it. His call came instantly. “What are you busy with?” “Vera, how many times do I have to tell you, there’s nothing going on with Jenna. Why do you have to keep fixating on this one little thing?” Hearing him bring up Jenna again, a bitter smile touched my lips. Since his company took off, Leo had become a man of few words. This was the first time he’d ever harped on a single issue. Was he trying to convince himself he wasn’t interested in her, or was he trying to lessen his own guilt? The pain in my chest was a sharp, trembling thing, but my voice was steady. “Leo, I’m not feeling well. I have to go to the hospital for a check-up. I really can’t go with you to see your mom today.” “Besides, your mother has a heart condition, and she’s never liked me. Isn’t it better if I don’t go and upset her? And doesn’t she adore Jenna? She always said only a woman of Jenna’s status was a worthy match for you. You should take her instead.” I was genuinely trying to be helpful, but my words only made him angrier. “Fine, Vera. Keep throwing your tantrum.” Then he hung up. Listening to the dial tone, I let out another humorless laugh. See? That’s the difference between love and no love. When he used to love me, the slightest hint of sadness on my face would have him anxiously asking what he’d done wrong. Now that he didn’t, even my most sincere suggestions were just me being unreasonable. 5 The familiar ache returned, but I didn’t let it delay me. I went to the hospital, and to avoid any emotional triggers, I left my phone at home. This check-up was too important. It would determine if I was doomed to repeat my past life. For the next seven days, I stayed at the hospital, undergoing biopsies and having vial after vial of blood drawn. I had to thank Leo’s connections and his bank account for the thoroughness of the care. By simply using his name, I got an appointment with a specialist I couldn’t get to see for a month in my last life. Now, he was the first doctor to check on me every morning during his rounds. In my last life, penniless, I’d had to sell my bags and jewelry. Without connections, every test meant another trip to the hospital, waiting two hours for a blood draw, a week for a CT scan. Now, thanks to Leo, I just had to lie in a VIP room, and the nurses came to me. The results were bittersweet. I did have cancer, but it was in the early stages. When the doctor told me, his face was full of sympathy. I, on the other hand, burst into tears, my body shaking uncontrollably. Everyone thought I was terrified. Only I knew I was crying with joy. I finally had a chance to live. The day I got the results, I checked into the hospital to begin treatment. I was confident I could be cured. This time, I had money, the best doctors, and the best medicine. Chemotherapy was still hell, but because it was early stage, the dosage was lighter, and the imported drugs had fewer side effects compared to the generic ones I had in my past life. Aside from losing my hair and some weight, I had enough energy for daily walks. And because of the medication, I never once felt the excruciating pain of a full-blown pancreatic cancer attack. After a month of treatment, the doctor gave me more hope. He said that after two more rounds of chemo, I would likely be able to go home. It was a spark of hope that ignited a fire in my soul. In my last life, my greatest dream was to be cured, to live. But just as I was about to pay for the third round of treatment, the hospital informed me that my supplementary card had been canceled. The payment wouldn’t go through. Hearing the news, I remained calm. As long as we were still married, he was legally obligated to pay for my medical care. I simply asked the nurse for a day pass and took a cab to Leo’s company. The receptionist stopped me at the entrance. “I’m sorry, miss, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Vance.” I smiled faintly and took my marriage certificate out of my purse. “With this, can I see Leo Vance?” The receptionist’s eyes widened. She shot up from her chair. “My apologies, Mrs. Vance. I didn’t recognize you.” I just shook my head and followed her to the elevator. As we passed the main office area, I felt eyes on me. I knew I looked awful—bald, with a thick down jacket thrown over my hospital gown—but I felt no shame. In my last life, after the divorce, I had come here desperate to borrow money for treatment. I never even made it past the front door. Back then, all I had was a divorce certificate, not a marriage one.

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In our sixth year of marriage, my husband, Jackson, began doting on a pretty, fragile college girl. He even grounded a private jet for her. Everyone said he must be madly in love. But this was the same Jackson who’d come home every night and play the part of the perfect, devoted husband. Until he found out I was having an affair, too. The day it all came out, he screamed at me, his voice tearing, asking me why. “If it’s the thrill of someone new you want, I can do whatever they do for you! Anything!” 1. I was humming a little tune when I walked through the door. Jackson was just finishing up in the kitchen and looked up at the sound of my arrival. “You’re back late.” He approached me with that familiar, gentle smile, taking my bag and sliding a pair of slippers onto my feet. “You mentioned last week you were craving that steak from Delmonico’s, so I tried to recreate it. Work was slow today. I made almond torte for dessert, too.” “That’s sweet of you!” I beamed, my smile not quite reaching my eyes. “But I’ve already eaten. You go ahead. Just toss whatever’s left.” I smoothed my hair back, ready to retreat to my study and finish the last pages of my script, but as I passed him, his hand shot out and clamped around my arm. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He bit his lip, a wounded look clouding his features. “Ella, I feel like… you’ve been distant lately.” He chose his words carefully. “Did I do something wrong?” That was a great question. A slow, knowing smile spread across my face as I turned to him. “No, nothing. I’ve just been in a bit of a mood.” I saw the relief wash over him, and just as he began to relax, I added nonchalantly, “My flight for that business trip last week? I was already on the plane when some lunatic started screaming that his woman was on board and was going to run off. He actually forced the entire plane to turn back.” Jackson’s expression flickered through a dozen emotions. “The flight was canceled. I had to rebook, just like everyone else. By the time I got there, the studio exec said I had no sense of professional courtesy and pulled the plug on the deal. Jackson,” I said, my voice dripping with mock despair, “can you believe my luck?” He dropped his gaze, his mind clearly racing. When he looked up again, his face was a mask of weary resignation. “Ella, you never told me you were on that flight. It was Rosalie… she’d hurt her leg and was trying to run off somewhere. I was just honoring the promise I made to her brother before he died. I couldn’t let her make her injury worse.” He added, as if it explained everything, “A dancer’s legs are her entire life.” I nodded slowly. “I get it. You were afraid she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own. So you bought her a condo, sponsored a university dance competition with her as the star, and rushed over to see her in the middle of the night. I get all of it.” I looked right at him, my expression the very picture of empathy. “I understand completely. So, can you let go of my arm now?” Jackson stared at me for a long moment, a profound exhaustion settling over him. He rubbed his temples, shaking his head with a sigh. “Ella, you have so much already. It was just one deal. Don’t be difficult about this, alright?” He reached out, trying to pull me into a hug. “Whatever deal you lost, I’ll make it up to you. Just let this go.” I let him hold me, my gaze fixed on the open door of my study. The wall opposite was covered with the awards and trophies I’d won over the years as a screenwriter. I could write the destinies of others with such ease, but I never imagined my own life would become such a cliché. My husband of six years, the man I’d been with for eleven, was cheating on me with his best friend’s little sister. He showered her with money every month, a constant stream of gifts and support. He’d even forgotten that his own wife was deathly allergic to almonds. The one who loved almond torte was Rosalie. It was never me. I patted the small of his back, my eyes drifting away as he held me. I said nothing. 2. Jackson must have thought he’d smoothed things over, because he let out a visible sigh of relief. But then his phone rang, and he was gone in a flash. He covered the receiver as he turned, his face a canvas of undisguised urgency, but he consciously softened his voice when he spoke to me. It was the same tone he used for the person on the other end of the line—as if he were speaking to a fragile treasure that might shatter at the slightest vibration. “Ella, something’s come up at the office. I have to go.” He paused for a second as he grabbed his coat. “Rosalie… she’s been through a lot. I’ll explain everything when I get back, okay?” After the door clicked shut, I sank onto a chair, my eyes drawn to the framed photo of Jackson and me on my desk. No, it wasn’t okay. Not at all. Forcing me to rehash something I already knew inside and out would only be twisting the knife. But Jackson didn’t see it that way. I remembered last week, when I first heard the flight was being grounded. Before I could even process it, a flight attendant was rushing down the aisle after a phone call, anxiously asking, “Is there a Miss Rosalie Dubois on board?” Rosalie, dressed in a flowing white dress, stood up, a vision of fresh-faced independence. The attendant quickly escorted her off the plane. There was only a thin curtain separating business class from economy. If she had just glanced up, she would have seen my stunned face. Through the window, I watched as my husband grabbed her wrist, his voice sharp and scolding. Tears streamed down Rosalie’s beautiful face, and in the next second, Jackson cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Some of the other passengers, oblivious to the full story, were more captivated by the real-life drama than annoyed by the flight delay. They started recording on their phones, murmuring about what a perfect couple they made. If the man in the video hadn’t been my husband, I might have thought it was a scene from some classic romance movie, too. But all I could do was watch as Jackson, after that passionate kiss, swept Rosalie into his arms and carried her away, leaving nothing but his back turned to the world, and to me. I lit a cigarette, the ember glowing red as it burned down to the filter. When Jackson and I first got married, Rosalie’s brother was our best man. She was only in high school then, watching us from a distance. She was so teary-eyed, so moved, I thought she was just an overly empathetic kid. I even joked that she should save some of those tears for her own wedding. How had I been so blind back then? How had I missed the undisguised ache in Jackson’s eyes when he looked at her? At the thought, a wave of nausea churned violently in my stomach. I bolted upright and ran for the bathroom. After a session of dry heaving left me exhausted, I leaned against the washing machine, my mind a blank haze. Then, my own phone started ringing. “Ella, my star writer! You busy? Just caught some fresh trout. Want me to bring them over?” It was Leo, an actor who’d recently started making a name for himself. He was an influencer-turned-actor, and while he had the looks, a built-in fanbase, and even some decent acting chops, he couldn’t seem to land the right script to break out of the C-list. We’d exchanged numbers at a wrap party, and he’d been texting me ever since, asking me out, making his intentions clear. After all, a role tailor-made for him could launch a nobody into a household name. I was about to say no, but as the word formed on my lips, I caught a glimpse of my own haggard reflection in the mirror above the sink. Instead, I gave him my address. “Be right there!” Leo sounded ecstatic. He said a quick goodbye and hung up. I clutched my phone, staring at my reflection. A bitter, ugly smile twisted my lips. If you can keep making excuses for your betrayal, Jackson, then why can’t I? 3. By the time Leo arrived, I had just finished scraping every last bit of the food Jackson had cooked into the trash. When I opened the door, a stunningly handsome face greeted me. Leo held up two still-flapping trout in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. “Haven’t eaten, have you? Good thing I’m a decent cook. Let me show you what I can do.” He had a way of making himself at home instantly. The moment I gave him a sliver of an opening, he slipped right inside. I watched him put on a pair of Jackson’s slippers and almost told him to change them, but I let it go. “No gigs lately? You have time to go fishing?” “I’m a nobody, Ella. The agency signs me and then forgets I exist. But hey, no work means I have plenty of time to cook for a brilliant, beautiful woman.” Leo shot me a wink. Within minutes, he had one of the fish cleaned and prepped. As he dumped the scraps into the trash, he paused. I knew he’d seen the feast I’d thrown away. He just pursed his lips. “Whoever cooked this clearly doesn’t know you. This stuff is way too rich. Didn’t you just have your appendix out? You’re supposed to be eating light, right?” I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. I didn’t correct him. He was right. I’d been rushed to the hospital with acute appendicitis not long ago. When they needed a family member to sign the consent forms, Jackson was unreachable. He finally showed up the next day, after the surgery was over, rushing in with tears in his eyes, telling me how sorry he was. He’d been exhausted from work, fallen asleep at the office, and hadn’t been there for me. If I hadn’t seen the post on Rosalie’s private social media account—if I hadn’t known the day of my surgery was her birthday, and that Jackson had been with her the whole time—I probably would have believed him. After all, I used to trust him so, so much. Leo was happy to play chef, and I was in no mood for small talk, so I went back to my study to finish my script. “Dinner’s ready!” Leo burst into the study, wearing an apron Jackson had tossed on the sofa before he left. He brandished a pair of chopsticks and shot me a playful look. “Seriously, Ella, I’m a pretty great cook. If you ever write a chef character, you have to recommend me to the director! I’m not afraid of hard work!” “You talk too much,” I grumbled, but a small smile touched my lips. As I walked into the living room, I realized Leo had turned on the TV. The image on the screen made me freeze mid-step. It was Jackson, his face grim, protectively shielding a petite woman in his arms. A swarm of reporters surrounded them, shoving microphones in his face. “Mr. Thorne, sources claim you and Miss Dubois have been secretly involved for six months. Can you confirm you’re having an affair?” “Mr. Thorne, we heard you grounded a jet for Miss Dubois and flew in a world-class dance coach from Europe just for her final exams. Isn’t that a bit extreme?” “Mr. Thorne, your wife is the renowned screenwriter Ella Vance. Does she know about any of this?” At the mention of my name, Jackson finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a clear warning. “Shut your mouths, unless you want your entire network to go under.” Jackson wasn’t in the entertainment industry; he underestimated the tenacity of the press. His threats only made them bolder. “Tch. The girl he’s protecting is Rosalie Dubois, right?” To my surprise, the voice came from behind me. I turned to see Leo, still meticulously wiping the edge of a serving bowl with a paper towel. Seeing me look at him, he offered a lazy grin. “I saw that Rosalie at an industry dinner once. She was with some real estate mogul. His own daughter just got married last year, and Rosalie’s about the same age. She was all over that old creep, fawning over him, taking drinks for him. Later that night, she left with him and a few other investors.” Leo sneered, his face full of disdain. “The girl’s toxic. And that Jackson guy is blind, thinking she’s some pure, innocent flower. He can’t even see she’s a Venus flytrap. He deserves to be played.” The knot of grief in my chest loosened slightly. I glanced up at the large wedding portrait of Jackson and me hanging in the center of the living room. I pointed a thumb at it. “Hello? See the wedding photo on the wall?” “Saw it!” Leo replied cheerfully. He pulled me over to the dining table and sat me down, then leaned in close, his voice a soft, husky murmur in my ear. “Ella, your husband’s got terrible taste. So why don’t we get rid of him, what do you say?” “Consider me, Ella. I’ll be so much more loyal to you than he ever was.” I watched impassively as Leo took my hand and placed it on the smooth, pale skin of his neck. The beautiful young man in front of me held my gaze without blinking. “Choose me. I guarantee… you won’t be disappointed.” 4. The news of Jackson’s affair vanished from the internet in less than a day, replaced by a trending story about a starlet wearing a suspiciously expensive piece of jewelry. I was lounging on the sofa of a condo I’d owned before the marriage. Beside me, Leo was meticulously de-seeding chunks of watermelon and feeding them to me while I argued with a production company on my laptop. “Ella, everyone in the business knows you don’t allow changes to your scripts. And they want you to rewrite a main character? What’s their angle?” Frustrated, I snapped my laptop shut. My last message to them was a simple “Let’s cancel the contract.” Leo had been on a tirade against the director ever since he’d heard, not even bothering to ask for a role for himself. He was just angry on my behalf. “Vent all you want to me, but be careful. That’s a big-shot, award-winning director. Don’t get yourself blacklisted.” Leo just smiled and leaned closer, gently tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “Blacklisted, not blacklisted, who cares? I’m on your side, no matter what.” He really was breathtakingly handsome. The slightest flutter of his eyelashes was enough to captivate you. It was no wonder he’d managed to break out of the influencer world and into this industry. I found myself reaching out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, a picture of willing submission. Then, Jackson’s call came through. “Ella? You haven’t been home the last few days?” Jackson’s voice on the other end was hesitant. “I noticed the bed hasn’t been slept in. Are you on a trip?” I glanced at Leo, who was still trying to get my attention. He held up a goofy novelty mask and mimicked its exasperated expression, making me let out an involuntary laugh. “Are you out right now?” Jackson asked, his tone sharpening. “Yes,” I replied, my patience wearing thin. “Is there something you need? If not, I’m hanging up. I’m busy.” “Wait!” he cut in urgently, taking a deep breath. “You saw the news online, right? That day, Rosalie was being falsely accused of being a sugar baby. I was just helping her out of a jam. You know how the media loves to twist things.” Across from me, Leo rolled his eyes and started tapping away at his phone. “Mhm, yes, I heard. You’re such a saint,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “If the media just makes things up, why did you bother paying to have the story buried?” “I didn’t bury it.” He was growing agitated. “Where are you? Give me an address, I’ll come to you. There’s something I need to discuss.” I paused, glancing at the bag I’d brought with me today. “Perfect. I have something to discuss with you, too.”

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1 The day the Blackwoods came for Ethan, a car crash shattered my world. The driver, heiress Isabelle Thorne, arrived at my hospital bed begging to marry him to avoid scandal. Ethan refused, tearing up the contract. Enraged, Isabelle ripped the oxygen tube from my nose, sneering that he would never marry a “vegetable” from the orphanage. Ethan threw her down the stairs, breaking her legs, and vowed revenge. Over the next three years, he destroyed the Thorne family. Once bankrupt, they handed Isabelle over to him. He forced her to be my caretaker, punishing her cruelly for any harm that came to me. But one day, after she scalded my hand with boiling water again, he forced her onto the floor beside my bed. As their bodies tangled, she gasped, “What if I get pregnant? Is this still revenge?” “Exactly,” he replied coldly. “You’ll have the baby. I will torture you forever.” When they finished, I slowly opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face. After four years in a coma, I knew the truth: Ethan had fallen in love with her. … “I told you, I could get pregnant!” “Ethan, can’t you be a little gentler? We’re not even married, don’t knock me up just yet.” The woman’s soft cries and struggles sounded less like resistance and more like the playful banter of lovers. My vision was blurry, clouded by a film of tears. As a sliver of light pierced the haze, I heard a familiar, husky laugh. “I don’t need to be gentle with you. I want you to feel the pain.” “I’m never letting you go.” As Ethan moved, the cloying, intimate scent of their passion drifted towards me. After four years in a coma, the first thing I smelled upon waking was her perfume clinging to his skin. “Take good care of Lily,” he commanded. “Next time, I won’t let you off so easily, no matter how much you beg.” Isabelle laughed, gathering her clothes from the floor and carelessly wiping the moisture from her body. “You’re a real sicko, Ethan.” A moment later, the curtain draped around my bed was pulled aside. The instant he saw me, someone’s breathing grew ragged and heavy. “Lily!” “Doctor! Get the doctor up here, now!” Ethan frantically shoved Isabelle aside, a raw, uncontainable joy exploding across his face. Covered in the marks of their lovemaking, Isabelle met my gaze and a triumphant smile spread across her lips. “Well, look who’s awake. Lily.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I shouldn’t have woken up. In these four years… something had fundamentally changed. The Blackwood mansion wasn’t like the orphanage; the family doctor was there in minutes. “It’s a miracle! An absolute miracle!” the doctor exclaimed. “Miss Chen is truly awake.” At his words, a radiant smile lit up Ethan’s face. “Lily, this is amazing,” he whispered, kneeling down and pressing his face against the back of my hand, his voice thick with reverence. “I was so afraid you’d never wake up, that you’d leave me all alone.” For a fleeting moment, I was lost in a daze. How did someone like Ethan end up growing up with me? I first met him at Havenwood Orphanage when I was three. He’d been kidnapped. After the ransom was paid, his abductors turned on each other over the money. Four-year-old Ethan was injured in the crossfire and left for dead on the side of the road. By the time the Blackwoods arrived, all they found were the kidnappers’ bodies and a pool of Ethan’s blood. They assumed the worst. A few days later, villagers found him and brought him to the orphanage. He couldn’t remember his name or his parents. With a scar on his forehead, he became Leo of Havenwood Orphanage. We grew up together, leaving at eighteen to make our own way in the world. I remember, right before the accident, he had just rented a small, cozy apartment for us. I’d just gotten into a good college. Staring blankly at my own hand, my gaze drifted back to Ethan. A button was missing from his shirt, torn off in the heat of passion, now lost somewhere on the floor. This wasn’t Leo, the boy who swore he’d marry me as soon as he earned enough money. This was Ethan Blackwood, the heir to the Blackwood fortune. I tried to pull my hand away, but he sensed the movement and gripped it tighter. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “Lily, don’t worry. You’ve been unconscious for so long, it’s normal to have trouble moving. After a full check-up, I’ll arrange for the best physical therapists to help you. You’ll make a full recovery.” My hand trembled as I looked past him. Isabelle was staring at me. Noticing my gaze, Ethan instinctively moved to block her from my sight. “She won’t hurt you again,” he promised. “I’ve already made her life a living hell. She can’t hurt you anymore.” He leaned in, kissing my forehead as if to shield me from some unseen threat. But as he pulled back, I saw it—a smudge of crimson at the corner of his mouth. Isabelle’s lipstick. As he kissed me, the reflection in his eyes showed a faint red mark now transferred to my own skin. Filthy. I tried to form the word, but my voice was gone. A cold draft seemed to blow through my chest. In the suffocating silence, I let my eyelids fall shut. My heart seized, twisting in a knot of pure agony. I closed my eyes again. Ethan would never know. For the past four years, while my body was still, my mind was awake. I heard every word he and Isabelle spoke in front of me, every sound of their lovemaking. He was lying to me. Seeing me close my eyes, Ethan frowned and glanced over his shoulder. He saw Isabelle and assumed I was afraid, his voice laced with panic as he tried to explain. “You don’t want to see her, do you? Don’t worry, I’ll send her to one of the other houses. She won’t stay here.” “She has nowhere else to go but by my side,” he added quickly. “I’m keeping her close… to torture her. For you.” The pain in my chest was so sharp it felt like a physical blow. I tried to turn away, but my body wouldn’t obey. Isabelle took a silent step forward, but Ethan shielded me from her. With a cold expression, she turned and walked out of the room. Just as the door was about to slam shut, her voice cut through the air. “Ethan, I’m pregnant.” “And it’s yours.” For a second, Ethan’s face was a complete blank. I saw his fingers, hanging by his side, twitch as if wanting to reach for her retreating figure. Finally, he turned back to me. His expression was gentle, as if nothing had happened. “Lily, I have something to tell you.” “I’ve been waiting for you all these years. I made her pay. The Thorne family is bankrupt, her parents are overseas… she’s been abandoned.” “Listen to me…” He rambled on, recounting every detail of the three years I had missed. But he didn’t seem to notice how often Isabelle’s name slipped from his lips. “Isabelle is so stupid. Such a spoiled little princess, so easy to fool.” “If this wasn’t a civilized society, I would have played her to death.” “You have no idea how satisfying it was to see her kneeling and begging me for mercy.” He let out a short, harsh laugh, then his eyes lit up as if remembering something. “Lily, I took pictures. Let me go get them.” My fingers twitched. I wanted to stop him, but before I could summon the strength, the corner of his shirt disappeared from view. None of that mattered anymore. My eyes burned as I stared at the ceiling. Ethan was just like he’d always been, deliberately changing the subject when things got uncomfortable. He hadn’t even realized it himself—the flicker of joy on his face when Isabelle announced her pregnancy. I knew she was trying to provoke me, but Ethan’s smile… that wasn’t fake. Lying in bed, I tried to shift my body and froze. A needle. Isabelle had hidden a needle in my mattress. It pricked my skin. She always did this when no one was looking, these small, secret acts of torture. A pinprick is just a tiny red dot. Ethan would never check me that closely… no one would ever know. And even if they did… My thoughts were interrupted by hushed whispers from the hallway. “That woman’s awake. Miss Thorne was so close to marrying Mr. Blackwood.” “Miss Thorne is pregnant. You think a vegetable means more to him than that?” “What punishment? He’s just in denial. It’s love. He just needs someone to spell it out for him.” Turning my head was an immense effort. After being comatose for so long, opening my eyes and wiggling my fingers was my limit. The maids giggled as they looked my way. A stabbing pain shot through my heart, and I could barely breathe. “What are you all talking about?!” A furious roar made them all jump. Ethan was standing right behind them, his face dark as a storm cloud. He glared at the woman who had spoken first. “You’re all fired. See my secretary on your way out to collect your pay.” I watched him quietly. He still defended me unconditionally, just like before. But the old Ethan, the old Leo, would never have dodged my questions. When they were gone, he buried his face in my neck, his touch gentle. The tickle of his hair was a familiar comfort, but his next words were a betrayal. He held me tight, his voice low. “Lily, the baby was an accident.” “I’ll make Isabelle get an abortion.” His eyes were firm, but as I struggled to turn my face towards him, he covered my eyes with his hand. “But Lily… Isabelle has had a few miscarriages before. I… took her to the clinic each time.” “The doctor said this might be her last chance to have a child.” His breath ghosted over my hair as he spoke softly. “The doctor also said… your injuries from the accident were severe.” “We might… we might never be able to have children of our own.” “I want to…” My blinking fluttered against his palm. Before he could finish, the hand he held began to trace letters into his skin, one painstaking stroke at a time. “O. K.” I blinked again, a silent nod. Ethan went rigid, as if he couldn’t believe it. I slowly spelled it out in his palm a second time. By the third time, a tremor ran through him. He was speechless for a long time. “Lily… I’ll make it up to you. In the future.” The future? There was no future for us. In the long years he spent waiting for me, he had already fallen for that arrogant, beautiful monster. The moment the scales tipped in Isabelle’s favor, I knew. I had lost. Ethan wanted to keep that child. It was the fruit of their love. For the next two weeks, Ethan spent every spare moment with me during my physical therapy. I progressed from wiggling my fingers and blinking to being able to sit in a wheelchair and control my facial expressions. But I still couldn’t speak. The recovery of my speech was agonizingly slow. I communicated mostly by blinking or slowly tracing letters into Ethan’s palm. By the time I could stand on my own, a month and a half had passed. Ethan was working late in his study. I shuffled toward the door, my body trembling as I clung to the wall for support. “Just focus on the pregnancy,” I heard him say. “Don’t worry about anything else.” “I’ll help you with the Thorne family’s overseas ventures. They’re already breaking into new markets.” I froze, the blood turning to ice in my veins as I stared at the sliver of light under the door. Before I could process it, my phone buzzed with two new messages. The notification sound was jarringly loud in the empty hallway. My eyes fell to the screen. It was Isabelle. An unknown number had sent a voice message and a photo. “This was my first time getting pregnant. We’d been trying for a while.” “He’s very excited about this baby.” It was her voice. Ethan hadn’t made her get an abortion. He hadn’t even sent her away. Isabelle was living in another one of his mansions. One bigger and more luxurious than this one. She didn’t have to wait on me anymore; now, others waited on her. Her voice message was laced with triumphant laughter. “Ethan could never bear to make me get an abortion. He’ll take very good care of me.” “He comes to see me in secret all the time.” I fled from the study door, my phone vibrating relentlessly in my hand. “A cripple who can’t even walk or talk.” “You think I’m not good enough for Ethan? What does that make you? Waking up is even more miserable than being a vegetable, isn’t it?” “The first time we were together… he was the one who initiated it.” My eyes burned, a sharp pain lancing through my chest. Isabelle knew I wouldn’t reply. After her tirade, she let out a condescending laugh. “Delete all these messages.” “Or I’ll have that pathetic little Havenwood Orphanage of yours shut down.” A violent tremor shot through me. A flood of images filled my mind: Mama Rose, a tiny version of me, and a little boy named Leo. He wasn’t Ethan yet. That was where we grew up together. I had told him once that after I graduated, I wanted to go back to Havenwood. He had pressed a popsicle into my hand and ruffled my hair, a wide grin on his face. “Okay. And if I were a rich man, I’d donate tons and tons of money to Havenwood.” “We’d hire twenty nannies to take care of the kids.” “You’d be the beautiful Mama Lily, and I’d be Papa Leo.” The memory was a distant, muffled echo. My hands shook as I typed out a reply, one character at a time. “I’ll tell Ethan.” The person on the other end seemed to hesitate. But a few seconds later, the screen lit up with an incoming call. I answered. Isabelle’s voice was dripping with arrogance. “He already knows.” “He knew when I kicked out your precious Mama Rose and all those other paupers.” “In fact, Ethan helped me. Do you want to go see for yourself?” Her voice was a seductive whisper. I froze. After a long pause, I lowered my head and began deleting her messages, one by one. “Okay.” After Ethan’s car left the mansion, Isabelle arrived at the front door. The maids were clearly familiar with her, taking her coat and offering her a small, exquisite cake. One of them noticed me watching and smirked. “Mr. Blackwood’s special order. For… Miss Thorne. Her favorite cake, made by a chef from Europe.” “Maybe Miss Thorne will be moving back in soon.” “This isn’t for you. You shouldn’t eat it anyway.” I tore my gaze away. When she was ready, she easily led me out of the mansion. No one stopped us. I was bundled into her car, the maids watching us go as if they saw nothing. The car stopped. I was pushed out onto a familiar stone path. I looked up, and a high heel pressed down hard on my back. “Take a good look,” Isabelle sneered. “This is your precious Havenwood.” A roar filled my ears. My breath caught in my throat, the pain suffocating me. The old, dilapidated building, the once-neat vegetable patch now choked with weeds. Through the fence, I saw a few gaunt children. One of them spilled a bucket of water and was immediately slapped by a caretaker. “You little brat! Are you blind?!” This wasn’t my home. This wasn’t Mama Rose’s home. It was all wrong. Where was Mama Rose? I frantically searched, and Isabelle noticed my desperate movements. She leaned down. “Looking for that old hag?” “She didn’t want to ‘retire’ and hand the orphanage over to me. So Ethan forced her into early retirement and sent her abroad.” “All the old staff were kicked out, too.” My heart stopped. My hands clenched as I struggled to breathe. A soft laugh came from above me as Isabelle held up her phone. “It’s Ethan.” His familiar voice came through the speaker, muffled by background noise. He sounded… off. “Weren’t you supposed to be at your prenatal appointment? I’m here, but the hospital says you’re not.” “Oh, silly me. I must have gotten the date wrong,” Isabelle replied without a hint of sincerity. Ethan didn’t sound angry. Instead, Isabelle glanced at me with a smirk before cooing into the phone. “I’ve been looking at that plot of land the orphanage is on. The building is so old.” “I’m thinking of tearing it down and building a shopping mall.” I struggled desperately, craning my neck, clawing at the phone, trying to force out a choked, desperate “no.” “Then tear it down,” Ethan said. “Just don’t tell Lily.” My frantic movements ceased. Ethan’s detached voice continued. “I’ve hated that place for a long time. It’s a stain on my past I can never wash away.” “There’s no point in keeping it.” Amidst Isabelle’s triumphant laughter, her tone turned sweet and cloying as she flirted with him. “Well, if you marry Lily, I won’t be able to sneak into your bed anymore. I’m her enemy, after all.” The line was silent for a few seconds. Then, Ethan chuckled. “Then just be quiet about it. Don’t let her know.” “I’m not going to marry her. I’ll come see you tonight.” One drop, then another, splattered on the ground. I couldn’t tell if they were my tears or the first drops of rain. Isabelle’s high heel left a trail of bruises on my back and arms. I was dropped back at the mansion, a broken doll, and found Ethan just as he was about to leave. “Who did this?!” Seeing my disheveled state, he swept everything off a nearby table in a furious rage. He demanded answers, but the maids just exchanged glances and lowered their heads, feigning ignorance. His face was a mask of fury. As he moved towards the door, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He turned, and I forced a weak smile. “Leo,” I whispered, the sound raspy, “do you remember Havenwood Orphanage?” “Of course I remember. You have no idea how much I want to go back,” he said, his expression softening, a hint of anxiety in his eyes. “But I’ve been so busy.” “Why? Do you want to see her?” I shook my head, my voice still just a breath of air. “No rush.” I wasn’t used to his scent anymore. The cologne was too heavy. He gently applied ointment to my bruises, then looked up and froze. “Don’t cry. Did someone hurt you?” “Tell me who it was. I have money and power now. I can make them pay.” “Who took you out of the mansion? Tell me.” “Please, don’t cry.” All the pain and fear I had bottled up erupted in that moment. He looked helpless, pulling me into his arms and repeating those two words over and over. “Don’t cry.” He never could stand to see me cry. He used to say it felt like a piece of his own heart was being carved out. He carefully wiped my tears and stayed with me until I was back in my room. We sat together, leaning against each other, just like when we were kids. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, the space beside me was cold and empty. Long before I had woken, he had taken the car and driven off into the darkness. He went to see Isabelle after all. Standing by the window, I took out my phone with a trembling hand. Staring at the unknown number, I summoned my courage and typed a single line. “I need to see you.” After sending the message, I smiled through a fresh wave of tears. It’s almost over. Everything is almost over.

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1 I was grabbing a greasy kebab from a street cart—a guilty pleasure—when I ran into an old college classmate. Her eyes widened. She said I was taking the silent treatment with Sophia too far. Sophia Thorne. Daughter of the wealthy family my father worked for, and my first love. We’d planned to study abroad together—a bright, clear future. But at our graduation party, someone drugged her. When I rushed to help, she suddenly came to her senses in the haze. She had her bodyguards throw me, naked, out of the room as everyone watched, screaming I was a gold digger who’d do anything for money. After that, my name meant “social climber.” The city’s scorn grew suffocating, so I left with my father. That was two years ago. Now my classmate pulled out her phone. “You have no idea—Sophia’s been searching for you like crazy,” she said. “Just apologize and humor her. Couples fight and make up. It’s not a big deal.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I showed her my lock screen—a smiling woman and a baby—and the gold band on my finger. “Make up?” I said flatly. “I’m married. I have a kid.” … 2 This classmate, Chloe, had been Sophia’s best friend since childhood. She’d been a spectator to our entire relationship, from its innocent beginnings to its fiery end. She fumbled, hanging up the phone, her hand trembling slightly. After a long moment, she stared at me, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. “No way, man. You seriously had a kid with someone else behind her back?” I’d snuck out tonight for a moment of peace, not a trip down memory lane. I had no intention of continuing this conversation and turned to leave. But she scrambled to block my path, her face a mask of undisguised panic. “Sam, listen to me! Sophia is even richer now than when you two broke up!” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “She took over the family business. She’s Northwood’s most eligible bachelorette! She even said if you come back, she’ll marry you. No prenup, nothing!” Her desperate pitch faltered as she saw the complete lack of emotion on my face. Still, she pushed on, one last desperate plea. “Just… divorce your wife. Get rid of the kid. I’ll pretend I never saw you tonight.” My blood ran cold. The look in my eyes must have been sharp, because she flinched. “You and Sophia need to see a shrink,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Stop harassing people.” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. I was already halfway down the block when I heard her shriek behind me. “Who are you trying to fool, Sam? Weren’t you the pathetic loser who drugged Sophia trying to climb into her bed in the first place?” Climb into her bed. That label had been stuck to me from the day Sophia and I started dating. She was the city’s beloved heiress, and my father was just a gardener on her family’s estate. An heiress and a nobody. It was a mismatch in everyone’s eyes. But Sophia’s love had been fierce, unapologetic. People whispered that I must have used some dirty trick, some low-class charm to bewitch the daughter of a prestigious family. Back then, I was young and proud, my self-respect my most prized possession. All I knew was that I loved Sophia, and she loved me. So I gritted my teeth, fueled by a burning desire to prove them all wrong. I wanted to show the world that Sam Cole, on his own merit, was worthy of Sophia Thorne. I refused her supplementary credit card. I never used her connections to pad my resume. From eighteen to twenty-two, our relationship, the one everyone swore would fail, lasted four years. I thought we would have so many more. Then, the summer after graduation, Julian Vance, the son of a close family friend of the Thornes, came to stay with them in Northwood. Julian was the real deal—a blue-blooded scion from a legacy family. He played the harp, excelled at equestrianism, and could dance like a professional. He was radiant and confident, possessing everything I had, and everything I didn’t. Whispers started circulating, dropped casually in front of me, about an old, informal betrothal pact their parents had made years ago. Julian’s visit, they said, was to make it official. Anxiety gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove to the stables to find Sophia. Every Saturday afternoon, she’d be there, riding to blow off steam. But this time was different. When I found her, she wasn’t riding. She was leaning against the fence, her gaze fixed on the center of the ring, her eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar light. I followed her line of sight. There was Julian, magnificent in his riding gear, effortlessly commanding his horse. I watched him for a moment, then looked back at Sophia. She hadn’t noticed me. Her attention was completely captivated by him. My unease morphed into full-blown panic. I finally called her name. She started, turning to me. Then her face lit up, and she grabbed my hand, gushing about how incredible Julian’s riding skills were. Finally, she asked, “Sam, want to give it a try?” My face burned with shame. “I… I don’t know how to ride,” I mumbled, feeling myself shrink. The disappointment that flashed in her eyes felt like a dagger to my heart. We had a fight that day, a stiff, awkward argument. She looked utterly bewildered but tried her best to explain. She insisted she didn’t like Julian, that the childhood engagement was just a drunken joke between their parents that no one took seriously. Logically, that should have been the end of it. But the knot in my throat only tightened. I wanted to tell her to stay away from him. I wanted to say, Just wait for me. I’ll be someone great one day, someone who deserves you. But the words were trapped, suffocated by a pride that felt more like poison. To say any of it would be to admit my own inferiority, my own desperate, pathetic jealousy. So, I grew quiet. Sophia didn’t seem to notice. She and Julian had too many shared interests to explore. But her mother did. Mrs. Thorne summoned me to the sunroom, her tone as light and pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “Do you know why I never tried to stop Sophia from dating you, Sam?” I remained silent. “Because I knew it would never last,” she continued, her smile never reaching her eyes. “This way, she gets it out of her system. There will be no lingering obsession.” She gestured vaguely towards the garden. “See? Look how well she and Julian are getting along now.” I stood there, a chill spreading down my spine as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me. “Sophia told me she doesn’t like him,” I managed to say. Mrs. Thorne let out a soft, soundless laugh, adjusting the cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “You foolish boy. If you step aside gracefully, you’ll give her an easy way out.” “And if I don’t?” “Sam,” she said, her voice losing its feigned warmth, “this is a notification, not a suggestion.” Mrs. Thorne was a woman of her word. The next day, she fired my father. He stood before me, tears streaming down his weathered, sun-beaten face, his chest heaving with frustrated sobs. His hands moved frantically, signing his story. “They said I was a thief. They docked a month’s pay. But I wasn’t! I never left the gardens!” I choked back my own tears, apologizing over and over, promising I’d get his wages back. But when I went to find Sophia, she was playing a video game with Julian. She glanced up at my interruption, tossed her controller aside, and asked in a strange, detached tone, “Sam, why did you get together with me in the first place?” I froze. “Did your mother say something to you?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Sophia, don’t listen to her, she—” “Don’t talk about my mother like that, Sam,” she cut in, her expression hardening with irritation. I stood there, lost, staring at this suddenly unfamiliar woman. The annoyance in her eyes felt like a physical blow. After what felt like an eternity, she turned away, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder without even looking at me. “Just go home for now.” I stood outside the door, watching as she sat back down. Julian picked up his controller, said something that made her laugh, and she leaned against him, her body relaxing into his. He didn’t pull away. For the first time, I felt a horrifying certainty that Mrs. Thorne had been right all along. A few days later, two things arrived simultaneously: my father’s missing wages and my acceptance letter from UPenn. Seeing the joy on my father’s face as he clutched the check, and reading the email on my phone, I hesitated. Finally, I sent Sophia a text, thanking her and telling her my offer had come through. Going to UPenn together had always been our plan. She replied instantly with an address and two words: “Come here.” Sophia was out with her circle of friends—the daughters of Northwood’s elite, whose favorite pastime was stirring up trouble. When I walked in, the girl nearest the door raised her champagne flute. “Well, well!” she drawled. “Look who it is! Sir Sam himself. Congrats on the UPenn acceptance letter! Don’t forget us little people when you’re on top!” I’d grown used to this kind of veiled mockery over the years. I ignored her and walked straight to Sophia, who was staring down into her drink. Before I could even sit, the same girl added with a smirk, “You know, Sam, you’re a classic case of marrying up. Let’s be real, someone from your background would never get a chance to study abroad if it weren’t for Sophia.” Her words had barely settled when Sophia let out a cold laugh. She rose slowly, gracefully, holding her wine glass. Then, in front of everyone, she poured the entire contents over the girl’s head. The empty glass smashed at her feet, and Sophia’s hand cracked across her face in a vicious slap. “Your mouth stinks,” Sophia spat. “You should keep it shut.” The room erupted into chaos. The two of them were a tangle of flailing limbs and curses until they were finally pulled apart and sent to separate hospitals. In the car on the way to the emergency room, Sophia wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Without looking at me, she asked, “Did you get the money?” I was dabbing at a cut on her knuckles with a napkin. I nodded. She snatched her hand back, a strange, bitter chuckle escaping her lips. Then she grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her eyes were intense, searching. “Sam,” she said, each word a carefully placed stone, “if I didn’t have money, would you still be with me?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me, so profound it was almost dizzying. But I held her gaze, swallowing the lump in my throat, and answered with all the sincerity I had left. “Sophia, believe it or not, it’s always been you. Just you.” Years ago, my father, who is deaf-mute, was repeatedly cheated out of his wages by unscrupulous agencies who took advantage of him. It was Sophia, passing by, who stopped and gave me her number, telling me her family needed a gardener and that my dad should try applying. The memory of her bright, confident smile still visited me in my dreams. She was a splash of vibrant color in my otherwise gray life. How could I not love her? But I knew, in that moment, she didn’t believe me anymore. The way she looked at me was different now. It was the calculated, scrutinizing gaze of a superior assessing a subordinate, someone trying to curry favor. For the first time, I seriously considered ending things with her. But the thought alone was a physical pain, a fist clenching around my heart. So I did the cowardly thing. I buried my head in the sand and did nothing. Until the graduation party. I was in a storage closet, grabbing more chairs, when I saw Sophia stumbling down the hotel corridor, swaying so badly she was about to collapse. My heart seized. I dropped the chairs and sprinted towards her, catching her just as her knees gave out. Her hair was a mess, her face flushed, and she was muttering about being hot. I assumed she was just drunk and started half-carrying, half-dragging her towards a private lounge to rest. It wasn’t until she pushed me onto the sofa and pinned me down that I realized something was terribly wrong. I struggled, trying to hold her off while fumbling for my phone to call 911. But she clung to me, her body trembling with sobs, mumbling my name over and over. A traitorous thought flickered through my mind: maybe this was fate making the choice for me. And Sophia, it seemed, had made her choice too. She lifted her head, her eyes hazy as she tried to focus on my face. “E…than?” My hands trembled as I reached up, my fingers brushing against the back of her neck. The next second, a powerful kick sent me sprawling onto the floor. Sophia clutched at her dress, staring down at me with wide, horrified eyes. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing? You drugged me!” I stared back at her, stunned. “Drugged you? No, I just saw you… you looked like you were about to pass out, so I…” My words died in my throat. The look in her eyes—pure contempt and disgust—silenced me. “Keep lying,” she sneered. “Just keep lying, Sam. When did you become this… this creature?” My face burned with humiliation. “It wasn’t me,” I pleaded, a last, desperate attempt to salvage the truth. “I didn’t do anything! You can check the security cameras!” Her only response was a cold, mocking silence. My heart felt like it was turning to ice. I turned away, wiping at the corner of my eye, and whispered the words I’d been avoiding for weeks. “Sophia, let’s break up.” The silence was shattered by her sharp, cruel laugh. She strode over, her heel pressing down hard on my shoulder, pinning me to the floor as she pulled out her phone and called security. “Wow, Sam, you’re good,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Playing hard to get now? Is money really that important to you?” She let out a sharp, decisive breath. “Fine.” Before I could react, two burly security guards were at the door. Sophia opened it wide, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Get him out of here,” she commanded, her face a blank mask. “Throw him into the hallway. Just like that.”

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On my son’s fifth birthday, I found messages on my husband David’s phone about a hotel room with another woman. He called her baby, bought her jewelry, and promised a Disney trip after our party. I confronted him. He admitted to cheating but swore we were his real family. After eight years of marriage, I couldn’t ruin our son’s birthday, so I pretended nothing happened. Then a voice message played aloud: “David, I’m on the roof. I’ll jump if you don’t come now!” He bolted for the door. I told him coldly, “If you leave, we’re done.” He froze, but didn’t look back. … 1 Unlocking David’s phone had been an accident. But seeing the messages from a girl named Lily was not. They stretched back to last March, a relentless, daily stream. When it was windy, she’d remind him to wear a jacket. When it rained, she’d share a picture of the new umbrella he’d bought her. On Valentine’s Day, she’d sent a photo of herself wearing the necklace he’d given her, shyly modeling a new piece of lingerie. And then there was today’s message, sent with a cute kitten emoji: “When is your son’s party over? I’ve already booked the hotel at Disney. We can leave tonight.” … I scrolled through their so-called love story for half an hour and still hadn’t reached the beginning. The old me would have thrown this phone at his face, screamed “You bastard!” and walked out without a second thought. But that was then. Now, we’ve been married for eight years, and today is our son’s fifth birthday. Both our families are here at the hotel, ready to celebrate. The party starts in less than an hour. And this is the moment I find proof of his affair. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart, a searing, relentless pain. But I didn’t have time to cry. My five-year-old son was waiting for me in the living room. It was his day. The minutes ticked by. I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, fixed my hair, and then walked out to the living room. I called David, who was helping Tim open a new Lego set, into our bedroom. I laid it all out for him. I didn’t ask him who she was. I just asked him, “Tim is only five. What are you going to do?” The smile vanished from David’s face. His hands trembled as he pulled out a cigarette, then another, and another, until the entire pack was empty. He didn’t move until our son knocked on the door, his small voice asking when we were leaving for the party. That seemed to snap him out of his trance. His voice, hoarse from the smoke, was strained. “I admit it, I cheated. But you and Tim are my real family.” “It will never happen again.” Right there, in front of me, he opened his messages, blocked her number, and deleted the chat history. As if he could erase it all like a bad dream. I wiped my own tears, fixed my makeup, and opened the bedroom door with a smile plastered on my face. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then hoisted Tim onto his shoulders and carried him out to the car. As if nothing had ever happened. It wasn’t until eight o’clock that night, when the waiter rolled in the birthday cake and the lights dimmed for the candles, that the illusion shattered. David’s phone lit up, and a voice message played loud enough for the whole table to hear: “David, I’m on the roof. If you don’t come, I’m going to jump!” 2 The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor shattered the moment. As David lunged to his feet, a tureen of steaming hot soup sloshed over the table, right onto our son’s arm. A piercing scream cut through the room, and everything descended into chaos. My parents rushed to pour cold water on Tim’s arm. His grandparents were already in tears, trying to soothe his hysterical crying. And David, the cause of it all, just stumbled back, a flicker of apology in his eyes before he turned and ran out of the room without a second thought. His younger sister, Sarah, looked terrified, rushing to cover for him. “Lily is… she’s one of his junior employees. Something awful happened with her family, she’s not doing well. As her boss, he can’t just ignore it… I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Lily? So she even knew the girl’s name. What else had she been hiding for him? Sarah was five years younger than David. When I married him, she was just starting college. She used to follow me around, calling me her big sister, promising we’d be best friends for life. Now, that same girl couldn’t even meet my eyes as she stammered, “Chloe, you and my brother have been married for so long… You understand, right?” My throat felt like it was clogged with stones, raw and aching. I didn’t answer her. I just reached out and pulled my son into my arms. “We’re going to the hospital.” At the emergency room, the diagnosis came back: second-degree burns. Blisters of all sizes and angry red welts covered his entire arm. He had cried himself into exhaustion. My parents were furious, their voices shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “This is insane! What kind of employee is more important than his own son? Tim is only five! Why should he have to suffer like this?” David’s parents were deeply ashamed, trying to comfort me while urging Sarah to call him. “Get that worthless boy on the phone right now! My grandson is seriously hurt. He needs to be here!” But for three hours, through five bags of IV fluids, David didn’t answer a single call from any of us. Instead, a friend request popped up on my phone. [This is Lily. I’m pregnant.] 3 I accepted her request. In the suffocating silence of the hospital room, her first message came through. It was an ultrasound report. Thirteen weeks. Doing the math, she would have conceived around the time David’s mother was in the hospital for back surgery. He’d said he was too busy with work to help. So I was the one who juggled taking care of a five-year-old Tim while running back and forth to the hospital. The second message was a picture of a two-carat diamond ring. It wasn’t massive, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The design was one David had sketched himself. I’d found the drawing in his desk drawer right before our anniversary. He told me it was a surprise he was designing for a friend’s proposal. Before I could even open the third message, David finally showed up. His clothes were disheveled, and the guilt in his eyes as he looked at me and Tim was impossible to hide. Our parents quietly left the room, telling David to comfort our son and apologize to me properly. David nodded and sat down, his hand hovering over Tim’s sweaty forehead. After a long silence, his voice came out, strained and heavy. “She’s pregnant.” My fingertips trembled. “And?” “She’s so young. An abortion would be really hard on her body. I… I think she should have the baby.” For a moment, I felt like my brain just shut down. I asked, my voice hollow, “What about Tim? What about our son? What happens to him?” David looked startled, as if the thought had never crossed his mind—or maybe it had, and he just didn’t care. “Tim is our legitimate son. Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be fine.” The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face, washing away my makeup and revealing the broken mess underneath. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I opened the third message from Lily. It was a picture of a crumpled piece of paper. I could see the hospital’s logo on the back; it looked like a blank prescription pad she’d torn off a desk. Scrawled all over the small sheet were lists of names. [These are the names David picked out for our baby.] As I stared at the list, David’s anxious voice filled the silence. “Lily said she doesn’t want status or money. It’s just… when it’s time to register the baby’s birth certificate, she hopes I can… temporarily divorce you…” I let his words sink in, a roaring sound filling my ears. In such a short time, he had already planned out their entire future. We had been in love for ten years, married for eight. And it was all undone by an eight-month affair. My eyelashes fluttered, sending a chill straight to my soul. I looked at my son, asleep in the hospital bed, his little brow furrowed in pain even in his dreams. Then I looked at David—at his guilty, pleading, and ever-so-slightly impatient eyes. And just like that, the storm inside me stilled. I knew what I had to do. I put down my phone and spoke softly. “David, we’ve been together for more than ten years now.” “I remember when you first asked me out. You were twenty years old, clueless about girls and romance. But you saved up for weeks to buy me a gift. That necklace was truly hideous, but it was from you.” “I remember our wedding day, how you panicked when you couldn’t find my shoes, terrified you wouldn’t be able to marry me.” “And when I was pregnant, you never missed a single doctor’s appointment. When my feet swelled up so badly I couldn’t sleep, you’d get up without complaint, comforting me, massaging my legs, telling me you would only ever love me…” I paused, my gaze fixed on him. “David, tell me. Do you still love me?” He couldn’t, could he? Otherwise, how could he have shattered our family so completely on our son’s birthday? His eyes reddened. His lips parted, then closed, over and over again. Finally, only three words came out. “We’re family.” Family. Like a blow to the head. It shocked me out of my memories and back into this cold, sterile reality. I didn’t say another word. I told him to leave the room. Then I texted my best friend. “Help me find a lawyer. I want a divorce.” 4 Getting a divorce is never easy. Especially when there’s a child involved. The moment I got the separation agreement, my parents got wind of it and rushed over to talk me out of it. “He was wrong to let Tim get burned, Chloe, but he’s still his father. Please, don’t do anything rash.” Sarah showed up too, with my in-laws in tow. “Chloe, I yelled at him yesterday, I really did. He knows he messed up. He even had me order a new birthday cake for Tim.” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Yes, he did! It arrived first thing this morning. It’s still in the box.” Sarah placed the cake box on the coffee table and opened it. The air in the room froze. It was a gaudy, multi-tiered cake with “Happy 80th Birthday!” scrawled across it in bright pink frosting. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the picture before he ordered it. A bitter, cynical laugh almost escaped my lips. I looked away and went back to packing my suitcase. Sarah was on the verge of tears, stammering out excuses for him. “The delivery guy must have mixed up the orders! My brother loves Tim so much, he would never—” The sound of a key in the front door cut her off. David was home. And he was holding Lily’s hand. In his other arm, he carried several bags overflowing with maternity and baby supplies. The silence was absolute. Every eye in the room was fixed on Lily’s swollen belly. Sarah’s voice trembled. “What is she doing here?” My mother’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled Tim into a tight hug. “Who is she?” The question I hadn’t asked, my mother asked for me. David didn’t answer. He let go of Lily and grabbed my suitcase. “Where are you going?” I wanted to give him a dignified smile, but I realized he didn’t deserve it. My voice was flat. “Somewhere my son and I belong.” His eyes widened in panic. “Just… just for a little while, then? I’ll come get you. We can…” “Ow!” Lily cried out, interrupting him. “David, my stomach hurts.” He instantly forgot about me, his face flooding with panic. He swept Lily up into his arms and started carrying her toward our bedroom. “Daddy!” Tim’s small voice cut through the tension. The white gauze on his arm was a glaring reminder of everything that had happened. “Daddy, are you still going to celebrate my birthday with me?” The childish innocence of his question stunned everyone into silence. My father-in-law closed his eyes in defeat. Sarah turned away to hide her tears. My dad picked up my suitcase. His voice was low and firm. “Let’s go, Chloe. We’re going home.” David’s arms seemed to slacken around Lily. “Wait!” He pushed Lily away and stood in front of me and Tim. “Lily has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. After it’s over, I’ll come straight to your parents’ house to pick you both up.” I stared at him, bewildered. “You don’t have to—” He cut me off, barreling ahead with his own plans. “That villa we looked at in South Hills, the one you said you liked? I bought it. You and Tim can move in there.” “You always wanted a garden. I already had the property manager plant those pomegranate trees you love.” I frowned. “David, really, you don’t—” “And Tim,” he continued, his voice softening as his gaze fell on our son’s bandaged arm. “I had my assistant contact a specialist. We have a consultation this weekend. I promise, he won’t have a single scar…” “David.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I cut him off, pulled the divorce papers and a pen from my bag, and signed my name right there in front of everyone. “If you really want to make it up to me, then sign this. Now.” “Let’s get a divorce.”

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I was with Jax for ten years. But the day he decided to go straight, his crew was already calling someone else “boss lady.” Those hands, which had seen their share of blood and battles, were now gently tying the laces on a young girl’s canvas sneakers. “Sandy,” he told me, “she’s not like you.” “You can run wild with me, no questions asked, no title needed. She can’t.” I didn’t look back that day. What Jax never knew was that my family had been waiting for me to get this out of my system. They had a good man waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting for me to give him a title of his own. 1 The day Jax decided to wash his hands of the life, he pulled me into bed and the world outside ceased to exist. I stared at the shredded lingerie on the floor, a tangled mess of black lace. For a moment, I was speechless. “Jax,” I finally managed, “is it the end of the world?” The raw, desperate way he’d taken me… it felt like there was no tomorrow. He was smoking his usual post-sex cigarette, his eyelids heavy, a haze of smoke blurring his features. “Sandy, if I were to… break it off with you,” he started, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. “You wouldn’t, like, lose your mind over it, would you?” He said it like a joke, but a chill ran down my spine. Ten years with Jax had taught me to read every nuance. He liked his women obedient on the surface, but with a core of rebellion he could play against. Just like now. I took the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, pushed down the storm churning inside me, and raised a lazy eyebrow. “Jax, do you still think I’m eighteen?” If I were still that eighteen-year-old in canvas shoes, I would have demanded answers. I would have made him pay for leaving me, consequences be damned. But I’m twenty-eight now… A lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t finish the thought. Jax just ruffled my hair and stubbed out the cigarette as it burned down to his knuckles. “Sandy, let’s end it here.” “And stop smoking. For fuck’s sake, stop treating your body like it’s disposable.” “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t keep living like this.” In that instant, I froze. A breakup at twenty-eight. The first one to cry loses everything. The smeared makeup, the raw vulnerability—it’s a complete defeat. I tried to act casual, reaching for my jacket on the floor, ready to leave. But Jax’s long arm snaked out and pulled me back into his arms. Outside, the clouds were a swirl of dark ink, pregnant with a coming storm. His lips traced a path down my spine as he expertly adjusted the strap of my dress. He nibbled on my earlobe, just like he always used to. “Heard me?” he whispered. I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to mind. His tone was that of a man in absolute control, a king speaking to his subject. “It’s about to rain. Stay a little longer, hm?” Ten years can smooth over any conflict, creating a deceptive calm on the surface. Jax must have forgotten. My temper… it wasn’t just for show. If we were going to break, it had to be clean. I straightened my back, pushing his chiseled, handsome face away, and offered a small, cool smile. “How long is this storm going to last?” He had someone else in his heart now. How long did he think he could keep me here? A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he recovered quickly. When he introduced the other girl, his words were simple, brutal. “Sandy, you’re a smart woman.” “Her name is Ava. She’s not like you. You can be in the muck with me, without a title.” “She can’t. She’s too pure.” I swallowed hard. The wreckage of our night was all around us. Suddenly, I didn’t know what to say. What did he mean, I could be in the muck with him without a title? The black silk, the high heels, the slip dresses. For years, Jax had molded me into his perfect woman. Now that I’d finally perfected that sultry, dangerous look, he found it cheap? For a moment, I wanted to scream at him. But he put a finger to his lips, silencing me. It was a phone call. From the girl, Ava. “Jax? You said you were coming to pick me up…” her voice was a fragile whisper. “I’m all alone, and I’m scared…” 2 Jax left me for her. The roar of his engine echoed from the underground garage as a text message lit up my phone. [I’ll be out of town for a bit. Get your stuff out of the house.] [I’m having someone change the locks in two weeks.] I didn’t reply. I just moved through the villa I’d called home for five years, silently erasing every trace of myself. After a long while, my phone lit up again. Jax must have reached the terrified Ava by now. This was him, tying up the last loose end of our decade together. [Call me if you need anything.] [I can’t give you a title, but other than that, we can still be friends.] I had loved Jax for ten years. And in return, I got a casual dismissal. A friend. … The downpour lasted for two full days. The city was drowning, a damp chill seeping into my bones. I couldn’t sleep. I’d wake in the dead of night and flick a lighter open, just to see the small flame. The year I got with Jax, he was just a street hustler who couldn’t make rent, living in a damp basement apartment. In that humid air, the only light came from his lighter. Click. Click. The flame sparking, then dying. Jax, with his sharp buzz cut, had stared at me in my school uniform. “Think this through, Sandy.” “A guy like me, I’m not going anywhere.” “I can’t give you the future you want.” I was so damn naive back then. I took off my rain-soaked canvas shoes and tucked my ice-cold feet into the warmth of his chest, right against the thin fabric of his tank top. His body heat was like a torch, slowly setting me ablaze. There was only that single, flickering flame, but I stubbornly nodded. “Jax, I don’t want a future.” “I just want you.” We went through hell together. Nights filled with the smell of antiseptic and the rustle of bandages. Nights of desperate, clinging passion. Jax used to say that the day he finally went straight, the very first thing he would do was marry me. Now, he was going straight. And the first thing he did was cut me out of his life. I’m twenty-eight. I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t keep messing around. Besides, my family had a man waiting for me. Just waiting for me to give him a title. 3 I decided to leave the city. But first, I took the keys to the villa and went to Jax’s club. No makeup, no fancy dress. Just jeans and canvas sneakers. When I walked in, most of the guys didn’t even recognize me. It was only when I took off my cap that the crew—the same guys who used to eagerly call me “boss lady”—fell silent. They all knew about Jax and the new girl. The ones who were still loyal to me started trying to stir things up. “Sandy, for what it’s worth, we all think you and the boss are the perfect match.” “This new girl… she’s a lightweight. Can’t exactly show her off, can you?” “Why don’t you go talk to him? You know he always listens to—” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Ten years with Jax. I had an innocent face, but with a slash of red lipstick and a bit of eyeliner, I could look deadly. Plenty of men had their eyes on me, but Jax was always there to protect me. Anyone who dared to touch a hair on my head ended up hauling sandbags in some godforsaken desert outpost. If I shed a single tear, Jax would drop everything to comfort me. That was a privilege once reserved only for me. But this time, the guys didn’t get to finish their sentence. A porcelain cup shattered against the wall, right next to one of their heads. Jax’s face was dark with fury. “Anyone listening would think Sandy runs this place.” “Is this how you watch my business when I’m gone?!” The sprawling room went dead silent. That was the power Jax commanded. Only now, that power was being used against me. I started to explain, to defend the guys, but the girl behind him peeked out, her tone deceptively innocent. “Jax, is this the Sandy you told me about?” “She’s dressed just like me!” Jax’s brow furrowed as he looked me up and down. Jeans, canvas sneakers. It was a mirror image of Ava’s style. He looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. “Sandy, did you look her up?” If you looked closely, Ava did look about five parts like I did at eighteen. Especially in this outfit. I saw right through the girl’s little game, but I refused to defend myself. Instead of me investigating Ava, wasn’t it more likely that someone had investigated Jax’s tastes? After ten years together, he couldn’t even trust me on this… I pressed my lips into a stubborn line. Jax let out a short, sharp laugh. A sneer. “No matter how much you dress the part, you’re not eighteen anymore.” “Sandy, what are you fighting me for?” I blinked, unable to believe what he’d just said. “How about this,” Jax said, licking his lips, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Ten years. Name your price.” I froze. I had been with Jax for ten years. I’d taken a bullet for him. I’d taken a knife for him. But nothing, not a single moment, had ever hurt more than this. My nails dug into my palms, my voice trembled. “Jax, what did you just say?” “I said, I wasted ten years of your youth.” “Name your price.” He stood there, hands in his pockets. Even as a storm of emotion raged in his eyes, he forced the words out. I felt like I was going to collapse. Ava tugged on his sleeve, whispering, “Jax, don’t be so mean.” “Sandy didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked down at her, his expression softening as he gently brushed his nose against hers. “It’s okay, baby. Be good.” He pushed her behind him. “I’m not going to let anyone bully you.” That’s how he used to protect me. I couldn’t watch. A bitter bile rose in my throat. I looked down and saw the silver bangle on my wrist. The year he gave it to me, it was a snug fit. But the deeper I fell in love with Jax, the looser it became.

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