Author: Momo Chan

I’m nearsighted. I went to the convenience store where Jax worked part-time to buy some gum and accidentally grabbed a box of condoms instead. “Three boxes?” The hand he was using to ring me up paused. His lips curved into a half-smirk. I shot back, full of righteous indignation, “Don’t worry about it. They’ll all get used.” … And they were. All in one night. 1 I have high myopia, severe astigmatism, and congenital night blindness. If I take my glasses off, I can’t see people’s mouths move, which actually affects my ability to hear them. When I can’t see, I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I frown. Add to that my fast-paced, distracted way of walking, and I completely miss classmates who give me a small wave in the hallway. Over time, thanks to my menacing expression and terrible eyesight, I’ve managed to single-handedly avoid ninety-nine percent of all social interaction. By the time I realized what was happening, I had already been branded the “gloomy guy.” Even when I tried to explain, people would either look right through me or actively dodge me. One time, I finally worked up the nerve to apologize to someone I’d accidentally ignored, only to realize I’d cornered a kid from the class next door. After I finished my mumbled apology, he just stared at me, bewildered, then waved his hands frantically and backed away like he’d seen a ghost. As I walked past the classroom door, I heard him complaining to his friend: “Dude, that was so creepy! I was just walking, and this cold-looking glasses kid suddenly blocks my path. His eyes were darting around behind me, and he had this super weird grin while he was apologizing for not recognizing me earlier. I’ve never even seen him before! It totally freaked me out.” “Ew, get away from me. You sure you’re not haunted or something?” “Shut up!” … For the record, I’m just a guy who can’t make eye contact. Psychic abilities are currently beyond my skill set. 2 It’s been a nightmare. Every attempt I make at being social just makes me seem even weirder to everyone else. A string of blunders has cemented my status as the campus freak: I once mistook a sack on the ground for a fainted student and tried to help it up. During P.E., I lined up with the trash cans. I’ve even lectured a traffic cone about the dangers of standing in the middle of the road. Everyone gives me a wide berth, retreating to a safe distance before turning to whisper about my “fascinating mental state.” The only exception is Jax. “LEO WHITE—!” He’d bounce and holler like one of those pop-up ads you can never close, starting his sprint from two hundred yards away. He’d make an impossible amount of noise the entire way, finally getting right in my face to say hi. “Finally found you! We’ve got the fitness test next period. Let’s be partners, yeah?” Jax had a death grip on my sleeve, making it clear he wouldn’t let go until I agreed. His grin was goofy, like a golden retriever’s. I thought about it for zero seconds. “No.” It was a ridiculous request. I rejected it outright. Was he kidding? The two of us together would look like a blaring trumpet dragging along a silent, despairing cello. The optics were just too bizarre. Besides, we barely knew each other. I figured he’d back off after being rejected. But no. Jax’s approach to social interaction is basically a home invasion. The idea that a minor setback could stop him from making his presence known was pure fantasy. For the next few days, I constantly felt a pair of eyes on me. When I ate, he spied on me. When I left class, he tailed me. When I was in the library, I’d find him sitting directly across from me. I even saw him lurking near the dumpsters when I was taking out the trash. It wasn’t that he was clueless; he was deliberately trying to get my attention, eagerly waiting for me to give him a disgusted look. He seemed to get a kick out of it. Finally, I snapped. “Hey, what the hell do you want?” He showed no shame at being caught, just grinned. “I want to apologize.” “?” “At first, I saw you walking around with that ‘I hate the world’ look on your face, ignoring everyone, so I told my friends you were just a pretentious prick. Ahem, sorry about that,” Jax said, scratching his cheek, completely unembarrassed by his ill-timed epiphany. “But I’ve noticed you’re like that with everyone. You’re not arrogant, you’re just blind.” I felt my fist clench. 3 Even with a bruised face, Jax was relentless, buzzing around me like a hyperactive fly. He was unbelievably loud. With his face a canvas of black and blue, he declared his mission was to make my life more “colorful.” During lunch break, the door to the rooftop was kicked open with a bang. I turned, and unsurprisingly, there was Jax, strolling in like he owned the place. “Whoa, so this is where you hide out! Nice spot. I was wondering why I never saw you in the cafeteria,” he said, clicking his tongue. Then, faster than I could react, he snatched my lunchbox. “Chewing on a few leaves is so boring. Eat enough of that, and you’ll be mooing your way back to the pasture. Let’s trade.” Before I could process what was happening, a container of braised pork appeared in my left hand, and another with sweet and sour ribs in my right. Then he looked around, and, as if making an offering, lined up a row of rice balls in front of me. “Eating with a view. This is the life,” Jax said, plopping down beside me and digging into my salad without a hint of shame. How can someone have such a complete lack of personal boundaries? I was furious. “I thought you said it was just leaves? Why are you eating it?” “I have pica,” he said without looking up. I couldn’t win. Frustrated, I stared down at the ridiculously lavish lunch in front of me. The rice balls were different flavors, and he had even warmed them all up. I understood, of course. He wouldn’t have known I was missing from the cafeteria if he hadn’t been specifically looking for me. It’s just… I was used to sharp-edged malice. I didn’t know how to deal with this unexpected sweetness. With a complicated swirl of emotions, I picked up a piece of pork and chewed it slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could almost see a non-existent tail wagging happily. After that, Jax showed up on the rooftop every day at noon, uninvited, loud, and carrying bags of food, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 4 Jax’s original goal may have been to apologize, but you don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Besides, I wasn’t angry with him anymore. I just figured he was missing a screw, a guy who said whatever was on his mind, even spouting childish insults right to your face. At least he was honest, which was better than people who sulked and made you guess what was wrong. Once I’d made peace with that, I turned to him during lunch one day. “Is there anything you need my help with?” A second ago, Jax had been complaining about how the temperature was dropping so fast it was like a bad DJ was scratching on the thermometer. My question shut him up instantly, a look of utter confusion on his face. “What’s that all about? Why the sudden offer? Are you serious?” “Of course, I’m serious. Friends should help each other out,” I said, gesturing to all the food he’d brought. “It can’t just be you giving all the time. You’re not a dog…” My words were cut off by his goofy laugh. “Heh heh. Friends. Heh heh.” Was that really the most important part of what I said? I was speechless. The steam from the food was fogging up my glasses. I decided to wipe them clean and ask him again. But as soon as I took them off, Jax’s hand shot up without warning and knocked them right out of my grasp. My glasses sailed through the air in a graceful, tragic arc before shattering on the concrete. After a moment of stunned silence, I cracked my knuckles, a serene, murderous smile on my face. “You had better have a very good explanation for this.” “It was an accident, I swear,” Jax wailed, shrinking back, his voice trembling. “I was just reaching for a rice ball.” 5 Jax is my personal curse. I came to this conclusion within three minutes of losing my glasses. He’d crashed into my life like a human beagle, yapping and destroying everything in his path. Without my glasses, the world was a featureless blur. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him as close as I could, but I still couldn’t make out his face. “Jax, when you were a baby, did you pick a power drill as your first toy? How else do you explain this level of destructive force?” “Thanks.” “That wasn’t a compliment!” I seethed. “I don’t have a spare pair. I can’t even see the ground in front of me. Maybe instead of the stairs or the elevator, we should just try free-falling on the way down.” “I’m sorry, but can you let go of me first?” That’s when I noticed the tips of his ears were bright red. Jax covered his face with his hands. “Too… too close.” Then he bolted, leaving me alone on the rooftop to face the cold, lonely wind. A few minutes later, he came back, muttering something about helping me down the stairs. BRRRING— The school bell shrieked. We were definitely going to be late. Jax was consumed by guilt. He couldn’t even look at me, just stared at the ground as he hurried along. In his haste, he tripped over his own feet, nearly sending both of us tumbling. “Are you trying to help me or kill me? Let go!” A vein throbbed in my temple. I gave up on my useless human crutch and felt my own way down the stairs, one hand on the railing. 6 Years later, someone asked how Jax and I became friends. After all, we were polar opposites, the perfect embodiment of “the chaotic one and the grumpy one.” When I heard the question, I just smiled faintly. It looked like serene acceptance, but in reality, I’d just run out of options. From the very beginning of our friendship, I could have written a book: The Art of Putting Up With People. 7 Because we were late, we ended up standing side-by-side as punishment outside the classroom. I had my spare glasses on now, so I could clearly see Jax sneaking glances at me, looking like a guilty puppy. My slightest movement made him flinch, bracing for a hit. I sighed in exasperation and looked out the window. The sunlight was so fierce it seemed to bleach the world white. Cicadas, summer’s most fervent disciples, shrieked without pause. The only relief was the breeze that snaked its way into the collar of our uniforms. Ivy crept up the red brick wall of the building across the way. When the wind blew, the leaves fluttered, making it look like a giant, furry creature breathing softly. As the light shifted, the leaves broke apart into a thousand tiny shields, as if the creature were shaking its scales. The vibrant colors were dazzling. I was so captivated that I forgot why I was standing there in the first place. I’d always rushed through the hallways, trying to avoid eye contact, never once noticing the view outside, even though I saw it every day. In a way, being late was a blessing in disguise. A small smile touched my lips. I’ve gotten so used to bad luck that I can even talk myself into seeing the bright side of things like this. “Leo?” Jax whispered, his head still bowed. “Hm?” “It’s all my fault. I’m so clumsy,” he said, tugging on my sleeve, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’ll pay for your glasses, I promise. Just… please don’t ignore me, okay?” “It’s fine. I’m not mad.” “Really? But you were just smiling in this really scary way. Like you were already planning my burial.” … I should just hit him. 8 To show how sorry he was, Jax invited me to his “secret base.” “Come on, come on! I promise you won’t be disappointed!” For someone whose life revolved around a boring two-point routine between home and school, the offer was undeniably tempting. Dad was on the night shift, so no one would notice if I got home a little late. After a moment’s thought, I agreed. “Yes!” Jax beamed, a five-fingered handprint still visible on his cheek. He started humming a tuneless little song, skipping ahead of me, his shirt catching the wind. A warm halo of light surrounded his head, and dappled shadows danced at his feet. The sun was setting, painting the distant sky with a rose-colored veil. I followed him in silence for a long time. “We’re here.” We passed through a crooked wooden fence. I looked where he was pointing, and the scenery changed in an instant. It was a garden overflowing with roses, so vibrant it looked as if the sunset itself had descended to embrace the earth. Soft colors swirled and stretched in a gentle, unhurried dance. The flowers seemed to hold hands, weaving together a delicate dream. “Whenever I’m feeling down, I come here to plant flowers,” he said, uncharacteristically shy. “I planted the first one when I was in elementary school. It was Arbor Day, and the teacher said we could all plant something at school. I was so excited.” “And then what happened?” “I forgot my uniform sash, and I was too scared to go in. I just stood at the gate, holding my little flower, while all the other kids were laughing and having fun on the other side of the wall. I felt so left out that I just started crying and ran away. I ended up here somehow. When I was done crying, I realized it was a pretty good spot for a flower. So I dug a hole with my bare hands and got mud all over my face.” “Hahahaha!” I pictured a tiny, miserable version of Jax, planting a flower with tears streaming down his muddy cheeks. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Whoa, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” Jax said, blinking at me. “You probably don’t realize it, but you never actually laugh out loud.” I froze. He was right. Since my brother died, I rarely smiled, let alone laughed. I knew I was gloomy and boring, completely unlikable. Sometimes, when I tried to get closer to people, my expression would be so stiff it looked like I was trying to start a fight. Social failure made me avoid people even more. Less interaction made me more nervous for the next attempt, which would inevitably go worse. It was a vicious cycle. Jax’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Look up, Leo.” Twilight had fallen. In the darkness, his eyes were still shining. “It’s a full moon.” I looked up. The moonlight was fragrant and serene. It was probably just me, but for a moment, I imagined the moon was a spotlight, and Jax and I were the only two people on stage. Bathed in the beauty of the night, the self-pity that had filled my mind just moments ago seemed to melt away. It was magical. I took off my glasses. I could feel an intense gaze on me. Jax was staring at my face. “I have a bad astigmatism,” I explained. “The moon actually looks bigger without them.” “Oh, r-right,” he stammered. “You, uh, you should look at the moon. Not at me.” I had no idea what was going on, but I did as he said. I was too young then to understand: The eyes will always betray the heart’s deepest secrets.

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The day I was trying on my wedding gown, a strange woman stormed into the VIP suite and plunged a knife into me. “You think a homewrecking bitch like you deserves to wear a dress this expensive?” She ripped the hem of my gown, a twisted snarl on her face as she hurled a vial of acid at me. The cold blade was already buried in my stomach. I collapsed to my knees in agony, but she grabbed my hair, forcing my head up. “Ethan is my husband. What the hell are you? A dirty little secret he keeps on the side!” Blood dripped from my fingertips. In that moment, it all clicked into place. The man I’d loved for seven years, my fiancé, had another woman. “What are you looking at?” she sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Even if I kill you right here, with my husband’s power, no one can touch me.” Looking at her smug face, I took out my phone with a blood-slicked hand and dialed my brother’s number. “Rovan,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Come get me at the bridal shop.” “And while you’re at it, inform the Cranston family—the engagement is off.” 1 After I hung up, I looked down at the multi-million-dollar couture gown, now eaten away with gaping, blackened holes. My exposed skin burned from the high-concentration acid. A foul, yellowish liquid mixed with blood oozed from the festering wounds. I stared at the woman, Sophia, the fury in my eyes hot enough to incinerate her. But the onlookers who had gathered because of my phone call just burst into laughter. “Hahaha, she actually dared to steal from Mrs. Cranston? She’s really in for it now!” Sophia pointed a sharp, manicured finger at my nose. “Slut! Still putting on an act? You think calling some nobody is going to make me let you go?” she shrieked. “What family? Hawthorne? Never heard of it! I’m calling the cops right now to have you arrested, you little wedding-dress-stealing whore!” I pressed a hand to my seared flesh, hot blood seeping through my fingers. The rapid blood loss made my vision swim. Looking at the thugs standing behind Sophia, I regretted not bringing my bodyguards today. I glanced around, my eyes pleading for help. But they just watched, cold and detached, whispering amongst themselves with mockery in their eyes. No one dared to step forward. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I lifted my head and stared her down, my eyes crimson with murderous intent. “I don’t know who you are, but let me tell you something. My name is Hawthorne. Seraphina Hawthorne. Of the Hawthorne family. Get the hell out of my sight before I decide to kill you right here, right now.” Enraged by my stare, Sophia kicked me hard in the stomach. “What damn Hawthorne family? You think I’m scared of you?” she spat. “Let me tell you something! I, Sophia, am the wife of Ethan Cranston, CEO of the Cranston Corporation! Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?” The kick tore the stab wound wider. A fresh wave of blood and pus gushed out, but in that moment, I barely felt the pain. Sophia’s words echoed in my ears. She’s Ethan’s wife? Then who was I? Seeing the triumphant look on her face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I finally understood. Ethan… he was cheating on me. The man my family had chosen for me, my partner for seven years… had a secret wife. I knew this wasn’t the time to fall apart. Forcing my rage down, I spoke, my voice like ice. “Sophia, is it? You’re going to take me to a hospital, right now. And then you’re going to tell Ethan Cranston to get his ass over there.” She looked at me, surprised. I shot her a look that could kill. “Because if anything happens to me today, the first person he’ll destroy is you,” I hissed. “And then, he can damn well die with me.” Sophia just threw her head back and laughed. She grabbed my hair again, her voice a shrill taunt. “Who do you think you are? Such big words! Daring to order my husband around?” She slammed my head against the floor, her voice booming with arrogance. “Even if I kill you today, the Cranstons have more than enough money to pay for it!” My head rang, my vision blurring into a red haze. Sophia’s stiletto heel twisted in the wound on my stomach. Pain and despair washed over me like a tidal wave. Just then, the screech of tires tore through the air. I saw the familiar Maybach pull up outside the shop, and the breath I was holding finally released. I gave Sophia a cold, chilling smile. “I told you. My name is Hawthorne.” “My brother is here. Are you ready to die?” “Sera!” Rovan’s eyes blazed with a volcanic fury the moment he saw me. He rushed to my side, instantly shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around my ruined dress and exposed body. He held me tight, his eyes overflowing with a pain that mirrored my own. “Are you okay, Sera? Don’t be afraid. I’m here now.” A sob caught in my throat, and tears I hadn’t let fall finally streamed down my face. Rovan gently wiped them away before turning a murderous glare on Sophia. “You’re the one who dared to touch my sister. You’re looking to die.” Sophia acted as if she’d heard the world’s funniest joke, doubling over with laughter. When she finally caught her breath, she shot my brother a dismissive look. “Big talk. Let’s see if you’re still breathing in a few minutes to back it up,” she sneered. “Men! Get him! Show him who he’s messing with!” Her bodyguards charged. The men Rovan brought with him formed a protective circle around us, efficiently taking down the first wave. But more and more thugs poured out from behind Sophia, and soon, my family’s guards were overwhelmed. “Rovan,” I asked, my voice trembling, “is this everyone you brought?” His face was grim. He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Dad’s on his way. With everyone.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “I’d like to see who has the nerve to lay a hand on Rovan Hawthorne’s sister.” Seeing her men fall one by one, Sophia started to panic. She shot us a venomous look and pulled out her phone. “You just wait! I’m calling my husband right now to come and kill you!” The second the call connected, she started wailing. “Honey! Some guy named Rovan Hawthorne is picking on me! He says I hurt his sister and he’s going to kill me! You have to come quick!” She put the call on speakerphone. The moment she finished, the voice on the other end changed, laced with sudden, raw panic. “Rovan Hawthorne? Which Rovan Hawthorne?… Where the fuck are you?! Don’t move! Stay right there!” After seven years, how could I not recognize that voice? It was Ethan. And through the tinny speaker, I could hear the unmistakable tremor in every word he spoke. Oh, I’ll wait for you, alright. Sophia hung up, a triumphant, piercing laugh echoing in the room. “Hah! My husband’s on his way to kill you! He said he doesn’t know any Rovan Hawthorne! He’ll just pay for your deaths!” She pointed at her remaining thugs. “Go! Whoever kills them first gets a million dollars from me!” At the mention of a million dollars, their eyes lit up with greed. One of them immediately snatched a fruit knife from a nearby table and charged at us. “Sera, close your eyes!” Rovan yelled, spinning me around and shielding me with his body. A warm, large hand covered my eyes. I heard my brother let out a muffled grunt, and the thick, coppery smell of blood filled the air. A terrible feeling seized me. I clawed at the hand over my eyes. “Rovan! What happened?!” The first thing I saw was the jagged gash on his arm, blood dripping onto the pristine white floor. Then a vicious kick sent us both sprawling. Rovan coughed, a spray of blood erupting from his lips. “ROVAN!” A scream tore from my throat, my heart shattering into a million pieces. I was unharmed, but my brother’s shirt was already soaked crimson. A black, venomous hatred bloomed inside me. I looked up, my face a mess of blood and tears. I snatched a pair of heavy tailor’s shears from a nearby worktable and launched myself at Sophia’s smug face. SCHLICK! I plunged them deep into her stomach. “AHHH!” Sophia shrieked in pain, but I just twisted the shears, grinding them deeper into her flesh. “You bitch! You dare to hurt me?!” she screamed, grabbing the handle and kicking me away with her high-heeled shoe. I slammed onto the floor, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Sophia had gone completely insane. “Kill her! Someone kill her now!” Her thugs turned, their faces menacing as they swarmed towards me. A heavy wooden chair was lifted, ready to crash down on my head. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY SISTER!” a raw voice roared. My eyes widened in horror as Rovan staggered to his feet and threw himself in front of me. The chair came down on his head with a sickening crack. “Rovan!” His body fell heavily on top of me. He convulsed for a moment, then went still. Frantic, I tried to push him off, to lift him, but the thugs were on me, pinning me to the ground. My face was ground into the floor, my limbs held fast. I struggled, screaming through blood and tears. Sophia just smiled, grinding her stiletto heel into my fingers. “Can’t take it already?” I curled into a ball, the pain so intense my vision tunneled. Cold sweat drenched my body. Her crazed laughter was the only thing I could hear. “Don’t you worry. I have a special gift for both of you.” A final blow, and my world went black. When I woke up, my brother and I were in a glass-walled freezer. The skin touching the frozen floor burned with a sharp, searing pain. I was shivering uncontrollably. Rovan’s face was already a deathly shade of blue-purple, frost clinging to his eyelashes. I rubbed my hands together, trying to generate some warmth, and pressed them to his face. Blood and tears mingled, freezing on my cheeks. “Rovan, hold on! Don’t fall asleep! Dad’s coming, he’s coming to save us! Please, just hold on…” I felt his breathing grow shallow, and my heart plummeted. I looked out at Sophia, my eyes so red they felt like they were bleeding. “Sophia! If anything happens to my brother, I will kill you with my own two hands!” She just laughed, striding into the freezer wrapped in a cashmere coat. “You really talk too much.” She roughly shoved a rag into my mouth and kicked me hard in the chest. “So much fire in you. I guess it’s time to cool you both off.” With that, she kicked over a bucket of water. The icy liquid spread underneath me, instantly freezing in the sub-zero temperature, cementing my battered body to the floor. The cold was a physical thing, a deep, agonizing pain that shot through my bones. “So? Do you like the gift I prepared for you?” She admired her handiwork for a moment, then hummed a little tune and left. I looked at Rovan’s lifeless form, a wave of despair and regret so powerful it threatened to drown me. I hated that I couldn’t just break through the glass and kill her. And then— The phone in my pocket began to vibrate insistently. My eyes snapped open. The caller ID read Ethan. Ignoring the searing pain of tearing my frozen skin from the floor with every movement, I dragged myself toward the phone and answered. “Seraphina! Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was frantic. “We can talk about Sophia later! Just let her go! Or else…” He paused. “Or else I’ll hate you for the rest of my life!” The blood frozen beneath me steamed a faint, horrifying red. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. My face twisted with a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. Hate me? From the day we made our relationship official, Rovan had been secretly helping me prop him up, helping Cranston Corp become an industry leader in just three years, all so my father would finally accept him. And he repaid us like this. Using my family’s money to keep a mistress, letting her hurt me and my brother to the point of death. That animal. Sophia was the one trying to kill us. The rag in my mouth turned my furious screams into muffled sobs. Just then, Sophia returned. When she heard Ethan’s voice on the phone, she froze, then snatched it from me. “Hello, honey? Why are you calling her?” Ethan, hearing only silence from my end, sounded even more panicked. “Where is Seraphina?” “So the little tramp’s last name really is Hawthorne,” Sophia said dismissively. “I’m just teaching her a little lesson! Letting her know that Mrs. Cranston is not to be trifled with!” There was a dead silence on the other end. Then, Ethan’s furious roar exploded through the phone, so loud it was distorted. “SOPHIA! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO SERAPHINA HAWTHORNE?! SHE’S THE HAWTHORNE HEIRESS!” “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET ME KILLED, YOU PSYCHO?!” CRACK. Sophia’s body jolted. The phone slipped from her hand and shattered on the frozen floor. Her eyes were wide with a terror that bordered on disbelief. After several seconds of stunned silence, she whipped her head around to stare at me. Her composure was gone, replaced by frantic fear. She ripped the rag from my mouth. “You’re really Seraphina Hawthorne?” she shrieked. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I gave her a cold smile. “You believe me now? Good. Now get my brother to a—” Before I could finish, she slapped me, hard. “Shut up! I’m the one Ethan married! I’m Mrs. Cranston! Who the hell are you?!” “So what if you’re Seraphina Hawthorne? That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the other woman!” She shoved her phone in my face. And there it was. A digital copy of her and Ethan’s marriage certificate. My world dissolved into a roaring buzz. I looked at the date on the certificate and started to laugh. A wild, broken laugh. Now I knew why, starting five years ago, Ethan was always “busy with work.” He’d married Sophia then. And I, like an idiot, felt sorry for him, thinking he was working too hard. I begged Rovan to send over talented people from our company to help him. All those nights he was supposedly pulling all-nighters at the office, he was with her. Out of my seven-year relationship with Ethan, Sophia had been there for five of them. It turned out I really was the homewrecker she’d called me. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. My body convulsed, and I coughed up a mouthful of dark, clotted blood. “My husband loves me! He would never yell at me like that! You seduced him, didn’t you?!” Sophia screamed, her hands closing around my throat. “Say it! Say something!” I lunged forward and bit down hard on her wrist. The taste of her blood filled my mouth, so sickening I wanted to vomit. I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at her feet and looked at her with pure contempt. She didn’t even flinch, her face a mask of insanity. “Just die! If you die, Ethan will be all mine!” She staggered out of the freezer. When she returned, she was carrying a canister of some unknown liquid. She tipped it over my head, dousing me. The acrid, pungent smell hit me instantly. I knew what it was. Gasoline. She was going to burn me alive. Primal survival instinct kicked in. I grabbed Rovan, trying to drag him out of the freezer, but it was too late. She flicked a lighter and tossed it at me. My clothes instantly erupted in flames. The fire consumed me. The smell of burning flesh filled the small space. I rolled on the ground, screaming in agony, but the flames only grew stronger. Maybe my screams were so horrifying they pierced through his unconsciousness. Rovan’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “Sera!” His eyes flew wide with horror and rage. He snapped the ropes binding him and stumbled towards me. I endured the searing heat, screaming at him, my voice raw. “No, don’t save me! Rovan, you’ll die too! Don’t come over here!” But he didn’t listen. He started beating at the flames on my body with his bare hands, his voice a desperate reassurance. “Sera, I won’t let anything happen to you!” The moment his hands touched the fire, his skin blackened and peeled back, revealing the raw, pink flesh underneath. The look of agony on his face shattered my heart, but my tears evaporated in the heat before they could even fall. He didn’t stop, forcing a pained smile to his lips. “Don’t cry, Sera. It doesn’t hurt.” I had never seen my brother so broken. If it wasn’t for me, this never would have happened. Regret was a poison, consuming me from the inside out. I beat my chest in despair, my eyes fixated on Sophia with a bottomless hatred. It was all my fault. I did this to my brother. If I hadn’t been so blind, so stupid, to fall for a monster like Ethan Cranston, we wouldn’t be here. I shrieked at her, my voice barely human. “Sophia! When my father gets here, I swear to God I will end you!!” She just laughed, a demonic sound. She sloshed the rest of the gasoline all over the glass-walled freezer and toyed with the lighter in her hand. “Still talking tough when you’re about to die! I’ll send you both to hell to be a miserable pair of siblings!” Just as the flames were about to engulf us both, two furious roars echoed through the building. “STOP!” Ethan screamed, his face sheet-white as he burst in. “Who dares touch my children?” My father stormed in, flanked by a small army of guards. The moment he saw the state my brother and I were in, his eyes filled with an apocalyptic rage. Ethan’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. Sophia just stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

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My mother, it seemed, was incapable of understanding human language. I had pulled an all-nighter preparing a project proposal, telling her I had a critical meeting in the morning. In response, she slipped sleeping pills into my milk and secretly turned off my phone. By the time I jolted awake, it was 10:30 AM. “A mother knows what’s best for her own daughter. I just wanted you to get some more sleep.” There was no time to argue. I frantically turned my phone on, only to be flooded with over a hundred missed calls and frantic texts from my boss and colleagues. Thankfully, the office wasn’t far. I grabbed my laptop bag and bolted downstairs, only to find the tires on my scooter were flat. My mom called down from the balcony. “You were complaining the other day about the tires being low. I tried to be helpful and add some air, but I must have forgotten to put the valve caps back on.” Again, no time to argue. I sprinted to the office, my lungs burning, and forced a smile as I opened my laptop. But the screen was dark. The whole machine was damp, water seeping from the seams. It wouldn’t turn on. I was fired. When I got home, my mother had the nerve to look hurt. “You said last night you needed to clean the dust out of your computer. I figured, it’s just dust, right? A little water should wash it right off. So I took it to the sink for you.” The rage and despair were so overwhelming that I fainted on the spot. When I woke up, a strange, one-eyed old man was grunting and thrusting on top of me. My mother stood by the bed. “You’re over thirty with no job. I was just trying to be helpful and find you a husband. Why are you so ungrateful?” I grabbed a knife, ready to kill her, to kill myself, to end it all. But my father, my brother, and the neighbors swarmed in, wrestling the knife from my hand. They called me a monster, an ungrateful brat who didn’t appreciate her mother’s love. In the chaos, someone wrenched the knife from my grasp and plunged it into my chest. I collapsed in a spreading pool of my own blood. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the night I was finishing the project proposal. The dense text of the proposal glowed on my screen. I pinched my arm, hard. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, and tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my face. I was really back! Back to the night that had completely destroyed my life! The horrors of my past life flashed before my eyes. This time, I wouldn’t be a passive victim. This time, all the people who called me an ungrateful brat would get a full, undiluted taste of my mother’s “kindness.” As I sat there, weeping silently at the screen, my mother walked in with a glass of milk. “Lily, sweetie, look at you. Working so hard your eyes are watering.” “It breaks my heart to see you like this. Come on, drink some warm milk and get some rest.” As she spoke, she reached for the power cord to my laptop. My fingers flew across the keyboard, hitting save. I snapped the laptop shut just before her hand reached the plug. “Can’t. There’s a problem with the data for the presentation. The boss just called, wants everyone back at the office to work on it overnight.” “I probably won’t be back tonight. I’ll just crash at the office.” I couldn’t stand to be in this house a second longer. I had to escape. But as I grabbed my jacket, my mother darted in front of me, blocking the door. “You’re my precious girl. You’ve already been working overtime for two weeks. I can’t let you go back there.” “Give me your phone. I’ll call your boss and tell him you’re not going. You’re staying home to sleep!” She lunged for my phone. It had been like this since my very first job. Anytime she disapproved of my work hours or duties, she’d snatch my phone and call my boss to complain. I’d been reprimanded, humiliated, and forced to switch jobs more times than I could count because of her. I cherished my current job, especially this project. If it went well, I wouldn’t just get a promotion and a raise; I could get transferred to the headquarters in New York. I could finally leave this family behind. The thought gave me strength. I clutched my phone to my chest and shoved her away. “Enough! I’m an adult, not a child!” “This is my job, my responsibility! You have no right to harass my boss!” I hadn’t pushed her hard, but she crumpled to the floor as if she had no bones. Just then, my father and brother emerged from their rooms. My mother immediately started wailing, wiping away crocodile tears. “Lily, I’m your mother! Would I ever do anything to hurt you? How could you treat me like this?” Before I could even get a word out, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “You heartless thing! Your mother treasures you more than her own eyes, and this is how you repay her!” My brother followed up with a sharp kick to my leg. “Ungrateful brat,” he snarled, before turning to help our mother to her feet. “Don’t blame Lily,” my mother sobbed, leaning on him. “It’s all my fault. I just worry about her too much.” She let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I know she thinks I’m just a useless old woman. She doesn’t listen to me anymore. She probably thinks I’m trying to ruin her life on purpose!” Watching her performance, I felt nothing but a dark, bitter amusement. I’d always worked so hard, but at every major turning point in my life, my mother was there, ready to sabotage me with her “good intentions.” For my high school entrance exams, she “helpfully” made me a huge seafood feast. I spent the next three days with violent food poisoning and missed my chance to get into the state’s top school. For my college entrance exams, she “helpfully” booked me a hotel on the opposite side of the city from the testing center, claiming it would be quieter. The morning of the exam, I was late because of traffic and missed my shot at my dream university. When I was job hunting, she “helpfully” edited my resume, inflating my qualifications and sending it out to dozens of companies. I was blacklisted by half the HR departments in the city for being a fraud. Every time I confronted her, she would dissolve into tears, apologizing profusely for her “good intentions” gone wrong. I used to believe her. Like my father and brother, I was brainwashed into thinking this suffocating interference was love. No matter how angry I got, I never truly fought back or tried to leave. But now, having been literally murdered by her “kindness,” I would not make the same mistake again. While my father and brother were busy comforting the matriarch of misery, I snatched my laptop and phone and bolted out the door. Downstairs, the tires on my scooter were still full. In my previous life, she must have snuck down to flatten them after I was unconscious. I heard the frantic thud of footsteps echoing in the stairwell above. Not wasting a second, I twisted the throttle and sped out of the complex, leaving the sounds of my family behind in the dust. At the office, I slipped the security guard a fifty, begging him not to let my family inside under any circumstances. But even with that precaution, my presentation was derailed. First, a colleague’s phone started buzzing incessantly. Then my boss’s. Finally, even the client’s phone began to ring nonstop. The client, a portly man with little patience, answered with a scowl. “Who is this? Why do you keep calling me?” My mother’s shrill voice erupted from the speakerphone. “I’m Lily’s mother! My daughter pulled an all-nighter for you heartless capitalists!” “I bet you vultures didn’t even let her eat breakfast! You tell her to come downstairs right now! I’m waiting outside with coffee and donuts!” The boardroom was dead silent. Everyone stared at me. I snatched the phone from the client’s hand. “If you ever interfere with my work again,” I hissed into the receiver, “you can consider yourself without a daughter.” I hung up and blocked her number before she could reply. Whether the threat worked or she had simply run out of numbers to call, the rest of the presentation went smoothly. The boss and the client loved my proposal. But when the meeting concluded, my boss still docked my pay by eight hundred dollars for “disrupting a client meeting.” He looked at me, his expression a mix of pity and frustration. “The project was a success, Lily. The transfer to the New York headquarters is practically a sure thing.” A jolt of joy went through me. It was the opportunity I had dreamed of—a new life, far away from this toxic mess. But then his tone shifted. “You have to get your family situation under control,” he said sternly. “I’m not really fining you. That eight hundred dollars is to shut up the people gunning for your position. But if your family keeps pulling stunts like this, it affects your work, and next time, I won’t be able to protect you.” I understood completely. I nodded, my jaw tight. “I understand, sir. I’ll take care of it.” Leaving the office, I took a deep breath. The successful project was my ticket out, but the thought of returning to that house felt like a lead weight in my stomach. The moment I stepped through the door, I was greeted by the sound of my mother’s theatrical sobbing in the living room. My brother sat beside her, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, Mom. Lily’s just immature.” “She’s still young. Once she gets married and has kids of her own, she’ll understand all you do for her.” My father sat on the couch, chain-smoking, his face a thundercloud. Seeing me, he stubbed out his cigarette and shot to his feet, his voice booming. “So, you’re too important to answer your phone now? Your wings have really grown, haven’t they?” “Do you have any idea how many times your mother called? She was so worried she couldn’t eat or sleep!” My mother lifted her head, her eyes red and puffy. “Lily must be tired of me,” she whimpered. “I know, I just worry too much. I want to be involved in her life, but I guess I just…” She trailed off, dabbing at her eyes. My brother stood up, pointing a finger at me. “Lily, what are you waiting for? Apologize to Mom, right now! Look at the state you’ve put her in!” I looked at the three of them, a familiar sense of hopelessness washing over me. This was my family. They would always side with her, no matter what she did. The fault would always be mine. But I couldn’t fight them now. Not when my escape was so close. I just needed to get through the next few weeks until the transfer to New York was finalized. Then they would be nothing more than a bad memory. I bowed my head and delivered the lines they wanted to hear. “Mom, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls. I promise it won’t happen again.” My mother’s sobs immediately subsided. “Lily, honey, I only do it because I love you. It’s a dangerous world for a girl all alone.” My brother snorted. “About time you learned your lesson.” My father sank back onto the couch, his expression softening slightly. “Alright, as long as she knows she was wrong. We’ll let it go this time. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded meekly, and with that, the performance was over. They were satisfied. Back in my room, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The next few days, I locked myself away, focusing entirely on preparing for the headquarters’ assessment and online interviews. This was my one shot to break free, and I couldn’t afford any mistakes. But my mother was relentless. Tap, tap, tap on my door. “Lily, sweetie, let me in to mop the floor. How can you prepare for an interview in such a messy room?” I refused. A few minutes later, tap, tap, tap again. “Lily, I made you some soup to help your brain. You must be exhausted from all that studying.” I opened the door, frowning. “Mom, I can’t be disturbed right now. Can’t this wait until after my interview?” Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Lily, I’m just trying to take care of you. I woke up at four this morning to make this soup for you. Look, I even burned my hand.” She thrust her hand in my face. A small red blister stood out against her skin. My father heard the commotion from the living room and stormed over. “Lily! Your mother works herself to the bone for you, and this is how you treat her? Apologize and drink the soup!” I looked at the soup, spotting the glistening sea cucumbers floating in the broth. A wave of exhaustion hit me. “I can’t eat this. I’ve been allergic to seafood since I was a kid.” My mother waved her hand dismissively. “That was only because we were poor back then and you didn’t eat it enough. If you eat more now, you’ll get used to it. I’m doing this for your own good.” My father’s face grew darker. “Your mother got up before dawn to make this for you, and you’re being picky? Drink it and stop being so ungrateful!” I saw the fury in his eyes and knew it was pointless to argue. “You’re right. Thank you, Mom. I’m sorry.” My mother’s tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile. “That’s my good girl. Hurry and drink it before it gets cold.” I took the bowl back to my room, closed the door, and quietly opened the window. I poured the soup into a spare dish and set it on the ledge. A stray cat, drawn by the smell, appeared moments later and lapped it up greedily. A few days later, my project was officially launched to great success. My performance secured me the official recommendation letter from my company for the New York transfer. That afternoon, I aced the final online interview. I felt confident, relieved. The finish line was in sight. But when I walked out of my room, I found my mother sitting on the living room couch, wearing her reading glasses. In her hands was my recommendation letter, the seal broken, the contents spread open for her to read. I froze. No wonder she’d been so quiet during my interview. She’d found a new target. “Mom! That’s a sealed, official document! Once the seal is broken, it’s invalid!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. “I might not be able to report to the headquarters now!” She looked up, completely unfazed. “I was just doing it for your own good, Lily. I was worried your boss might have written something bad about you in there, to sabotage you.” “Besides,” she added, “what’s the big deal? I can just glue it shut again.” I was so frustrated I could have screamed. “It doesn’t work that way! It’s a legal document! Once it’s been opened, it’s useless! Years of my work could be for nothing because of this!” But she wasn’t listening. Her face began to crumple again. “I was only trying to help you,” she mumbled, tears welling up. “Why is it always my fault?” The sound of her crying was like a dinner bell for my father. He shot out of his study. “Lily! Your mother was just looking out for you! And what kind of company is that anyway? If they won’t accept you without one stupid letter, they’re not worth working for! All these rules and regulations, it’s just a way to bully people!” He snatched the letter from my hands and, in a fit of rage, tore it to shreds.

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“I’m broke and hungry,” I texted my family. After thirty minutes, all I got was a photo of a bag of apples, followed by a voice message from my dad: “Picked these myself this morning. Had someone deliver them to you.” Liam, my boyfriend who was serving me dinner, froze. “Your dad’s an upstate apple farmer? So you’re not from some old-money city family?” I shook my head, confused. He eyed my Chanel outfit with dawning disgust. “This is a university, not a brothel. You’re just a peasant buying knockoffs to trap a rich guy,” he sneered before walking away. The words My family practically built this city caught in my throat. Tears welling, I pulled the black card from the plastic bag where it lay tossed beside the apples and played the rest of Dad’s message: “Your hotel’s Christmas apple-picking event is a huge hit. The hotel’s in your name now—the card’s your bonus.” Just then, Liam posted my photo in a campus group chat with the caption: “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate. Best offer.” With shaking hands, I canceled the $50,000 monthly grant my dad had been anonymously sending him. If he looks down on me for relying on my family, he shouldn’t rely on them either. … “A GOLD DIGGER’S DIARY! FAKE SOCIALITE TREATS CAMPUS KING LIKE A DOG!” My fingers went numb the moment I clicked the link. Liam’s “heartbreaking exposé” was the top post. “These past three months have been a complete joke,” he wrote. “She told me her father ran a ‘small business.’ Turns out he grows apples upstate! I spent my scholarship money taking her to fancy dinners while she was parading around in fake designer clothes.” Below the post were screenshots of our chats. “Check-in! 34976! Send me a selfie video with the hand sign!” The post showed days of these “check-ins,” and the comment section exploded. “So controlling! Lily Monroe is a psycho!” “OMG, is our campus king getting PUA’d?” “Someone tag the Dean’s office! Shouldn’t this trash be expelled for moral corruption?” Someone else quickly posted a picture of me eating bread in the evening. “Look at her! Eating plain bread just to afford knockoffs! So pathetic!” I sighed and typed a reply: “That was my pre-workout meal.” The chat went silent for a beat before a new wave of mockery crashed over me. “Now she’s pretending to be a fitness guru?” “A single session with her trainer costs a thousand bucks! Where would a peasant like her get that kind of money?” “Poor Liam! She scammed his heart and his money!” My nails dug into my palms. The screenshots were deliberately incomplete. He conveniently left out the part where every video he sent was followed by a wire transfer from me for the exact amount he’d signaled. But now, he was twisting my affection into proof of his victimhood. What sent a true chill down my spine was the marketplace link that popped up minutes later. “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate and soft. Best offer.” Tears pricked my eyes as I scrolled through the comments, which were overwhelmingly sympathetic—to him. “Our boy is heartbroken! A real heiress needs to come and save him!” Liam had even “accidentally” leaked my contact information. My phone immediately froze, overwhelmed by a flood of friend requests and hateful messages. Words I had never seen before filled the screen. I’d been sheltered and adored my whole life; I’d never heard such filth. My hands shook as I tried to message Liam, but then I saw his latest comment on the forum. “I loved her once,” he wrote calmly. “That’s why I’m helping her find her next client. I can’t bear to see her with nothing.” I let out a bitter laugh. Nothing. He wasn’t entirely wrong. I had poured all my personal funds into the Christmas event for the new hotel I’d acquired. I had planned to give him the hotel as a birthday gift. Not anymore. I looked at the last message on my screen from Liam: “Fake sugar baby. We’re done.” I sent a voice message to my father. “Dad, that fifty-thousand-dollar anonymous monthly grant for Liam…” “Cancel it.” If he despises me for being a sugar baby… Then he can stop being one himself. That silver spoon? I’ll smash it for you. The moment the message sent, my father called. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Fifty thousand is nothing.” His tone was light, but he must have sensed my silence, because his voice immediately hardened. “Did that boy hurt you?” A lump formed in my throat. I’d only asked my father to set up the “anonymous grant”—which was just the daily interest from one of his savings accounts—because I saw that Liam was poor but driven, and I didn’t want to hurt his pride. My father’s voice was cold as ice. “Power and money are the best gifts for a girl. A man is just an accessory. If he doesn’t suit you, find a new one.” His tone shifted, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Speaking of which, the Sterling Group is begging for a partnership with your hotel. You should meet them as the new owner. It’ll be a good distraction.” “Okay.” The dark cloud over me began to lift. I went to my closet to get dressed, but it was empty. My roommate, Megan, leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t the campus queen. Going to beg Liam for forgiveness?” she drawled. “Or… which sugar daddy are you visiting tonight?” Her eyes raked over me. “It must be nice to be pretty. Just spread your legs and someone pays the bills. Slut.” My fists clenched, my heart turning to ice. When her father was sick, I had transferred her ten thousand dollars without a second thought. I took a deep breath. “If you have so much shame, Megan, you can start by paying me back the ten thousand you owe me.” The color drained from her face. I soon understood the source of her newfound confidence. BANG! The dorm room door was kicked open by Chloe, the Student Council President. Megan scurried over to her, grinning obsequiously. My eyes followed her gaze, and my stomach dropped. All of my clothes were in a trash can in the hallway, drenched in bright red paint. My gaze fell on a stained white dress in the corner. My vision went red. It was a birthday gift, designed by my late mother. Now it was trampled in a puddle of filthy water. I lunged for it, but Chloe stuck out her foot, tripping me. I fell hard, and she planted her shoe on the back of my hand, grinding her heel into my knuckles. Megan pointed at the ruined clothes. “Chloe says she’s never seen these designs before. They’re all fakes. Let me tell you, one of Chloe’s handbags is worth more than your entire family’s lives!” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. My clothes were sent directly from the designers. There were maybe three of each piece in the entire country. Of course someone of her social standing had never seen them. Chloe looked down at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “As Student Council President, I have a duty to uphold the standards of this campus. Someone get her things off that bed and throw them out!” I struggled, trying to reach my phone to call my dad. Chloe kicked me again, sending my phone smashing against the wall. “Trying to call Liam? Want to play the victim?” She pinned my wrist with her foot and mockingly opened Liam’s social media. The latest post was a picture of his hand intertwined with hers. The caption read: “The struggle is over. I’ve found my true love.” Chloe’s smile was triumphant. “My family’s company is signing a deal with the Kanes tonight. What do you have that can compete with me?” I froze. The Kanes? Was that the partnership my father mentioned? Chloe’s hand came swinging toward my face. I summoned all my strength and screamed, “Chloe! Go ask your father—if you don’t let me go right now, your deal is dead!” Her palm connected with my cheek, and the world went dark. “Bitch! I’m going to make you watch as my family climbs to the top on the Kanes’ coattails!” When I came to, I was staring through a floor-to-ceiling window at the iconic rooftop garden of my own hotel. “You’re awake?” Chloe’s voice came from behind me. “The Kane heiress will be here soon. Liam told me you’re very… flexible. A good little dancer.” “Miss Kane enjoys dancing, too.” The tape was ripped from my mouth, and I coughed violently. “Give Miss Kane a good ‘performance’ later,” she said, patting my cheek. “If she’s happy, I might even arrange for your father to be a janitor at my house. One month of his salary would be more than your family makes in a year of digging in the dirt.” The door slammed shut. Megan stood guard outside. Seeing my chance, I broke free of my restraints and slipped into a service corridor. I had to get to the top floor, to my dad. As I passed the banquet hall, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t eaten properly in three days, consumed by the Christmas project. On a side table sat a tureen of mushroom soup, still warm. My father’s favorite, prepared just for me. I picked up a spoon, and a tear splashed into the broth. CRACK! A splitting pain shot through the back of my head. My face was shoved into the scalding hot soup. “Miss Kane hasn’t even arrived, and a piece of trash like you dares to eat?” Chloe yanked my hair, slamming my head against the rim of the bowl again and again. “I’ll let you drink! Drink it all!” Hot soup and blood flooded my throat. I was suffocating. Just as Chloe raised her hand to slap me again, someone grabbed her wrist. Liam. His brow was furrowed. “That’s enough.” His gaze drifted to the decorative apples on the table, and he seemed to recognize the logo on them. He reached out to take a closer look, but Chloe looped her arm through his. “Liam, you’re here!” she cooed. “It’s our first day as a couple! I want you to meet the Kanes!” I used the distraction to scramble for my shattered phone, but Megan snatched it away. “Calling for backup?” Chloe sneered, slapping me again. “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson!” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “I am a Kane,” I said, each word an effort. “Stop now, and you might just live.” In the struggle, my black card fell from my pocket. Liam bent down to pick it up. The moment his eyes landed on the embossed gold Kane family crest, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. Megan’s lip trembled. “Chloe… could she really be…?” Chloe stomped her stiletto onto my fingers. I heard the faint crack of bone. “Don’t be an idiot! The Kane heiress isn’t named Monroe!” I’d used my mother’s maiden name since I was a child. It was a detail few people outside our inner circle knew. Chloe snatched the card from Liam. “Did your dirt-farmer dad find this in a ditch? Or did you dig it out of your dead mother’s grave?” She accidentally woke my shattered phone screen. A picture of me and my father filled the display. The next second, her hand cracked across my face again. “Perfect. I was wondering what to get Miss Kane as a welcoming gift. It’s a well-known fact that Mr. Kane adores his daughter. If I kill his secret little mistress and present the body to the real Miss Kane, he’ll probably applaud.” She stared at the smile on my face in the photo, then gave Megan a look. “Go on. Carve out those cute little dimples for me.” The cold tines of a fork pierced my cheek. The pain was so intense I almost passed out. Liam started to intervene, then stopped himself. “Chloe’s doing this for your own good, Lily. If Miss Kane finds out about you, it’ll be much worse. I’m disappointed. I thought you were just a poser, but you’re just pathetic trash.” My mouth throbbed. Chloe smiled, satisfied. “Now you look like a proper clown.” She waved a hand. Her bodyguards swarmed me, lifted me up, and threw me into the nearby swimming pool. “Give her a good wash,” Chloe’s laughter echoed across the water. “When Miss Kane arrives, she can see for herself what kind of shameless bitch tries to crawl into her father’s bed!”

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Aria and I had a promise. The day we graduated, we would get married. We’d invite all our friends to witness it. But on that day, she married her first love instead. Clutching my chest, I asked her why. Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Marrying Danny was just to fulfill a childhood promise. I’ll divorce him in a month. You’ve waited this long for me, can’t you wait one more month?” It was a joke. A cruel, twisted joke. I had loved her for eight years. In that single moment, the idea of her rotted away in my heart. 1. I watched Aria and Danny emerge from the courthouse, holding their freshly signed marriage certificate. Their faces were radiant with joy as Aria’s friends snapped photos, celebrating. Danny had the decency to look sheepish. “Asher, you’re not mad, are you? It’s just for a month. I’ll give her back to you, I promise.” Aria tugged on his sleeve, her face a mask of indifference, showing no remorse. “Danny, don’t feel guilty. I can marry whomever I want. It’s my choice.” The person standing next to her should have been me. I had loved her for eight years, and we’d been together for four. From the very beginning, she’d made a vow: “Asher, the day we graduate, let’s get married. It’ll be the perfect end to our perfect college life!” She had been so sure, so sincere. I had held onto that promise for four years, counting down the days. My friends all knew how much this day meant to me. I’d been eating clean for a month, just to have the perfect skin for our marriage certificate photo. I arrived at eight o’clock sharp and saw her immediately. She was wearing a flowing white dress, a delicate veil in her hair, her makeup flawless. It was the scene I had replayed in my mind for four years. But she was with Danny. She had forgotten our promise. On the very day I had yearned for, she gave me a “surprise.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I clutched it, my eyes stinging as I looked at her. “Aria, you’re my girlfriend. You promised you’d marry me today. I’ve waited four years for this!” My voice, usually so steady, broke. Aria’s face hardened with impatience. “Marrying Danny was just to fulfill a childhood promise. I’ll divorce him in a month. You’ve waited this long for me, can’t you wait one more month?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was marriage a game to her? I knew she had a first love, a whirlwind romance from her past. They had promised that the first thing they’d do after getting married was travel the world together. But I thought four years with me had erased him from her heart. Clearly, I was wrong. 2. “Come on, Asher, don’t be so dramatic,” one of Aria’s friends chimed in. “She said it’s only for a month. Danny’s a good friend to all of us. I can vouch that he won’t cross any lines with her.” “I can’t accept this,” I said, my voice hoarse and trembling. I hadn’t slept at all the night before, buzzing with anticipation, and now I felt a cold coming on. “Aria, you’re my girlfriend. You should be my wife. I don’t care if it’s a promise you plan to break. I won’t accept it.” Rage flared in Aria’s eyes. “So you won’t listen to reason? I hate it when you’re so possessive!” I knew this tactic. She was trying to bully me into submission. Whenever she didn’t like something I did, she’d say things like that, and I would panic, terrified of losing her, and immediately back down. But not today. “That’s right. I’m possessive,” I said, my voice firm. “I can’t accept my girlfriend marrying someone else.” Danny looked distressed. “Aria, maybe we should just go back in and get a divorce. Asher seems really upset.” “Forget him,” she hissed, her voice low and soothing to him, then turned a venomous glare on me. “Asher, I’m telling you right now, you’ll accept this whether you like it or not. I’ll divorce him in a month, and that’s final.” She took Danny’s hand and led him away. As they drove off in her convertible, I saw Danny glance back, a triumphant smirk on his face. Her friends melted away, leaving me alone. My chest felt tight. What should have been the happiest day of my life was a complete disaster. 3. I stood there for a long time before I finally left. The drive back felt surreal, like a nightmare. Just yesterday, we were happy, studying in the library. She’d propped her chin on her hands and said, “We’re getting married tomorrow. I’m so excited.” I thought she was excited to marry me. Now I knew the truth. Back at campus, Aria was in the middle of her graduation photos, proudly waving her marriage certificate. “I’m married!” she announced to everyone. “Tomorrow, I’m going on a trip around the world with the love of my life. It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done!” “Congratulations, Aria! You look so happy,” a classmate said. “But where’s Asher?” Everyone knew we were a couple. Her smile vanished. “Who says I have to marry him? I married the boy I loved when I was younger.” Just then, she saw me. She walked over, her expression cold. “Have you come to your senses?” I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to ask me that. She was the one who broke her promise, who betrayed me. When I didn’t answer, she frowned. “Fine. Stop looking so miserable. I’ll marry you as soon as I get back, okay?” I used to think we were soulmates. That we understood each other, shared the same values. But now I realized we were on completely different paths. “Aria,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “do you really think you’ve done nothing wrong?” Her gaze flickered. “I already explained everything,” she snapped. “It’s a fake marriage. Can’t you just let it go?” “Fine,” I said, nodding. There was no point in arguing. We were speaking different languages. 4. We didn’t speak a word to each other during the rest of the graduation photos. Our classmates kept stealing glances at us, whispering. Before today, we were inseparable, the couple everyone assumed would last forever. But nothing is absolute. Clear water can turn murky, food can spoil, and love… love can rot. As I walked out of the university gates, I saw Danny waiting with a suitcase. Aria was right behind me, dragging her own. So eager to start their new life together. My fists clenched, a bitter rage rising in me. “Don’t cause a scene,” Aria hissed, bumping into me as she passed. Then her face transformed, a bright smile appearing as she walked toward Danny. “Ready to go?” Danny hesitated. “But… Asher’s right here. He looks angry.” “Don’t worry about him,” she said dismissively. “You and I are married now.” She was right. They were husband and wife. What was I? Just the boyfriend. I had no right to question her anymore. But I couldn’t let her go. Not like this. I walked over, making one last attempt. “Aria, please don’t go.” For four years, I’d always been direct with her, wanting to avoid the misunderstandings that plagued characters in novels. Her face contorted with annoyance. “Are you deaf? I’ve explained it a dozen times. Why are you being so difficult, Asher? I never realized how insufferable you could be. Get out of my way.” In that moment, something inside me died. The girl who had been my sunshine, my everything, was gone. Replaced by this cruel, rotten stranger. Before I could say another word, she was gone, leaving with Danny. A short while later, I saw her post on social media. A photo of a detailed travel itinerary. The caption read: “Waited four years for this. Planned for four months. Finally fulfilling my childhood dream today.” A tear splashed onto my phone screen. I started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. Laughing at myself for four years of foolish hope. 5. Aria’s father called me. He wanted to know if we’d gotten married yet. I first met Aria at a business gala. She was the daughter of the wealthy Lin family, a slender, poised sixteen-year-old who delivered a speech on behalf of her family’s company. I fell for her instantly. Born into a powerful family, an arranged marriage was my destiny. When my parents told me to choose a bride from a list of eligible heiresses, I chose Aria. We got to know each other, went to the same university, and slowly, a real love grew between us. Our parents knew of our plans to marry after graduation. “Mr. Lin,” I said into the phone, “Aria and I won’t be getting married.” “What happened?” “She married her first love. I’m planning to call off our engagement. I’m very sorry, sir.” He knew who her first love was. He also knew his daughter. After a long pause, he said, “Asher, don’t do anything rash. Let me handle this. I’ll get you an answer.” After we hung up, I saw Aria was live on social media. She and Danny were embracing on a vast, grassy plain. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said to the camera. “You have to come here with the person you love.” Danny was grinning from ear to ear. The sight was a knife in my gut. Aria was supposed to be mine. Now I was just an outsider watching their life unfold. I spent the night drinking, the memories of our time together replaying in my head. Every moment, every shared laugh, was a part of me, and now I had to carve it all out. The next morning, my phone shrieked, waking me from a drunken stupor. It was Aria. “Asher, I can’t believe how low you’ve sunk!” she screamed. “Running to my dad to tattle on me? You’re disgusting! But let me tell you, it won’t work. Nothing you do will stop my plans with Danny. I wouldn’t come back now even if you were dying.” The line went dead before I could respond. A moment later, a text from an unknown number. “Aria is mine. She’ll never love you again.” Attached was a photo of Aria and Danny in matching jackets, kissing at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. I recognized the location immediately. A place I’d always dreamed of visiting. “Aria,” I had told her once, “they say you have to go there with the person you love most in the world. Let’s go after we get married.” “Okay,” she had agreed. The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Maybe we were never meant to be. If that was the case, why was I torturing myself like this? As the sun rose, I knew I had to move on. In the days that followed, I battled my grief. While I was wallowing at home, they were watching the Northern Lights. “There’s an old legend,” she posted, “that any wish made under the aurora will come true. I wished that the boy by my side and I would never be parted.” While I was sleepless with sorrow, they were sharing secrets under the stars. With every new destination, the unknown number would send me photos, rubbing their happiness in my face. I was a rat in the sewer, watching their perfect love story from the shadows. It was pathetic. Utterly pathetic. A month later, I finally pulled myself together. I told my parents I was ready to join the family business. I also told them I would marry anyone but Aria. The only constant in the world is change. I should have known that. It was time to build a better version of myself. Today was my first day taking over the company. I wore a black suit and held a press conference. It was also the day Aria was due back. She called and texted, but I ignored her. After the press conference, the new fiancée my parents had arranged for me was waiting by the door. She was beautiful, and she waved when she saw me. I walked over to greet her. Just as I was about to help her into my car, Aria appeared. A month hadn’t changed her. She was as stunning as ever. But now, her eyes were blazing with a furious, disbelieving rage. “Asher, I’m your girlfriend! What the hell are you doing?” 6. “What?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression calm. “Don’t you have a husband?” Her pupils contracted, as if I’d struck her. “I told you I’d divorce him after a month! It’s been a month!” She saw my hand on the other girl’s arm and lunged forward, prying us apart. “Don’t you touch him! He’s my boyfriend!” The girl I was with was no pushover. She laughed. “Honey, our parents arranged our engagement. Who the hell are you?” SLAP! Aria struck her across the face. I moved to intervene, but it was too late. They were already a tangle of flying fists and hair. The end result was both of them in the hospital. Aria’s father rushed in, apologizing profusely. “Asher, I’m so sorry. Aria was completely out of line.” He had always been kind to me, so I just said it was fine. Aria lay in her hospital bed, her eyes red with fury. “Dad! He’s already found a new woman, and you’re apologizing to him? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Her father’s face darkened. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Where have you been for the past month?” “I was just fulfilling a promise with Danny!” she snapped. Just then, the other girl’s parents arrived. Seeing the unresolved mess between me and Aria, they quickly called off the engagement. Aria leaped out of bed and grabbed my shirt, tears streaming down her face. “Asher, you heartless bastard! If I hadn’t come back, you would have married her, wouldn’t you?”

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While we were touring the penthouse, the sales agent’s eyes curved into crescents. “The bedroom gets so much natural light,” she chirped. “Nolan will love it.” My feet froze to the floor. I had never told her my fiancé’s name was Nolan… 1 She seemed to realize her slip of the tongue. Her smile vanished, replaced by a practiced, professional mask as she gestured forward. “Ms. Sutton, the dining room is this way.” Just then, my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID before answering on speaker. “Claire, where are you?” A rich, magnetic voice filled the air. A step away, the agent—Hannah—visibly tensed. I gave Nolan the address before turning back towards the reception hall. Hannah, after a moment’s hesitation, hurried to catch up. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a distinguished, coolly composed man strode in. He took my hand in his, his grip firm and familiar. I smiled, my expression betraying nothing. “Weren’t you in a meeting? What are you doing here?” Nolan raised an eyebrow. He leaned in, the cool gleam of his glasses catching the light as the tip of his nose brushed against my cheek. “Isn’t it obvious? I missed you…” I was always a sucker for this side of him. This man, so aloof and unapproachable to the rest of the world, was only ever tender with me. The unease from a moment ago began to fade. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Nolan? There was no way. Perhaps the agent had simply seen a photo of us together in some financial report. As we started back toward the penthouse, I noticed she wasn’t following. I glanced back. Her eyes were glistening, brimming with unshed tears. 2 “Do you two know each other?” I let go of Nolan’s hand, my gaze flicking between them, demanding an explanation for the story I was clearly missing. The spacious hall suddenly felt small as the other employees turned to stare. Hannah’s face was pale, her eyes darting to Nolan in a silent plea. “We… we were…” “We were college classmates,” Nolan stated, his expression unreadable as he glanced at her. The girl froze, a thousand unspoken words seemingly trapped in her throat. Nolan’s brow furrowed. “Are we going to see the apartment or not?” His voice was suddenly sharp, laced with an unnerving edge. The sales manager scurried over, apologizing profusely to Nolan and trying to smooth things over. Another agent gently pulled Hannah aside, leaving her looking isolated and pitiful. My Hermès bag felt heavy in my hand as I walked toward her. “You failed to do your job, and no one’s even reprimanded you. What exactly are you so upset about?” Her voice, thick with tears, was barely a whisper. She bowed repeatedly. “Ms. Sutton, I-I’m so sorry…” “Enough!” The roar came from behind me. It was Nolan. I turned to see him tearing into the sales manager, his usual composure gone, berating him for his unprofessional staff. The atmosphere was ruined. There was no point in looking at the penthouse now. Back in the car, Nolan fastened my seatbelt for me. Seeing the storm brewing on my face, he softened his voice. “We can look at another place tomorrow, okay, Claire?” I met his gaze. “That ‘Enough!’ you shouted,” I said, my voice level. “That was for me.” 3 It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. His hand, midway through buckling my seatbelt, froze. Then, a faint smile touched his lips. “Why would you think that? Claire, when have I ever yelled at you?” I had no proof, but a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. I knew that “Enough!” was meant to stop me from speaking to Hannah. My eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, is the relationship between you two?” “College classmates,” he repeated, a hint of weariness in his voice. “That’s all, Claire. Don’t doubt me. I swear.” I stared into his eyes. “You know how much I hate being lied to.” He handed me his phone, his gaze clear and unwavering, a silent testament to his fidelity. The passcode was my birthday. He’d always said he had no secrets from me, that I could walk into his office anytime without knocking. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I had chosen this development. I had even specifically requested that agent, feeling sorry for her when I saw her standing alone. If I checked his phone and found nothing, I would look like a fool. After all, everyone knew I was Nolan’s first and only love—the one secret he had ever made public. Finally, I looked away, a stubborn pout on my lips. “Let’s just look somewhere else. I don’t like this place anymore.” Nolan took my hand, his voice a mix of indulgence and resignation. “Alright. Whatever you want.” 4 A week later, I found myself driving past that same sales center. On a whim, I pulled over and went inside. Hannah was nowhere to be seen. A familiar agent rushed to greet me. “Hannah?” I asked, my voice casual. “Oh, Ms. Sutton! Hannah doesn’t work here anymore,” she said eagerly. “I can assist you from now on. I know our properties even better than she did…” Suddenly, my heart lurched. A strange, sinking premonition took hold. Acting on instinct, I drove to Nolan’s company. The receptionist’s face lit up when she saw me. “Ms. Sutton! Here to see Mr. Pierce?” Her hand was already hovering over the telephone, a flicker of panic in her eyes. I stopped, my gaze fixed on the elevator. “You’ve never spoken to me before.” The color drained from her lips. She snatched her hand back from the receiver, her eyes darting away. “Oh… I just…” My patience snapped. “You. Come with me.” The elevator chimed, opening onto his executive floor. The outer office was a quiet hum of productivity. I made a beeline for Nolan’s private office. “Ms. Sutton!” the receptionist cried out behind me, her voice laced with desperate panic. I ignored her, my hand closing around the doorknob. Click. The door was pulled open from the inside. Nolan stood there, a smile on his face. “Claire. What a surprise.” 5 I swept past him into the office. The desk was immaculate. The sofa was perfectly arranged. Everything appeared normal. I sat down in his chair. “Since when,” I asked lightly, “does my arrival cause such a commotion?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He stood beside me, dialing the internal line for HR. Just as the call connected, I reached for the tall, built-in wardrobe in the corner of his office. I yanked the door open. A startled cry echoed in the silence as a woman tumbled out, pulled from the wardrobe by the force of my tug. Nolan didn’t have time to stop me. As she looked up, her face pale and frightened, I read the name on the employee badge clipped to her blouse. “Sales Department. Hannah Nash.” The office was dead silent. For a long, long moment, no one moved. Finally, Nolan broke the silence. “She’s a college classmate,” he began, his voice strained. “We ran into each other here at the company, just catching up. She hid because she was afraid you’d misunderstand… Claire.” I looked at the woman on the floor. Her hair was a mess, but her clothes were neat. She was biting her lower lip, staring back at me. “That’s right, Ms. Sutton,” she stammered. “I passed the interview and got the job. After what happened at the sales center… I couldn’t work there anymore…” “Go on,” I said, my gaze locked on hers. “Tell me. What did I do to you at the sales center that was so terrible?” She was speechless. Her eyes started to well up with tears. “Claire.” Nolan’s voice came from behind me, tight with frustration. “Don’t scare her. This is my fault.” He shot Hannah a look, and she immediately lowered her head and scurried out of the room. We were alone. He rubbed his temples. “With your status, you made her uncomfortable. Of course she couldn’t stay in her old job.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “You’re certainly quick to see things from her perspective.” 6 Nolan froze. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Claire, I know you’re angry, but don’t say things you don’t mean. Don’t hurt me like this.” “I haven’t done anything wrong. I only had her hide because I didn’t want you to be upset. I swear, we’re just old classmates. Nothing more.” I said nothing. He sighed. “I can have HR fire her, if that’s what you want.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But Claire… Hannah’s mother is sick.” He let the words hang in the air, watching my reaction. The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner. My face hardened. “Are you trying to tell me that if her mother dies, it’ll be my fault?” He winced. “That’s a harsh way to put it.” I stood up, but he grabbed my arm. “Claire! Don’t overthink this, that’s not what I meant at all…” Suddenly, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “But that’s exactly what you’ve done! You brought her into your private office! You told the receptionist to warn you when I arrived! You’re using her sob story to emotionally blackmail me!” Then, it hit me. “Nolan, if you just ‘ran into each other’ at the company, why would the receptionist need to give you a heads-up? Were you… getting ready to cheat on me?” He looked stunned, then almost let out a disbelieving laugh. “What are you thinking? Claire, how could I?” He answered my question with another question, deflecting. I stared at him. “She even knew you like waking up to a sun-drenched room. Nolan, what is the real story between you two?” 7 The air in the room was thick, suffocating. I pulled away from him. “Fine. You can answer me when you’ve figured out what the truth is.” I wrenched the door open. Hannah was standing right outside, looking startled. She met my gaze and awkwardly offered me the coffee in her hand. “Ms. Sutton, I… I was just worried you two might be thirsty…” My eyes fell to the distinct smudge of lipstick on the rim of the cup, then back to her face. “A used cup. Are you trying to send some kind of message?” She froze, the cup hovering in mid-air. Her eyes reddened again. “Claire,” Nolan’s exasperated voice sounded from behind me. He turned a cold glare on Hannah. “Who gave you permission to do anything other than your assigned work? Get back to your desk!” Flustered, Hannah nearly dropped the coffee. “Yes, Mr. Pierce,” she choked out, before practically running away. Nolan’s brow was still furrowed. “If you really want to ruin her career, Claire, I can call HR right now. You don’t have to get worked up every time you see her.” A hot surge of regret washed over me. I should have taken that coffee and thrown it right in his face. Even in the car, I couldn’t calm down. Nolan’s cold indifference was reserved for strangers. But the things he’d said to me, because of her… it was a clear attack. And I was supposed to believe he didn’t care about her? That their relationship was innocent? I didn’t believe it for a second. A notification pinged from the tablet on the back seat. I suddenly remembered Nolan had logged into his messenger account on it once when his phone was dead. I took a deep breath and tapped on the new message. There was no name saved for the contact, just a username: [Puppy’s Tears]. [I’m so sorry. I caused you trouble again.] [Yeah.] [So… can I still work here?] [Yes.] The exchange seemed innocent enough. Until the next message from Puppy’s Tears. [Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone about our past. Not then, and not now.] Nolan hadn’t replied. Then another message came through. [Can we… can we love again…] [I won’t cause you any trouble.] [Nolan, I miss you…] There was nothing after that. A moment later, a system notification popped up on my tablet: [You have been logged out of your account.] The dark screen reflected my own ugly expression. Then, Nolan called. His voice was warm, just like always. “Claire, where are you?” “Just watching,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “a man and a puppy having an affair.”

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When Liam Gallagher and I divorced, we were both calm. He asked me, considerately, what I wanted. I answered without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the company stock.” Liam blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Are you really going to abandon Leo and Mia?” I looked down at my wrist, at the latticework of scars from years of self-harm, and gently shook my head. Not anymore. From now on, I wanted nothing to do with Liam Gallagher. Nothing except his money. 1 Seeing my cold indifference, Liam looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply signed the divorce papers in silence. As we parted, he spoke with a detached politeness. “I can’t give you the stock, but you’ll always be their mother. If you ever run into trouble, you can always call me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, I dropped the business card he’d handed me into the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than see Liam Gallagher again. When I got home, I told our housekeeper, Maria, to pack up all of Liam’s things and throw them out. She chuckled, thinking it was just another fight. “Ma’am, did you and the mister have another argument?” she teased. “If you ask me, you should just let it go. He really does care for you. It’s not worth giving up your place as Mrs. Gallagher over a moment of anger.” Maria had seen it all—the years of suffering, the endless humiliation. She knew the torrential force of my love for Liam, and she had witnessed my hysterical breakdowns after each of his betrayals. She, like Liam, was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t cry or complain. I simply took our wedding portrait down from the wall. “My mother is dead,” I said, my voice calm and empty. The smile froze on Maria’s face. She stood there, stunned and speechless, before stammering out an apology. I just smiled faintly and said nothing. Then, with all my strength, I smashed the heavy frame against the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then she was immediately by my side, helping me clean up the shattered glass. She expertly tended to the small cuts on my hand, a familiar routine. “Good riddance,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re a Harvard graduate, for goodness’ sake. You can do so much better without him. You don’t have to take that kind of abuse, dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, tears began to fall, hot and unstoppable. There was regret and sorrow, yes, but also a flicker of something else: the exhilarating relief of a survivor. Ten years. The romantic fairytale of the prince and the small-town girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy one, but it was the one I should have expected all along. 2 At eighteen, I was the valedictorian of my county, accepted into Harvard. That same year, I met Liam Gallagher, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was breathtakingly romantic. Liam fell for me at first sight. The moment his speech ended, he began a relentless pursuit. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and bubble tea. He’d bribe my roommates for information on my whereabouts. He memorized every little thing about me and declared his love for me under a sky filled with fireworks. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. A girl like me, a Cinderella from a small town, could never truly belong with someone like Liam Gallagher. But Liam didn’t care. He fought against the pressure from his family and the world, proposing to me and shielding me from all the malice. Under his protection, my once difficult life switched to easy mode. I was showered with jewelry and bouquets, offered scholarships to study abroad. Resources were poured on me, everything I could ever want handed to me before I even had to ask. For a naive, dreamy teenage girl, Liam’s intense affection was intoxicating. I fell hard and fast, giving up my ambitions to marry him. Dating, marriage, pregnancy—it all unfolded so perfectly. Life felt effortless. I was drowning in the joy of love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, Liam’s mother, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my baby from his bassinet. Her smile was polite, but her voice was cold and dripping with condescension. “Leo is the future heir to the Gallagher fortune. His position is of the utmost importance,” she stated. “Given your background, you are not qualified to raise him.” After ten months of carrying him, after a difficult labor, I wasn’t even allowed to hold my own son. To even see him, I needed permission. I begged Liam not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our child. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, Nora. You’re from the country. We had an agreement—I could mess around all I wanted, but when it came to the children, her word was law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief, but Liam just wrapped his arms around my waist and tried to kiss me, laughing it off. “Come on, don’t be sad,” he said casually. “If you love kids so much, we’ll just have another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But when his eyes fell on the dense network of stretch marks covering my stomach, he stopped. A flicker of disgust and conflict crossed his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he simply said, “You must be tired. Get some rest.” His coldness was like a slap in the face, waking me from my beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. I suddenly realized that this grand, sweeping love story was nothing more than the whim of a rich boy. Fate had given me a gift. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. Losing my son was only the beginning. During my postpartum recovery, I fell into a severe depression. I called Liam, but he never answered. I sent texts, but they went unread. I was sick with worry, imagining the worst had happened to him. The next morning, I woke up to the news. Photos of him in bed with a starlet were plastered all over the internet. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was thrown out of the palace. The public mockery shattered the last of my illusions. I couldn’t accept it. My depression spiraled. We had the most vicious fight of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That was the only time I saw fear in his eyes. He rushed to hold me, his body trembling as he apologized. Like every cheating husband, he wept and swore it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me, begging for another chance. That night, Liam knelt before me, tears streaming down his face. “Nora,” he pleaded, “please forgive me. Just this once.” 3 I made the second worst mistake of my life. I forgave him. For our son. For the lingering love I couldn’t cut away. And because my mother was in a terrible car accident, leaving me with no other home to run to. So, Liam and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Just like with Leo, Mia was taken away the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that Liam needed to focus on work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. To see my children, I had to go to the family estate before dawn every day to serve his mother. I poured her tea, massaged her shoulders, and even knelt to wash her feet, all in the desperate hope that she would show a sliver of mercy and let me spend time with my own kids. But all my efforts were rewarded with Liam’s brazen betrayals and my children’s deep-seated resentment. Leo refused to call me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak. She would just cry until her grandmother held her. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was getting worse. The coldness of my children and the crushing weight of my life left me exhausted and hopeless. Just when I needed him most, Liam was building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. Liam didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover thoughtfully sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their intimate sounds, I finally broke. I grabbed a blade and dragged it across my arm, over and over. When Maria burst into the bathroom, I had almost bled out. She frantically called Liam. This time, he didn’t come home until morning. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at my mangled arm. “Weren’t you going to die? A whole night has passed, and you’re still here, clinging to this family like a stray dog.” His words shattered my fragile calm. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Gallagher paid off the reporters and dragged me to my mother’s hospital room. She looked down at me, her voice like ice. “The ICU costs twenty thousand a day. If you ever dare to embarrass the Gallagher name again, I’ll make sure your mother dies with you.” That was the first time I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I was trapped. I couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I humbled myself, shrinking into nothingness in a marriage that had devoured my soul. I watched my son and daughter grow distant, watched Liam move from one woman to the next, watched them use my own mother to control me. Marriage into a wealthy family was a sweet dream and a painful chain. Cinderella had become Mrs. Gallagher, but the prince was still lost in his game, “saving” one beautiful, poor girl after another. Until one day, Liam went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties with a string of ex-husbands, and he got her pregnant. Mrs. Gallagher was furious. She slapped me twice across the face, screaming at me for failing to control my own husband. “What good are you if you can’t even keep a man’s heart?” she shrieked. “I order you to clean up this mess immediately. Otherwise… I will cut off your mother’s medical funds and ensure you never see Leo or Mia again!” With my marriage in ruins, my mother was the only pillar I had left. I couldn’t lose her. Steeling myself, I went to see the woman, Seraphina. Unlike Liam’s other flings, she wasn’t arrogant or aggressive. She was polite, even deferential, calling me “Mrs. Gallagher” with a pleading look in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I never intended to disrupt your family,” she said softly. “I just love Liam so much. But for his sake, I’m willing to get rid of this child and disappear forever.” Seraphina was true to her word. She took the money and vanished. That night, Liam, who hadn’t been home in ages, walked into my room. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed and took me. For an entire month, he didn’t let me leave that room. Not until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving his problem, and to keep Liam at home, Mrs. Gallagher made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, my mother’s health began to improve under the care of the Gallaghers’ private medical team. I was ecstatic. I thought my suffering was finally over, that things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant, Liam pushed me down the stairs.

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My husband is one of the world’s leading hypnotists. But when the woman he could never forget killed someone in a car accident, he hypnotized me to clear her name. “Clara is fragile,” he whispered, his voice a soothing poison. “She’s terrified of prison. Just forget this memory and take her place. When you get out, I’ll make it up to you.” Our five-year-old son nodded along. “Besides, you’re just a useless housekeeper. When you go to jail, Aunt Clara can finally be my real mom!” A serene smile touched my lips. I gave them their wish. I forgot them completely. But now that I’m free of them, my memory wiped clean, they stand at my door every day, begging me to just look at them one more time. 1 After serving eleven months, I walked out of the prison gates. My husband, Adrian, was waiting for me with our son. “Let’s go home. We’re here to pick you up.” He patted the little boy’s shoulder. “Leo, go help your mother with her things.” “No way!” Five-year-old Leo ducked behind his father, sticking his tongue out at me. “She’s a convict, not my mom! My mom is Aunt Clara.” He tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “Dad, isn’t it Aunt Clara’s birthday today? Let’s go celebrate with her. I don’t want to see some jailbird.” Adrian’s face paled. He shot me a panicked look. “Evelyn, he’s just a child. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t take it to heart.” I shook my head. “I won’t. He’s just a boy with a father who never taught him any manners.” “What?” Adrian froze, his eyes snapping to mine. “Evelyn, how can you say that? This is Leo.” Leo burst into tears. “I don’t want a convict for a mom! I want Aunt Clara! Dad, let’s go! Send her away! We don’t want her home!” He wailed, watching me through his tears. When he saw my expression was nothing more than a mild frown, he cried even louder. Adrian was flustered. “He’s crying. You should comfort him. You used to dote on him more than anything.” He was right. The person I supposedly doted on was calling me a convict and rejecting me as his mother. It was a good thing I couldn’t remember them. How agonizing would it be to be stabbed in the heart by the people you love most? “I don’t remember you,” I said. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” It was the only logical path. We go our separate ways, and everyone is better off. Adrian went rigid. A stiff, forced smile stretched his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not getting a divorce. You’re just suffering from temporary amnesia due to the trauma. You’ll remember soon.” He leaned closer, his voice confident. “We are the people you love most in this world. Once you remember, you won’t be able to leave us. Let’s go home. You need to rest.” He brought me to a three-story villa. I scanned the property, but it stirred no memories. If it weren’t for the fact that the house was filled with things I recognized as my own personal habits and preferences, I would have doubted I’d ever lived there at all. So, I really had lost my memory. No wonder I couldn’t recall the details of the car accident. I explored the villa, trying to jog something loose. As I pushed open the door to a cluttered attic, a figure who had been sneakily following me lunged forward, shoving me inside. I crashed into a pile of junk, and boxes and old furniture came tumbling down on top of me. An old chair leg struck my forehead, and a sharp, hot pain made me break out in a cold sweat. Clutching my head, I looked back at the culprit standing in the doorway. “You really are a spoiled little brat. Is your father dead? Is that why you turned out like this?” Leo’s face, which had been pale with shock, twisted into a look of disgust when he heard me insult his father. “It’s your own fault for coming back today. It’s Aunt Clara’s birthday. Dad and I are celebrating with her. You’re not going to ruin it!” With that, he stepped back and slammed the door shut. I heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place. A sense of dread washed over me. I scrambled to my feet and banged on the door, telling him to open it, but Leo just giggled and ran off. “You’re a bad woman! You can just stay in there forever!” 2 I kicked the door in frustration as the attic was plunged into darkness. Almost immediately, a wave of discomfort washed over me. The enclosed space felt like drowning, stealing the air from my lungs. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor as the world spun around me. A phantom hand seemed to be squeezing my throat. “Open the door…” I rasped, weakly pounding on the wood. The suffocating panic was so overwhelming that I could no longer feel the throbbing pain in my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut, and I fell into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My head was bandaged. A thin, lanky boy was standing over me. “You’re awake. Do you want some water?” His eyes were clear and bright as he leaned down. The clothes he wore were faded from countless washings. When he noticed me staring, he grew visibly flustered. A small smile touched my lips. “Did you save me? Thank you.” The boy shook his head quickly, stammering, “N-No need. I was just delivering a package and heard a noise from the attic, so I called the police.” He pointed towards the door, where two police officers were standing. “Well,” I said, turning back to him, “either way, you’re the one who found me. Thank you for saving my life.” The boy’s face turned bright red. He waved his hands dismissively and hurried out to get the officers. They explained the situation, I expressed my gratitude, and they left. I learned that the boy who saved me was eight years old. His name was Sam Lee. His parents had passed away two years ago, and he was supposed to go to an orphanage, but he had run away. He survived by running errands and delivering packages for people in the neighborhood for a few dollars. I was speechless. After a moment, I looked at him and asked, “Sam, would you like to come home with me?” He looked up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I?” “Of course.” He nodded frantically. “Yes, I want to. I really do.” “Good. We’ll go home as soon as I’m done here.” After my IV drip was finished, I took Sam back to the apartment my parents had left me. It was a cozy three-bedroom, not huge, but warm. Sam was a whirlwind of help, carrying boxes and cleaning rooms without a single complaint—a world away from a certain brat I knew. A wave of contentment washed over me. This was the kind of son I should have had. After we finished unpacking, I went to the kitchen and made a pot of braised pork rib noodles. The rich aroma filled the small apartment, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “It smells amazing.” He took a bowl and filled it to the brim with pork ribs, placing it in front of me. “You’re hurt. You need to eat lots of meat to get better.” Then he sat down and served himself a small portion of plain noodles, eating them quietly. I looked at the stark contrast between our bowls and couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “I need to recover, but so do you. You’re a growing boy. You need meat even more than I do.” I spooned a generous helping of ribs into his bowl. Sam let me fuss over him, his face flushing a happy pink as he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.” A week passed. I completed the adoption paperwork for Sam and enrolled him in a local school. He was officially Sam Evans now—coincidentally, the same last name as his birth mother. I figured it was fate. That weekend, I planned to take him shopping for new clothes. But early that morning, my phone began to ring, shrill and insistent. Adrian’s cursed name flashed across the screen. 3 I hung up without a second thought. He called back twice more, and I rejected them both. A moment later, two text messages came through. It was Adrian. “Where are you?” “The housekeeper said you haven’t been home all week. Where did you go?” Where I went was none of his damn business. I promptly blocked his number. It took him an entire week to notice I was gone. If Sam hadn’t found me, I would have been dead in that attic. I blocked every possible way he could contact me, then took Sam to the mall. We both picked out several new outfits. As we were about to leave, Sam’s gaze fell on a display of matching parent-child outfits in the window. “Want to try them on?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips. He nodded shyly. “Alright, let’s go try on our matching outfits.” I changed quickly and waited for Sam outside the dressing room. And just my luck, that’s when I ran into Adrian and his entourage. He saw me and froze. “Evelyn? What are you doing here?” I ignored him, my gaze sliding away indifferently. Adrian’s expression faltered, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I know about what Leo did, locking you in the attic. I’ve already punished him. I’m making him apologize.” He motioned for Leo, who shuffled forward and mumbled a half-hearted, “Sorry.” I laughed softly. “Locked me in an attic for what could have been a week, and a simple ‘sorry’ is supposed to fix it? Why not wait until I’m dead and burn some paper offerings as an apology instead?” Adrian’s face stiffened. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so confrontational. Leo’s face was pale as he stared at the floor. Clara, the woman standing beside them, stepped forward as if she couldn’t bear to watch. She took my hand, her voice soft and persuasive. “Sweetie, Leo didn’t do it on purpose. Why make things so hard on a child? Blame me. After my birthday, I begged them to take a week-long trip with me. That’s why we didn’t realize you were gone.” She smiled sweetly. “How about this? You just got out of prison. We’ll throw you a welcome home party. It’ll be our apology and a way to wash away all the bad luck. What do you think?” Adrian’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea, Clara. Very thoughtful.” Neither of them noticed how the surrounding shoppers and store clerks took a subtle step back, their eyes now filled with a mixture of fear and disgust as they looked at me. I sneered. So, they locked me in an attic and ran off to play with the other woman? I yanked my hand away from Clara’s, disgustedly brushing off my new clothes. “What could possibly be more unlucky than running into you? My husband and son are tangled up with you. If you like them so much, tell him to divorce me. I’ll gift-wrap them both and send them over to you.” Clara’s face turned ashen. She never imagined I would be so blunt in public. The crowd’s scornful gaze immediately shifted from me to her. “Oh, she’s the other woman. So shameless, hooking up with someone else’s husband and son.” “Look at them. I honestly thought they were the family.” “The man’s no good either. Parading his mistress in front of his wife. How pathetic.” “So trashy. If I were the wife, I’d be furious.” Listening to the whispers, Adrian’s expression turned ugly. “What nonsense are you spouting? There’s nothing going on between Clara and me! Go home and reflect on your behavior, now!” Clara’s eyes welled with tears as she explained weakly, “Sweetie, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not trying to take Adrian and Leo from you. I just… I can’t bear to see them so lonely.” “Bullshit! You shameless homewrecker!” someone from the crowd yelled, spitting in her direction. 4 “The husband yells at his wife to protect his mistress, and the mistress makes pathetic excuses. Are you two even human?” “Scumbags like you deserve each other. Get lost before you blind us all!” Assailed by the crowd, Adrian and Clara looked increasingly cornered. Clara looked like she was about to faint. Leo, his face red with anger, rushed forward. “Don’t you bully Aunt Clara! Apologize to her!” He lunged at me. But before he could touch me, another small body slammed into him, knocking him aside. “Mom, are you okay?” Sam stood in front of me like a protective lion cub, glaring at the three of them. I shook my head, stroking his hair. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t worry.” “Mom?” Leo scrambled up from the floor, his face a mask of disbelief. When his eyes landed on our matching outfits, his expression morphed into one of shock and heartbreak. Suddenly, he launched himself at Sam, scratching and hitting him. “Who’s your mom? She’s my mom! Stop calling her that!” he shrieked. “You’re not allowed to wear matching clothes with her! Go away! Go away!” He tore frantically at Sam’s new shirt. Sam, who had been about to fight back, froze when he heard Leo’s words, letting the blows rain down on him. That silly boy. I strode over and pulled Leo off him. “Your mother is over there. Don’t get confused.” I held Sam close and glared at Adrian. “Control your little demon. If he causes any more trouble, I’m calling the police.” Adrian’s jaw was tight. “Evelyn, he’s your son!” Sam immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and shot them a defiant look. “I’m Mom’s son.” Leo looked like he was about to attack again, but Adrian held him back, shaking his head at me in disappointment. “Evelyn, you’re being completely unreasonable. When you get your memory back, you’re going to regret this.” “That’s right, sweetie,” Clara chimed in, comforting the crying Leo. “Even if you’re jealous that Adrian and Leo are nice to me, you shouldn’t just pick up some stray off the street and call him your son. Think of how much that hurts Leo!” I looked at her coldly. “Where’s your father?” “What?” She was taken aback. “I asked where your father is,” I repeated patiently. “I’d like to find him, slap him across the face, and ask him how he raised a daughter with no class, throwing around words like ‘stray.’” “You! How dare you say I have no class?” Clara sputtered, her face crimson. “I’m talking about you, Miss Other Woman.” A smirk played on my lips as I took Sam’s hand and started to walk away. I called back to the sales clerk, “This man is paying for our clothes. His son ripped my son’s shirt, so he owes us a new one. My outfit is for emotional damages.” Behind me, I could hear Leo’s heartbroken sobs. “You don’t remember me? Well, I don’t like you anymore! I never want to see you again! Waaaaah!” I didn’t even bother to turn around. Back home, Sam apologized guiltily. “Mom, I’m sorry. I made my… I made that boy sad. Maybe you should go check on him?” “What does that have to do with you?” I said, exasperated. “He started it. What’s wrong with me protecting my own son? Besides, he’s the one who didn’t want me. He’s not lacking for attention. You, on the other hand… does that long scratch on your neck not hurt?” I pulled him over to treat the wound. The tears he had been holding back all day finally fell. That night, I got a call from an unknown number. It was Adrian, using the housekeeper’s phone. “Evelyn,” he said, his voice demanding, “Leo is sick.” “Oh.” “‘Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you worried? Aren’t you coming to see him?” “I’m not a doctor. Is he going to magically get better if I look at him? Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” I disconnected before he could reply, catching the sound of a child’s crying just before the line went dead. But what did that have to do with me? Another week went by.

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When David and I signed the divorce papers, a strange calm settled over us. He asked, with a veneer of concern, what I wanted. My answer came without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the shares in your company.” David froze, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Can you really bear to leave Leo and Mia behind?” My gaze fell to the latticework of scars on my wrist, a silent testament to years of self-inflicted pain. I gave a small, slow shake of my head. Not anymore. From this day forward, the only thing I wanted from David Thorne was his money. Everything else connected to him, I was leaving behind. 1. Faced with my cold detachment, David looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply fell silent and signed his name to the agreement. As we parted, he offered a final, polite gesture. “I can’t give you the shares, but you will always be the children’s mother.” “If you ever run into trouble, you can always come to me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, the business card he’d handed me found its home in the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than ever see David Thorne again. Back at the house, I told the housekeeper to pack up all of David’s belongings and throw them out. She chuckled, unconcerned. “Ma’am, did you and Mr. Thorne have another fight?” “If you ask me, you should just let it blow over,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “He does care for you, deep down. It’s not worth throwing away your position as Mrs. Thorne over a little spat.” Maria had seen everything. All the years of pain, the humiliation I’d endured. She knew the torrential force of my love for David. She had also witnessed my hysterics, the countless times I’d shattered in the face of his betrayals. Like David, she was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t break down in tears and complaints as I usually did. Instead, I took our wedding portrait down from the wall and spoke, my voice calm and empty. “My mother is dead.” The smile vanished from Maria’s face. She stood frozen, stammering an apology, her hands fluttering uselessly. I offered a faint, humorless smile and said nothing. With all my strength, I brought the heavy frame down, smashing it to pieces on the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then, she was crouching beside me, helping me clean up the shards of glass. She expertly bandaged the cut on my hand, a wound torn open by the impact. “Good,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Good riddance!” “You’re an Ivy League graduate, a brilliant woman. You can live a much better life without him.” “You don’t have to take that kind of pain anymore, my dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. There was regret, and a deep, aching sadness. But beneath it all, there was something else. A glimmer of the dizzying joy of a survivor. After ten years of entanglement, the fairytale romance of the prince and the cinder-girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy ending, but it was the one I should have seen coming all along. 2. At eighteen, I was the top student in my county, accepted into one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities. That same year, I met David Thorne, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was, like all fairytales, breathtakingly romantic. For David, it was love at first sight. After his speech, he began a relentless, whirlwind courtship. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and my favorite latte. He’d bribe my roommates with cash just to know my schedule. He memorized every trivial detail about me and declared his love in a field of a thousand roses he’d had planted just for me. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. They were certain a small-town girl like me, a nobody, could never truly fit into his world. But David didn’t care. He brushed off their doubts, determined to be with me. He fought against the pressure from his family and proposed, shielding me from all the malice and judgment. Under his protection, my life, once a struggle, was suddenly switched to easy mode. Jewelry and bouquets, graduate school placements, opportunities to study abroad—everything was laid at my feet before I even had to ask. What teenage girl, inexperienced and full of dreams, could resist such an onslaught? I fell, hard and fast. I gave up my ambitions and stepped into the gilded cage of marriage. Dating, marriage, pregnancy, childbirth. It all unfolded so seamlessly. For the girl I was then, life felt impossibly easy. Everything I ever wanted was mine for the taking. I was drunk on love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, the Thorne matriarch, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my child from my arms. Her smile was polite, perfectly composed, but her voice was a shard of ice. “Leo is the future heir to the Thorne fortune. His position is of the utmost importance.” “Your background, your… upbringing… hardly qualifies you to raise him.” I had carried him for ten months, endured a difficult birth, and I wasn’t even allowed to hold him. To even see my own son, I had to get permission first. I begged David, pleaded with him not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our baby. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, you know. You’re from the countryside.” “She made it clear from the start. I can fool around all I want, but when it comes to the children, her word is law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief. But David simply pulled me into his arms and kissed me, completely ignoring my tears. He laughed it off. “Come on, don’t be so sad.” “If you want a baby that badly, we can just make another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But then his eyes caught the faint, silvery stretch marks on my stomach. He stopped. A flicker of… something between hesitation and disgust… crossed his face. After a long moment, he pulled away and said flatly, “You’ve had a long day. You should get some rest.” David’s indifference was like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of my long, beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. And I suddenly understood. This grand, sweeping love affair of ours? It had been nothing more than the indulgent whim of a rich boy. Fate had showered me with blessings. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. And my son was just the beginning. In the weeks after giving birth, I spiraled into a severe postpartum depression. My calls to David went unanswered. My texts were left unread. Just as I started to panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to him, the news broke. Scandalous photos of him in bed with some starlet were plastered across every gossip site overnight. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was kicked to the curb. The public mockery and vicious comments shattered the last fragments of my fairytale. I couldn’t accept it. My depression deepened. David and I had the most violent argument of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That finally got his attention. He rushed to grab me, his hands trembling as he apologized. He was just like every other cheating husband, crying that he was sorry, that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me and I had to give him another chance. That night, David knelt before me, his face wet with tears. “Nina, please. Can you forgive me, just this once?” 3. I made the second worst decision of my life. I chose to forgive him. For our son. For the stubborn love I couldn’t yet sever. And because a sudden car accident had left my mother in critical condition, robbing me of my last safe harbor. So, David and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Like her brother, Mia was taken from me the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that David needed to focus on his work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. Just to see my own children, I had to go to the Thorne estate before dawn every day to perform my duties. I served tea, massaged Mrs. Thorne’s shoulders and back, and even knelt to wash her feet. I humbled myself in every way imaginable, all for the small mercy of being allowed to spend a few moments with Leo and Mia. But all my desperate efforts were rewarded with David’s flagrant betrayals and the deep-seated resentment of my own children. Leo never called me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak, but she would cry and reach for her grandmother the moment I came near. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was steadily worsening. The coldness of my children, the crushing weight of my life… I was exhausted, hollowed out by despair. And in the moments when I needed him most, David was off building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. David didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover took the initiative and sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their moans and whispers, I finally shattered completely. I lost control and dragged a razor across my arm. By the time Maria burst into the bathroom, I was bleeding out on the floor. She frantically called David. This time, he didn’t show up until dawn. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at the gruesome wounds on my arm. “Still here? I thought you were going to die.” “It’s been a whole night. How are you still clinging to this family like a stray dog?” His words ripped open the fragile calm I’d found. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Thorne paid off the reporters and had me dragged to my mother’s hospital. She stood over me, her voice dripping with cold fury. “The ICU costs twenty thousand dollars a day.” “If you ever dare to embarrass the Thorne family again, I will make sure your mother joins you.” For the first time, I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I couldn’t let go of the love that once was, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I remained, shrinking myself into nothingness in a marriage devoid of self. I watched my children pull away from me. I watched David move from one woman to the next. I watched them use my mother as a leash to control my life. A marriage into wealth was both a sweet paradise and a chain of torment. Cinderella had ascended to become Mrs. Thorne, but the Prince was still lost in his games of love, “rescuing” one poor, beautiful girl after another. Until one day, David went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties, a woman with multiple divorces under her belt, and got her pregnant. Mrs. Thorne was livid. She slapped me twice across the face, her voice shaking with rage as she berated me for failing to control my husband. “A woman who can’t even hold onto her own husband’s heart—what use are you?” “I am ordering you to clean up this mess immediately. If you don’t…” “I will cut off your mother’s medical payments and ensure you never see Leo and Mia again!” After my marriage had crumbled into ruin, the last thread of family I had left was my only reason for living. I couldn’t lose my mother. I couldn’t lose that final connection. With a heavy heart, I went to see the woman, Vivienne. Unlike David’s previous flings, she wasn’t arrogant or condescending. She was polite, almost deferential. She called me “Mrs. Thorne” with every other breath, her eyes dripping with faux admiration. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thorne. I never intended to disrupt your family.” “It’s just… I love David so much.” “But if it’s for his own good, I’m willing to terminate the pregnancy and disappear from his life forever.” Vivienne was true to her word. She took the money and vanished without a trace. That night, for the first time in a long time, David came back to our bedroom. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed. For an entire month, he barely let me leave it. Until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving David’s “problem” and a way to keep him at home, Mrs. Thorne made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, under the care of the Thorne family’s private medical team, my mother’s health began to improve. I was ecstatic. I thought the worst was finally over. I thought things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant… David pushed me down the stairs.

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The eve of my wedding, Sarah posted a photo set on her social media. She was wearing a million-dollar custom gown, and beside her, kissing her forehead, was Tedd. The caption read: “Thank you to my dearest Tedd for being by my side since we were kids and making my bridal dreams come true!” The comments were a waterfall of congratulations, many from accounts I recognized. I blended right in, adding a comment of my own: “Since you love my fiancé and my wedding dress so much, consider them a gift.” 1 A second later, my phone rang. It was Tedd. He didn’t offer an explanation; he launched straight into an accusation. “Ava, you know Sarah is an influencer. What the hell was that comment? Are you trying to ruin her? Delete it. Now.” In the background, I could hear Sarah’s theatrical sobs. “Tedd, it’s all my fault. I’ll take the dress off right now. I’ll go apologize to Ava, I’ll beg her to forgive me!” Tedd, of course, wouldn’t hear of it. His voice softened as he soothed her. “No, don’t. If you like it, wear it. It’s just a dress. Why should you apologize? Ava’s the one who’s out of line. She should be apologizing to you.” It’s just a dress. The words made me laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. This “dress” was a year of my life. A million-dollar couture creation that embodied every dream I had for my marriage. I’d been involved in every step, from the initial sketches to selecting the fabrics. I’d flown to Paris and spent a month with the head designer to perfect every detail. Watching it take shape was like watching a blueprint of my future life being built, stitch by delicate stitch. When the boutique called to say it was ready, I was ecstatic. I wanted to try it on for Tedd immediately, but he told me he was stuck in an important meeting at work and couldn’t get away. I’d have to reschedule. I believed him without a second thought, disappointed but understanding. I didn’t realize what a fool I’d been until Sarah’s post went live. The pictures were perfect. A nine-photo carousel of them holding hands, embracing, him kissing her forehead. They looked so intimate, so right together. They’d even put on the wedding rings—my wedding rings—on their left hands. The way they smiled into each other’s eyes radiated a love so palpable that anyone would call them a perfect couple. And Sarah, a minor influencer with over a million followers, knew how to work it. The post exploded. Within minutes, tens of thousands of comments flooded in. “OMG, congrats! Our Sarah finally found her prince!” “He’s so handsome, she’s so beautiful! A match made in heaven! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” “That DRESS is stunning! It looks so expensive, it’s perfect for you, Sarah!” “Childhood sweethearts to husband and wife! So sweet, I’m obsessed with you two!” “That diamond on her ring is massive! True power couple!” … I even saw comments from a few of Tedd’s best friends. Amidst the sea of joyous celebration, I was the only one not smiling. Because the woman in my dress, being praised as the beautiful bride, was wearing my life. And the man they called her groom was my fiancé. Seeing that absurdly perfect, utterly devastating scene, I finally understood. Tedd wasn’t too busy for a wedding dress fitting. He was just too busy to have one with me. He had all the time in the world to take another woman to try on my bespoke gown and then plaster their love all over the internet. Did it never even cross their minds that I would see it? In less than an hour, the post had garnered tens of thousands of comments. I called Tedd’s phone again and again. I tried calling Sarah. No one answered. As the world cheered for a lie, I felt like I aged a lifetime. I waited for a call, a text, any explanation from either of them. Nothing came. But I saw them, active in the comments, replying happily to their fans. In that moment, something inside me snapped. He didn’t care. He wasn’t worth it. So, under that viral post, I typed my comment: “Since you love my fiancé and my wedding dress so much, consider them a gift.” And just like that, after an hour of silence, the man I couldn’t reach suddenly called me back. To hear them completely ignore their own betrayal and instead declare me the villain… the sheer hypocrisy of it was so astounding, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 2 My laughter, however, seemed to enrage Tedd. The line went silent for a beat, then Sarah’s crying intensified, hitting a new, hysterical pitch. When Tedd spoke again, his voice was a low growl, vibrating with fury. “Ava. Delete the comment and apologize to Sarah. Or this wedding is off.” “Fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Good. I’ll let it go this time. But don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again. You used to be so much more reasonable.” “I meant,” I clarified, speaking slowly and deliberately, my grip tightening on the phone, “the wedding is off. Sarah loves the dress, right? She can have it. The price is one million dollars. As for you… she can have you for free.” Tedd was silent, clearly not expecting me to call his bluff. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with suppressed anger. “It’s just a dress, Ava. And I’ve told you a million times, Sarah is like a sister to me. Are you really going to be this dramatic?” He’d used that excuse so many times it had become a nauseating mantra. “Yes,” I said. “I am.” From the other end, Sarah’s saccharine voice piped up. “Tedd, don’t be mad. She’s just misunderstood, you know how women can be. Just be sweet to her, and she’ll come around.” Her attempt at peacemaking only fanned the flames of his arrogance. “Be sweet to her?” he scoffed. “Who the hell does she think she is?” An interesting question. “I’d like to know the same thing, Tedd,” I shot back. “When you were doing all this, who did you think I was? Am I not your fiancée? We were supposed to get married next month!” My words, meant as an accusation, were misinterpreted as a plea. “See, Tedd?” Sarah cooed. “I told you. She loves you too much to stay mad.” “Hah,” Tedd sneered. “It’s too late for regrets, Ava. This is on you. Unless you apologize to Sarah right now and gift her the dress, this isn’t over.” I sighed. Was it because I loved him more that they felt so invincible? Even now, there wasn’t a shred of remorse in his voice. I clung to one last, desperate thread of hope. “Sarah isn’t the one getting married, yet she gets to wear a bridal gown. What about me? The actual bride-to-be?” “It’s a dress!” he repeated, exasperated. “The boutique is full of them. Just pick another one. It’s just a wedding.” Then, as if bestowing a great mercy upon me, they began to decide my fate for me. “Sarah, you have good taste. Just find something for her. It’s not like it matters, she’ll only wear it for a day.” “Okay, Tedd, I’ll pick one out for Ava! Hmm, this one is tough… This one has a beautiful neckline, but she doesn’t have the… assets… to fill it out. Oh, and the train on this one is gorgeous, but Ava’s too tall, it would look awkward on her…” Listening to Tedd’s dismissive tone and Sarah’s backhanded insults, the last bit of my heart turned to stone. “Don’t trouble yourselves,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “I’m not getting married. And we… are over.” That finally did it. Tedd exploded. “Ava, that’s enough! We’re already being so generous, and you’re still being impossible! Fine! It’s over! But don’t you come crawling back. If it weren’t for your family forcing me, I never would have been with you in the first place!” News to me. I had no idea he felt that way. No wonder he’d always been so cold and distant with my parents and me. I’d mistaken his disrespect for a cool, reserved nature, a product of a difficult childhood. Turns out, he was just an ungrateful hypocrite. I refused to argue with him any longer. I simply hung up the phone. I didn’t realize that in that short time, my comment had sent the internet into a frenzy. “Wait, what’s happening? Is Sarah a homewrecker? No way.” “Impossible. You guys forget, Sarah is an heiress. The person who commented has a completely empty profile. Probably just some delusional fan.” “Let’s wait for Sarah to say something. I trust her!” … I watched the debate unfold, amazed. What was there left to say? I had, once again, underestimated their shamelessness. 3 A few minutes later, Sarah responded. “I don’t know how I offended this person, but I don’t understand why she wants to hurt me like this.” Simultaneously, Tedd posted: “I have no relationship whatsoever with this woman.” Soon, their friends chimed in, one by one, attesting to the fact that Tedd and Sarah were childhood sweethearts, their love as deep as the ocean. To cap it all off, a user claiming to be an employee of the bridal boutique posted photos of Tedd and Sarah at their fitting, along with a picture of a receipt signed with Tedd’s name. The evidence was overwhelming. I was a liar. The online sentiment shifted in an instant, and a wave of hatred crashed down on me. “Desperate much? Always trying to steal someone else’s man.” “Exactly! Sarah’s feed is full of sweet moments with her Tedd. This woman is a pathetic clout chaser, thinking we’re all blind.” “She’s an embarrassment to women everywhere. Why can’t she be more like Sarah? An independent, successful career woman who also happens to be an heiress!” … I could dismiss the rest of it. Sarah’s fake persona wasn’t new. Tedd’s denial, technically, was now true. Their sycophantic friends were just a pack of jealous freeloaders. But the bridal shop… how could they lie like that? I signed the contract. I paid the bill. How dare they? Tedd had never transferred me any money. Were they planning to just steal my dress and slander my name? I immediately called the boutique. The moment I gave my name, the line went dead. The sheer audacity of it made me laugh. Is this how they treated a VIP client who had just paid them a million dollars? Fueled by a white-hot rage, I got in my car and drove straight there. When I walked in, the sales associates, who knew me perfectly well, just gathered in small clumps, pointing and whispering. No one came to help me. “Get your manager out here!” I had to shout it three times before a tall, thin woman emerged from the back, her face a mask of contempt. “Well, look what we have here. It’s the delusional fan girl. What are you doing here? We don’t have any men for you to stalk in this store.” Her words were met with snickers from the other employees. “Where is my dress?” “Are you sick in the head? Why are you so obsessed with other people’s things? The dress was picked up already.” I took a deep breath. “Who picked it up? Don’t pretend you don’t remember that I was the one who signed the contract and paid for it.” “So what? It was Mr. Miller’s money. He just had you run an errand for him. Who knew you’d get it in your head that it was yours? You caused us so much trouble, making us do last-minute alterations. You have no shame!” Her logic was staggering. “You don’t trust contracts, you don’t trust bank transfers, you just take someone’s word for it?” The manager rolled her eyes. “We don’t do that for just anyone. But this is a special case. Sarah is an heiress. Why would she lie? You, on the other hand… you follow Mr. Miller around like his personal assistant.” So, she was one of Sarah’s fans. But I knew the truth about Sarah’s “heiress” persona better than anyone. It wasn’t entirely her fault, but that wasn’t the point. Right there, in front of the entire staff, I called Tedd and put him on speaker. Miraculously, he answered before it went to voicemail. “Ava. What, you want to beg for forgiveness? Too late. How does it feel to be torn apart online? I hope you’re enjoying it. You brought this on yourself.” Now that I was done with him, every word he spoke just made him seem more pathetic. I cut straight to the chase. “You took my dress, and you haven’t paid me for it.” “Your dress?” he scoffed. “The boutique let me take it, so it’s mine. You got a problem? Take it up with them.” The sheer arrogance in his voice left me speechless for a moment. Even after everything, a part of me, the part that remembered the decade we’d known each other, didn’t want to completely destroy him. But now, their brazen lies, their complete lack of remorse, had extinguished that last flicker of sentiment. I had made my decision. “Fine, Tedd,” I said, my voice chillingly calm. “You brought this on yourself. Good luck.” 4 After I hung up, the manager’s face was still twisted in a sneer. “I thought you were going to do something dramatic. Turns out you were just begging Mr. Miller for another chance.” I just smiled and shook my head. I dialed another number. This time, it was to the bridal company’s global headquarters in Paris. I conducted the entire conversation in fluent French. The manager didn’t understand a word, continuing her sarcastic commentary and even trying to have me thrown out. But it was too late. I quickly explained the situation to the executive on the other end of the line, demanding a public apology, a full retraction to restore my reputation, and, as stipulated in my contract for breach of service, triple the purchase price in damages. My month-long trip to Paris to meet with their team hadn’t been a waste. The headquarters promised a swift and serious investigation. When the boutique’s phone rang a moment later, the manager’s career came to an abrupt end. Facts are facts. No matter how much she tried to lie and squirm, she couldn’t hide her deliberate misconduct. With the matter settled, I turned and walked away, ignoring the sound of her desperate sobs behind me. The corporate office was efficient. A public clarification and apology appeared online almost immediately. At the same time, the fired manager, now facing a lawsuit, went on a rampage in Sarah’s comment section. “What heiress? What childhood sweethearts? It’s all a lie!” “A homewrecker and a broke loser had the nerve to come into my store and scam a wedding dress, and I’m the one who lost my job!” “Go to hell, you frauds!” The internet was stunned by the sudden reversal. “Wait, so it really was someone else’s dress?” “Does that mean… the other stuff is fake too?” “No way. Sarah is a real heiress and Tedd is a mogul! Just look at their lifestyle!” … An heiress? A mogul? I’d almost forgotten about that part. Sarah was no heiress. She was just a girl from some backwater town who had come to the city to stay with Tedd, her distant relative. When I first met her, she was just like any other girl from a remote village—dark-skinned, unsophisticated, and dressed in cheap clothes. I remember the greedy look in her eyes as she stared at my things, though her words were for Tedd. “Tedd, Ava’s clothes and jewelry are so beautiful. I love them so much!” Tedd didn’t say anything then. But later, he took Sarah into my walk-in closet and let her pick out whatever she wanted. Seeing my personal belongings on a stranger made my skin crawl. But Tedd had an answer for everything. “I don’t have any family left back home. Sarah is like a little sister to me. If you’re with me, you should help me take care of her. It’s just a few things, what’s the big deal?” Then, because Sarah was “afraid” to live alone, he moved her into my villa. And because she wanted to be an influencer, he used my designer clothes, my jewelry, and my home to craft her online persona as a glamorous woman of leisure. I had tried to talk to him about it. I suggested that if Sarah liked something, she could buy it herself; she didn’t need to take mine.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386469”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel