Author: Momo Chan

In my previous life, my newborn son was stolen on his second day in this world. My wife lost her mind. She spent six months searching for him before finally jumping off our balcony. I drank myself to death on the streets. In this life, I trust absolutely no one. When the head nurse said she needed to take the baby for a checkup, I stood up and blocked the crib. “What checkup? Which department? Where is the requisition form? Did the attending physician sign off on this?” She froze, stammering that it was just a routine hearing screening. “If it is a routine screening, why is the head nurse coming to fetch him personally?” “I do not trust anyone. Bring me the paperwork, and I will carry the baby to the examination room with you. Otherwise, this conversation is over.” She stood there, paralyzed. 1 The day my son was born, I held that tiny, wrinkled little thing, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Evelyn lay on the hospital bed, her lips pale, smiling up at me. “That new commercial tower in the South District. All twelve floors are going in this kid’s name.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “And the profit shares from the land parcel we bought last year, those belong to you.” “Everything I earn is for you and our boy.” Evelyn chuckled weakly. “You need to calm down.” I told her I would not calm down. I was too damn happy. The next day, my son vanished. Evelyn went completely mad. She searched for half a year before throwing herself from our balcony. I drank myself into an early grave in a dirty alleyway. Right before I died, all I could think about was the sound of my son’s first cry. This time around, all I wanted was for my wife and child to live. For an entire day, I did not let a single person touch my son. When the nurses came to take his temperature, I stood right next to them, watching their every move. But when Fiona, the head nurse, pushed the door open with a warm smile and said she needed to take the baby for a newborn hearing screening, my shirt instantly soaked with cold sweat. “Mr. Davis, it is time for the baby’s hearing test. I will take him down to the examination room on the third floor and have him back in thirty minutes.” She was wearing a surgical mask, leaving only her gentle, crinkling eyes visible. The junior nurse beside her nodded in agreement. “Nurse Fiona always handles the screenings personally. She is very experienced.” I stood up and planted myself directly in front of the crib. “What screening? Do you have the procedural paperwork? Did the head doctor sign it? And what hospital policy dictates that the head nurse must carry the baby herself?” Fiona looked taken aback. “Mr. Davis, please do not be so tense. This is a standard procedure…” “I asked if you have the paperwork.” I cut her off. I pulled my phone out of the nightstand drawer, opened the camera, and hit record. “Please repeat yourself. Who sent you, what exact screening are you performing, which room are you taking him to, and what is the attending doctor’s name? I am recording this entire process.” The eyes above Fiona’s mask narrowed slightly, a flash of resentment crossing her face. “You are overreacting, Mr. Davis. Newborn screenings are scheduled hospital wide. This maternity ward has been operating for over a decade, and we have never had a single incident.” “I do not care about anyone else’s incidents.” I scooped up the swaddled bundle. My son was sleeping soundly, his little face scrunched up. “I only care about my son. Go get the paperwork, and I will carry him to the examination room myself.” Fiona’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. “Mr. Davis, do you not trust me?” “It is not about trusting you.” I stared dead into her eyes. “I do not trust anybody.” The room fell dead silent for several seconds. Fiona took a step back and forced a polite smile. “Please wait a moment then. I will go print the forms.” She turned and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, I looked down at the boy in my arms, then over at my wife sleeping in the hospital bed. I still remembered the way Evelyn had cried until her eyes bled in my past life. In this life, nobody was going to touch a single hair on my son’s head. 2 For the rest of the day, I held my son and refused to leave his side. Feeding, changing diapers, burping him. I did it all myself. When Evelyn woke up and saw me sitting on the sofa cradling the baby, her eyes grew red. “Nolan, you have not slept in three days.” “I am not tired.” I replied. She reached out and touched my cheek. Her fingers were freezing. “You look terrible. I am worried you are going to collapse.” “I will not collapse.” I grabbed her hand, my voice coming out gravelly. “As long as you and the baby are here, I can handle anything.” Evelyn did not push it. She knew me too well. Once I made up my mind, nothing on earth could drag me away. That night, I pushed the crib right up against my side of the bed and locked the ward door. I left a security camera running on the nightstand and synced my phone to my smartwatch so the slightest vibration would wake me. By two in the morning, my sheer exhaustion caught up with me. My eyelids felt like lead. I do not know how much time passed, but Evelyn’s piercing scream practically blew my eardrums out. “Nolan!” I shot up from the mattress. The crib was empty. Evelyn stood by the bed, her face the color of chalk, her lips trembling violently. She threw off the blankets to get out of bed, but her legs gave out before her feet even hit the floor. I caught her, my own fingers shaking uncontrollably. “Do not panic. Just lay back down.” It was exactly like my past life. The exact same empty crib. The exact same suffocating despair. Evelyn had jumped. I had died in a gutter. I stood there, my knees turning to jelly. Evelyn sank to the floor and sobbed, muffling the sound against her arms. “I did not watch him closely enough…” “It is not your fault.” I knelt down and grabbed her shoulders. “Look at me.” She refused to look up. “Evelyn, look at me.” She snapped her head up, her face drenched in tears. “Call the police.” “Right.” I pulled out my phone. First, I called hospital administration to lock down the building. Then, I dialed 911. Evelyn sat on the bed, hugging her knees, burying her face in her arms. The door to our room had been left wide open. More and more people were gathering in the hallway outside. Nurses, doctors, and family members from other rooms. People peeked inside, catching sight of the empty crib, and gasped. “Is the baby really gone?” “What a tragedy, he was just born a few days ago.” “What kind of parents are they?” “All that money, and they can not even keep an eye on their own child.” Evelyn’s shoulders began to convulse. She heard them. I stood up, walked to the doorway, and pulled the door halfway shut. Some people were still craning their necks to look inside. A middle-aged woman stood in the corridor with her arms crossed, gossiping loudly. “How do you lose a baby that big? Are we sure they are the real parents?” Another man chimed in. “They probably just did not care enough. Dressed all fancy, but too lazy to watch a newborn.” I looked back at Evelyn. She hugged her knees tighter, burying her face even deeper, her shoulders violently shaking. It was exactly like my past life. After my son disappeared, people whispered the exact same things everywhere we went. I pushed the door wide open and stepped out into the hall. The corridor went silent for a moment. The middle-aged woman scoffed. “Oh, here he comes. What do you want…” I stared a hole right through her. “What did you just say?” She shrank back a step. “I did not say anything. I just said…” “Say it again.” She clamped her mouth shut. The man next to her spoke up. “Hey, people are just showing concern. What is with your attitude?” I turned my eyes to him. “My son is missing. What exactly are you concerned about?” He opened his mouth but could not find a single word. 3 Detective Bennett pushed his way through the crowd with his team and taped off the room. “Mr. Davis, we are here.” I nodded. “Check the security cameras.” The hospital guards pulled up the footage. At 4:13 AM, the feed turned to static for exactly fifteen seconds. “The baby never left the building.” Detective Bennett confirmed. “Search everything.” His officers started tearing the place apart. Patient rooms, supply closets, cafeterias, operating theaters, bathrooms. Room by room. The crowd of onlookers in the hallway still had not dispersed. People were whispering among themselves. “The cameras were jammed. They are never getting that kid back.” “A baby that small? Whoever took him is long gone by now.” “These parents are unbelievable.” Evelyn sat inside the room, hearing every single word through the door. She had stopped crying out loud. She was terrifyingly quiet. I stood in the hallway, waiting. One of Bennett’s officers ran up and shook his head. Another officer jogged over and shook his head. Someone in the crowd let out a cold laugh. “What did I tell you? Gone forever.” I snapped my head in that direction. The person quickly ducked behind the crowd. Detective Bennett walked over and lowered his voice. “Mr. Davis, we have swept every room on this floor. Nobody.” “The cameras at the exits did not catch anyone leaving.” “That means the child is still inside this building. A baby does not just vanish into thin air.” It was exactly like my past life. Camera static, clueless nurses, and a baby evaporating from the face of the earth. Evelyn had starved herself for three days, withering away into a skeleton. She had told me that if we could not find him, she had no reason to live. I leaned against the wall, sweat rolling down the back of my neck. My brain was absolute mush. My legs felt like they were made of water. Bennett’s team swept room after room, and every time, they came back shaking their heads. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails dug into my palms. And then I saw Fiona. She was standing behind the nurses’ station, her white uniform immaculate, holding a paper cup of water. She was watching the commotion just like everyone else. Her face was completely devoid of emotion. Perfectly calm. A memory from yesterday slammed into my mind. She had told me she needed to take the baby for a hearing test, and I had blocked her. I asked her a few extra questions about the paperwork, and she walked away. She never came back. But out of all the people working here, why was she the very first one to try and take my son? With dozens of junior nurses on duty, why did the head nurse show up at my door personally? “Fiona.” I barely registered my own voice calling her name. She looked up, her eyes locking onto mine. I started walking toward her. The nurses’ station was only a few yards away, but every step felt impossibly heavy. She took a half-step backward. “Mr. Davis…” “Where is my son?” “Excuse me?” “Where is he?” I grabbed the collar of her pristine white uniform and yanked her forward. The paper cup slipped from her hands, smashing onto the floor. “Give me my son back.” “Mr. Davis! What are you doing!” Her face drained of color as she struggled and tried to pull away. Two nearby nurses rushed over and grabbed my arms. “Let her go!” “You can not just assault people!” I did not loosen my grip. “Yesterday afternoon. You tried to take my son for a test, did you not?” “I was just doing my rounds…” “I asked you one question, and you left. You never came back.” “That is because you refused to let me take him!” “And the second you left, my son disappeared.” Her hands clawed at my wrists, her nails digging into my skin. “I did not do anything! I swear!” The police officers rushed in. Detective Bennett grabbed me from behind, pulling my arms back. “Mr. Davis, let her go!” He managed to drag me a few steps away. Fiona slumped against the counter of the nurses’ station, the collar of her uniform completely ruined. She gasped for air, her eyes turning red. “I did not do anything…” Her voice started to tremble. “I am just a regular nurse here. I came to ask a question yesterday, you said no, and I left.” “What does your missing baby have to do with me?” A younger nurse patted her on the back. “Fiona has been in the breakroom this entire shift. We can all vouch for her.” Another nurse glared at me. “You can not just throw baseless accusations around, Mr. Davis.” The crowd in the hallway started up again. “Oh, look at that. He can not find his kid, so he assaults a nurse.” “What did that poor woman do to deserve that?” “Rich people are all the same. The second something goes wrong, they find a scapegoat.” 4 Evelyn walked out of our hospital room. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her face pale as a sheet of paper, her eyes swollen shut. “Nolan.” I turned to look at her. She slowly dragged herself toward me, swaying with every step. “Please stop.” “Evelyn…” “Nolan, you need to calm down.” Fiona stood behind the nurses’ station, clutching her chest as tears streamed down her face. “Mr. Davis, I know you are desperate…” “But you can not do this to me.” “I have only been working at this hospital for six months. I am just an employee. Why would I ever steal a baby?” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking violently. The hallway went completely silent. Then, someone pulled out a phone and started recording. “Look at this rich guy bullying a young nurse in public.” “Loses his own kid and starts acting like a rabid dog.” “Absolutely disgusting.” Evelyn’s grip on my arm suddenly tightened. Her entire body swayed, and her knees buckled. I shot my arms out and caught her before she hit the floor. She leaned against my chest, burying her face into my shirt. “Nolan…” “Let’s go back to the room.” I scooped her up in my arms and carried her back. The venomous whispers followed us the whole way. “What kind of person does that?” “Can not even protect his own child, so he blames the staff.” “If I were his wife, I would have left him.” Evelyn flinched in my arms. I held her tighter, refusing to look back. Her shoulders were trembling. She wasn’t making a sound. Even with the heavy hospital door shut, the muffled gossip from the corridor seeped through the cracks. I held her hand tightly. She did not squeeze back. “Evelyn.” No answer. “Trust me.” Her shoulders twitched. “I will find him.” The police tore through all three floors of the maternity ward and found absolutely nothing. The tech department was working on the security hard drives, trying to recover the corrupted data. Evelyn had been given a mild sedative. she had finally fallen asleep, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. I squatted alone in the hallway, smoking a cigarette. The third floor, the fourth floor, the fifth floor. Every conceivable hiding spot had been turned inside out. Storage closets, breakrooms, operating theaters. They even opened the toilet tanks. Nothing. A three-day-old infant had simply evaporated. I stared blankly at the cigarette butt on the floor. It was not until a drop of sweat rolled down my neck and stung my eye that I finally noticed something completely wrong. The heat. The fifth floor was boiling. This was the VIP ward. The central air was strictly maintained at seventy-two degrees year-round. But right now, it felt closer to eighty. The air was thick and suffocating. I stood up and walked down the length of the corridor. Every single ventilation grate was pushing out air, but the airflow was incredibly weak. There was almost no chill to it. It was not like this last night. When I was changing my son’s diaper hours ago, the room was so cold I had to put an extra blanket over Evelyn. Something was deeply wrong. I sprinted to the stairwell and ran down to the third floor. The moment I pushed the fire doors open, a blast of freezing AC hit my face. The central air on the third floor was working perfectly. It was freezing cold. I checked the fourth floor. Same thing. Icy. Only the fifth floor felt like a sauna. I called the hospital’s engineering department. “Who manages the HVAC for the fifth floor?” The guy on the phone hesitated. “Mr. Davis, we do not handle that floor. The VIP section has a standalone HVAC system. Gary from maintenance holds the master keys.” “Give me Gary’s number.” I called him three times. It went straight to voicemail. The sickening knot of anxiety in my gut pulled tighter. I found the maintenance room. It was locked. I kicked the door, but it held firm. I turned to a passing janitor. “Where is Gary? Is he working today?” The older woman thought for a second. “I think he got here super early. I saw him pushing his tool cart toward the East Wing, but I have not seen him since.” The East Wing. The eastern edge of the fifth floor was a row of abandoned storage closets. When I rented out the VIP suite, I had checked the floor plans. The room at the very end of the hall was practically pressed against the main AC turbines. The noise was so bad they had stopped using it years ago. It did not belong to any specific medical department. And the hallway cameras did not cover that deep into the corner. It was the only blind spot on the entire floor. I sprinted toward that abandoned storage room. There was a heavy brass padlock on the door. It looked brand new, completely out of place on the rusted door handle. I hammered it with my fist three times, but it did not budge. I grabbed a heavy metal fire extinguisher from the wall box, swung it over my head, and brought it down on the lock with everything I had. The brass shattered, and the heavy door groaned open. The room was completely empty. Nothing but a few boxes of expired surgical gauze and an overwhelming smell of dust. Nothing. I stood in the center of the room, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ground together. This made no sense. If there was nothing in here, why was there a brand-new lock on the door? Why secure an empty room in a camera blind spot? I tilted my head and looked at the ceiling. The heavy metal screws on the ventilation grate were stripped and shiny. Someone had just unscrewed them. I dragged an old desk over, climbed on top, and twisted the loose screws off with my bare hands. The shaft was pitch black. A rush of stale, stiflingly warm air blew into my face. I pulled out my phone, turned on the flashlight, and shoved my head and shoulders up into the duct. The metal tunnel stretched inward for a few yards before taking a sharp turn. From deep inside the metal darkness, I heard a sound. It was incredibly faint. Like a stray kitten. Or like a baby who had cried until his vocal cords were completely shredded. My scalp exploded with pure terror. “Son!” The tiny noise in the duct stopped for a fraction of a second, and then escalated into a desperate, heartbreaking wail.

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My mom forbade me from dating before college graduation. So, I had to date secretly online. When my online boyfriend mailed me a pair of sensory-linked dolls, my mom scolded me. “All you do all day is buy junk online. You should use that time to learn from Adam on how to be excellent.” Hearing his name, my stepbrother shot me a cold, indifferent glance. He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Some things require natural talent. You can’t just learn them.” What a pretentious jerk. I curled my lip in disgust. In a fit of petty rage, I aggressively poked the doll right on its chest. A second later. My stepbrother suddenly furrowed his brow and clamped a hand over his own chest. 1 Adam’s face was still pale by the time we sat down at the dinner table. I placed the doll back into its box and shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, are you going to live?” Adam cleared his throat gently, the color finally returning to his face. “Sorry to disappoint you.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “If you ask me, you just have a toxic mouth, and karma finally caught up with you.” My mom glared at me from across the table. “Chloe! Is that how you speak to your brother?” I looked down and aggressively shoveled rice into my mouth. “I never accepted him as my brother.” Adam cast a frigid look at me, matching my hostility flawlessly. “Good.” “Anyone who would willingly want to be your brother probably has water in their brain.” 2 After dinner, I bolted back to my room and locked the door. I couldn’t wait to message my online boyfriend, Land. “Baby, I got the gift you sent me! ~” For our hundred-day anniversary, we had agreed to exchange gifts. I picked up the plush cotton doll, snapped a quick photo, and tried to send it to him. The message failed to deliver. While I was still fighting with my internet connection, a message from him popped up. “I’m glad you like it.” Following that text was a half-body selfie. Draped across his incredibly built, muscular chest was the delicate silver body chain I had gifted him. It sparkled against his skin. It looked absolutely divine. My eyes uncontrollably locked onto two specific points on his chest. They were suspiciously, vividly red. “Did you secretly play with it yourself?” He replied, sounding deeply wronged. “Baby, you’re falsely accusing me! >” I met Land on a niche internet forum. At the time, I was losing my mind trying to secure a senior internship while simultaneously enduring my mother’s relentless criticism. “Other girls your age can study for civil service exams, prep for grad school, and nail internships all at once. Why can’t you?” Desperate for an outlet to relieve the pressure, I stumbled onto that forum. I spilled all my inner frustrations and anxieties into a post. Mostly, I just attracted a bunch of weirdos. Just as I was thoroughly discouraged and ready to delete my account, I met Land. He soothed my frazzled nerves and offered genuinely practical advice. We added each other as friends. Eventually, we became a couple. I snapped out of my daydream to find Land’s aggrieved complaints flooding my screen. “I have no idea what happened. It actually kind of hurts.” “I promised you, baby. Only you are allowed to touch me, and I always keep my promises.” “Do you really not believe me? >” I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from turning up. When I first met him, he always spoke in a calm, hyper-rational tone. But the longer we dated, the more he started mimicking my texting style, adding all sorts of emoticons. He was turning into a clingy, affectionate giant. After texting him a few comforting words, I pivoted to praising his gift, telling him the doll was adorable. He seemed a bit embarrassed. “This was my first time trying my hand at ceramics. Once I get better at it, I’ll make you an even prettier one.” I froze. “Wait, so the little ceramic figurine was your only gift?” He seemed to misunderstand my confusion. “No, there was another gift too.” A second later, I received a cash transfer notification from him for $1,314. Wait. So he didn’t send me the plush doll? I picked the cotton doll back up and inspected it closely. A tiny slip of paper fell out from beneath the doll’s clothes. I stared at it in shock. This was a sensory-linked doll? 3 Before my brain could fully process this revelation. Land sent over a few more photos of his abs. I swallowed hard. “So, when is my baby going to come touch them in person?” This wasn’t the first time he had suggested meeting up in real life. Every previous time, I had fended him off with various excuses. I had no choice. My mom had laid down a strict ban on dating before graduation. If she found out, I would be dead meat. As I sat there brainstorming how to reject him this time, my eyes fell on the cotton doll resting by my hand. Land’s messages kept rolling in. “Please, baby?” “I really want to dfhfgdsh…” His hands were apparently shaking so badly he typed a string of gibberish. My fingertips lightly brushed against the doll as I played dumb. “What’s wrong?” Land seemed incredibly shy. “Um… that was really weird. It suddenly felt really hot.” His attention had successfully been diverted. I couldn’t help but smile wickedly. “If you’re tired, you should rest for a bit.” But my hand didn’t stop moving. A moment later. He sent a voice message. His voice was thick with desire and begging. “Baby, help me, please?” My face instantly burned hot. My grip on the doll tightened. “I really like you.” 4 After resting for a bit, I stepped out of my room to use the bathroom. But right as I reached the bathroom door, I collided with my stepbrother, who had just stepped out of the shower. Water was still dripping from the ends of his hair. As we were about to brush past each other, he suddenly let out a soft scoff. “Chloe, why is your face so red? Don’t tell me you’re secretly dating someone.” My footsteps slammed to a halt, and I glared at him. It was only eleven o’clock at night. My mom wasn’t asleep yet. I glanced nervously toward the master bedroom, then lowered my voice to warn him. “Don’t talk nonsense!” Wearing a plush bathrobe, Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “I was just taking a wild guess. Why are you so defensive?” He suddenly leaned down, closing the distance between us. “Or did I hit the nail on the head?” Adam raised a mocking eyebrow. “I wonder which poor guy has such terrible luck that he’s willing to date someone as vicious as you?” I raised my leg to kick his shin, but he dodged it effortlessly. Furious, I lost my filter. “Mind your own business! He’s a million times better than you anyway!” Hearing this, Adam’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Oh~ So you really are dating someone.” Damn it! I shot him a death glare. “You are not allowed to tell my mom!” Adam’s lips curled upward into a smirk. “Is this how you ask for a favor?” I ground my teeth together, taking a deep breath. “Brother…” “Stop right there.” Adam grimaced and raised a hand. “Don’t call me brother. I can’t stand it.” He gave a dramatic shudder, as if shaking off goosebumps. “How about this. You tell me what kind of gifts girls like, and in exchange, I won’t rat you out.” Adam had a girl he liked? But I certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Every girl likes different things. But giving cold hard cash is never a mistake.” Adam let out a cold snort. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked a broke college student for advice.” Watching his smug, retreating back, I clenched my fists. What is he so arrogant about? One day, I’m going to find leverage on him too. 5 A week later, it was my birthday. Perhaps he had taken my earlier words to heart, because this time, Land prepared an incredibly extravagant gift. “Baby is turning 21 today, so I prepared twenty-one separate gifts for you! ~” I was completely overwhelmed. But he was, as always, endlessly understanding. “It’s okay. When it’s my birthday, all you have to do is bake me a cake with your own hands.” I sighed softly. What a sweet, heavy burden. To prevent my mom from finding out, I hauled most of the gifts straight to my dorm room. There was only one thing—a custom-designed Switch—that I loved too much to part with, so I snuck it home. The controllers were customized in my favorite pink and white color scheme. And printed on the back casing was a beautiful sycamore tree. Because my internet handle was Sycamore. That was one of the very few personal details my online boyfriend actually knew about me. I rarely ever talked to him about my family situation. I had only mentioned it once. I told him my mom was incredibly strict with me, and since I was a kid, she had never let me touch a video game console. He had taken that passing comment to heart. “This gift is for the 7-year-old baby. Your happy childhood starts today.” But to my horror, my mom discovered it anyway. Facing her interrogation, I had already trained myself to lie without blushing or skipping a beat. “Mom, you’re misunderstanding. This is for our elective course.” But as I stood in the living room, I subconsciously hugged the console tightly to my chest. “You know how it is. We’re computer science majors, after all. We have these… specialized electives. It counts toward my graduation credits!” Hearing the word “credits,” my mom finally backed down. Adam just happened to walk into the living room to pour himself a glass of water. Hearing my excuse, he nearly laughed out loud. I shot him a lethal glare. He barely managed to suppress his smirk. “Is that so? But given your usual academic performance, aren’t you worried you’ll fail this class?” My mom instantly grew anxious again. “Adam, could you maybe tutor her a bit?” Adam’s eyes drifted down to the game console clutched against my chest. Suddenly, he raised an eyebrow and started walking toward me. With lightning reflexes, I shoved the console into my canvas tote bag. But Adam shot his hand out and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. 6 Standing at six foot two, he looked down at me from above. His eyes scanned over my game console, as if he were searching for a specific detail. “What are you doing?” Adam withdrew his gaze, seeming to let out a breath of relief. He let out a soft scoff. “Next time, remember not to use pink controllers. It makes your hands look dark.” He is completely insane. I stormed back to my room. I took the protective case off, snapped a picture of the console, and sent it to Land. Remembering Adam’s snide comment, I made sure my hands weren’t in the frame. I chatted idly with Land. He sharply picked up on my sour mood. “Is baby unhappy today? You can tell me anything that’s bothering you.” I just told him the older generation was putting pressure on me again. I was very careful not to mention Adam. Because the last time Land mailed me a gift, the return address was located right in our university district. And Adam was way too famous on our campus. He won scholarships like it was a joke. During his junior year, he launched a startup and made an absolute fortune. Practically everyone at school knew his name. Suddenly, my phone chimed loudly with a notification. Land had transferred me $520. The memo read: Voluntary gift. “Baby, you are excellent and independent. You don’t need to take other people’s words to heart.” “Now, can you please cheer up a little?” He sent a picture of the moon that he had just taken himself. “The moonlight is beautiful tonight.” “If baby can see the moon from where you are, then you can see how much I’m thinking about you.” Land was always so incredibly sweet and empathetic. Last time, he had clearly sensed my reluctance to meet in person. So he had never brought it up again. He just repeatedly told me how much he missed me. My heart melted. “Okay.” “Then I’m going to go look at the moon. When I get back, I want to tell you a secret.” I looked at the sensory-linked doll sitting on my nightstand. I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to its forehead. 7 I never expected Adam’s ghost to haunt me even here. At 1:00 AM, I sneaked out onto the balcony to look at the moon. He was already out there. And the guy who always wore a permanent poker face seemed to be secretly smiling to himself. Something wasn’t right. He was wearing a loose, unbuttoned dress shirt. Under the cold, pale moonlight, something sparkly peaked out from his open collar. Taking advantage of Adam having his back turned, I quickly snapped a photo. That shape… That didn’t look like a normal necklace. I had never seen Adam wear jewelry before. It looked horribly familiar. I zoomed in on the picture. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Land didn’t know this. But I had handcrafted that body chain myself. I was intimately familiar with every single connecting link. …Why was it him? My chest instantly turned ice cold. Adam turned around and met my eyes, still wearing his usual indifferent expression. Just as we were about to brush past each other. I reached my hand into my pocket and viciously pinched the sensory doll’s thigh. Behind me, I heard Adam stumble loudly. I whipped my head around just in time to see his ridiculous, flailing posture. Caught in such an embarrassing moment, Adam’s ears turned violently red. I simply couldn’t reconcile the gentle, sweet Land from the internet with the arrogant Adam standing in front of me. I stared straight into his eyes, testing the waters. “Don’t mess with me. I have the power of premonition.” Adam found this hilarious. “Really? You’re a pretty good bluffer for a short winter melon.” I looked at him with dead calm. “Stop laughing. You have a very loving girlfriend, don’t you?” Adam looked intrigued and crossed his arms. “Are you preparing to wish us a century of happiness? I’d actually love to hear you say some blessings.” I deliberately let my eyes drag across the chain at his collar. “Don’t tell me she gave you that?” Adam pulled a small section of the chain out to show off. “Of course she did.” I saw the exact knot I had tied with my own hands. I closed my eyes briefly. Then I curled my lips into a smile. “What a pity.” “You’re about to get dumped.”

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After I cheated, I found my soulmate. She never checked my phone, never asked about my finances, and never demanded to know where I was. She was the splash of color my grey, suffocating life desperately needed. On my wife’s side, I kept up appearances. I came home on time, played the doting husband, and kept the machinery of our marriage running smoothly. Until the day I pushed open the door to my secret sanctuary. And found my wife waiting inside. 1 The sharp spark of my lighter caught a dark, rusty smear on the bedsheets. I looked down at the girl sleeping soundly beside me. Slowly, I leaned back against the headboard and inhaled a deep drag of nicotine. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dark room. It was a text from my wife, Fiona: Hey babe, I slipped some hangover pills into your briefcase. Don’t forget to take them. I stood up, walked out onto the balcony, and dialed her number. “Is Toby asleep?” I asked when she picked up. “He just went down,” Fiona replied, her voice soft but tired. “What time does your flight land tomorrow? I can come pick you up from the airport.” I rubbed my tired eyes. “I’ll text you the flight details in a bit. Go get some rest.” After hanging up, I stood on the balcony for a long time, letting the freezing night wind numb my face. When I returned to the bedroom, Gemma was sitting up, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “Are you leaving?” she whispered. I nodded and began pulling on my clothes. My movements were still clumsy and slow from the alcohol. She slipped out of bed, padded over on bare feet, and gently straightened my collar. “I don’t want to get in the way of your family,” she said, looking up at me with wide, earnest eyes. “I won’t ever make things hard for you. Just a little of your time, every now and then, is more than enough to keep me happy.” I ran a hand over her soft hair, said nothing, and left. Later, lying in my own king-sized bed at home, I closed my eyes, but my mind was a chaotic blur of the intoxicating hours I had just spent with her. It had been years since I felt that kind of electric, heart-stopping thrill. I couldn’t even remember how I had crossed that final line. I only remembered the way her eyelashes glistened with tears when she was beneath me. The next morning, after my run, I found Gemma standing right outside my office door. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her face completely bare of makeup, with tiny beads of sweat glistening on the tip of her nose. “Hey, Marcus,” she murmured. “I noticed you didn’t come down for the hotel breakfast, so I brought you some fresh pastries and hot coffee.” I stared at her for two seconds. Then I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into my room. Honestly, for a man in my position, having a mistress is practically par for the course. As long as you know how to balance the scales, it never causes any real trouble. If anything, the thrill of this stolen happiness made me more patient with my family. I viewed it as a healthy tax on my guilt, a trade-off that actually made me a better husband. When our flight landed back home, Gemma slipped into the airport restroom, deliberately staying out of sight to avoid any awkward encounters. Fiona practically flew toward me at the arrivals gate, wrapping her arms tight around my waist and burying her face in the crook of my neck. I glanced over her shoulder. Through the crowded terminal, I saw Gemma standing in the shadows. Her eyes were red, but she gave me a brave, bittersweet wave. My heart twisted with a sudden, unexpected ache. At dinner that night, Fiona talked endlessly about her day, the company, and our son. My phone screen lit up repeatedly on the table, but there were no messages from Gemma. “Marcus?” I blinked and looked up. Fiona was staring at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ve called your name three times. What are you staring at?” “Just thinking about a project at the firm,” I lied, shoving a forkful of food into my mouth. “What were you saying?” “Toby has that soccer tournament in Europe coming up,” she said, her excitement returning. “It’s about ten days. Why don’t you take some PTO? We haven’t taken a family trip in forever.” “I can’t. The new project is in a critical phase right now. You guys go ahead without me.” Fiona’s smile faded into a disappointed nod. “Okay. Next time, then.” That night, when she crawled into bed and tried to spoon me, I instinctively shifted toward the edge of the mattress. “I’m exhausted, babe. Let’s just sleep.” Fiona’s arm froze against my waist. Slowly, awkwardly, she pulled it back. After all these years of marriage, intimacy with Fiona had become a chore, a repetitive script we both read from. It was entirely devoid of passion. But Gemma was different. She made everything feel dangerously alive again. I closed my eyes, and my mind was immediately flooded with Gemma’s vibrant, laughing face. The moment my wife and son left for Europe, I packed a bag and moved straight into Gemma’s apartment. We worked together by day and dissolved into each other by night. As the warm summer breeze swept through the open windows and the city lights flickered in the distance, I felt a sensation I hadn’t felt in a decade. I felt alive. Gemma couldn’t cook, and she hated cleaning, but I didn’t care. I hired a maid to come three times a week, pre-paid a tab at the bistro downstairs, and set up a delivery service with the local dry cleaners. The tedious, grinding realities of daily life were easily solved with a little bit of money. At drinks, my buddies would always lecture me. “You need a woman who knows how to run a household,” they’d say. I always laughed it off. Fiona was there to run the household. Gemma’s job was simply to be my escape. One night, a close friend clinked his glass against mine and warned me quietly, “Careful, man. You’re playing with fire.” I just smiled and shook my head. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a perfect muse. Only much later did I realize the most tragic truth of life: the worst thing isn’t making the wrong choice. It is when everyone around you watches you make that choice, and no one can do a single thing to stop you. 2 The night before Fiona and Toby were scheduled to return, Gemma and I lost track of time playing video games. We ended up staying up until dawn, which meant we completely slept through their arrival. Because of my negligence, my wife and son were left stranded at the airport for over two hours. When I finally bolted awake, my phone was buzzing with thirty-two missed calls. I sat up so fast my head spun. Gemma rubbed her sleepy eyes, yawning. “What’s wrong?” “I missed their flight,” I panicked, throwing the blankets off. She sat up, her brow furrowing in irritation. “Ubers are everywhere. Why do you have to play chauffeur anyway? You work so hard. Why can’t she just let you sleep?” I didn’t stay to listen to the rest. I ran out to the balcony and dialed Fiona’s number. “I am so sorry, Fiona. The client dinner went incredibly late last night, and I slept right through my alarm.” The line was dead silent for several seconds. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “We’re taking the train home. Toby bought a souvenir for you. He’s been carrying it in his backpack the whole way.” “Okay. I’ll see you at home.” When I hung up, Gemma was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, watching me. “So… you won’t be coming back here for a while, will you?” Her eyes welled with tears, though she forced a brave, fragile smile. I grabbed my coat and gently patted her head. “I have to go.” After a quick lunch with her to soften the blow, I sped back to our suburban home. On the way, I bought a massive bouquet of flowers for Fiona and a massive Lego set for Toby. Yet, an icy knot of anxiety was tightening in my chest. Something felt terribly wrong. The moment I inserted my key into the front door, I heard muffled sobbing from inside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw the door open. “What happened?” Toby was sitting on the hardwood floor, his face completely drenched in tears. He looked up at me with red, swollen eyes. “Dad,” he choked out. “Have you really not been home once since we left?” The air was violently sucked from my lungs. I had completely forgotten about our golden retriever, Buster. Fiona was kneeling next to our son, her shoulders shaking violently. On the kitchen island lay an unopened bag of dog food. Before she left, Fiona had taken the dog food out of the pantry and explicitly told me to feed him. I had given her a distracted nod, walked out the door, and never thought about the dog again. I slowly dropped to my knees. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll buy you another puppy. The exact same breed, okay?” Fiona snapped. She looked at me with a gaze so cold it cut to the bone. “Marcus, that dog was with him for six years. Do you honestly think you can just replace him with a trip to a pet store?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I just… I forgot.” Fiona didn’t argue. She walked over to the mudroom, grabbed a spade, and walked back to our son. “Come on, Toby,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Let’s go bury Buster.” Watching their retreating figures, I felt a suffocating pressure chest. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked away the hours. I sat in the silent house, staring at the wall, until I finally mustered the courage to call Fiona. “Hey, when are you guys coming back?” “Soon,” she replied. “Actually, I have a question for you.” “What is it?” “Where have you been sleeping this past week?” My grip on the phone tightened. “The guys and I were watching the playoffs. I stayed over at Dave’s place.” “Which Dave?” “Dave and the guys from the office.” Silence stretched over the line. “Are you sure about that?” “Yes, I’m sure.” My breathing was shallow and fast. In this world, as long as you deny everything and never back down, they can never prove a thing. “Okay,” she said, and hung up. I sat on the sofa, letting the phone screen go dark, then unlocking it, over and over again. Another forty minutes crawled by. My phone vibrated. I snatched it up, expecting Fiona, but the screen read Gemma. I frowned and swiped to decline. A text immediately popped up: Your wife is here. I scrambled off the sofa, my heart leaping into my throat. What did you just say? 3 She’s standing right outside my apartment door, Gemma’s text read. I don’t know how she found this place… Marcus, you need to get over here right now. What did you tell her? I typed back, my fingers shaking. Nothing! I haven’t opened the door. She’s just standing there, telling me to call you. My brain was screaming. Don’t admit to anything! Keep your mouth shut. I’m on my way! I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door. In the elevator, the polished metal walls reflected a face that was pale and slick with cold sweat. But when I reached the parking garage, I froze. My parking spot was empty. Fiona had taken the spare key when she left. The onboard GPS in our SUV had Gemma’s address saved in the recent destinations. Fiona didn’t even have to search for it; she just had to press start. I leaned against the concrete pillar, slowly sliding down to the dirty floor. She had boxed me in. She had cut off every single escape route. For the first time in my life, I felt absolute, paralyzing terror. My phone lit up again. How far away are you? I wiped the sweat from my forehead, shoved the phone into my pocket, and ran out to the street to hail a cab. When I arrived at Gemma’s building, I saw our family car parked right in front of the entrance. In the back seat, Toby was curled up, fast asleep, covered by Fiona’s trench coat. I didn’t wake him. I turned and ran up the stairs. The apartment door opened, and Gemma stood there, her face frantic. “What took you so long?” I pushed past her and scanned the living room. Everything looked shockingly normal. There was no signs of a struggle, no broken glass, no screaming. Fiona was sitting quietly on the velvet sofa. She looked up and gestured to the empty chair opposite her. “Have a seat, Marcus.” I tried to keep my voice steady, desperate to de-escalate the situation. “Fiona, Toby is asleep in the car.” “I know,” she said quietly. “These aren’t things a child needs to hear. Marcus, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” I closed my eyes, a wave of irritation washing over my panic. I hated being put on the defensive like this. Cheating wasn’t a capital crime. I wasn’t like those deadbeat dads who abandoned their families. I still cared about my home. I still cared about her. “Fiona, stop this,” I muttered. “Don’t make a scene.” She didn’t look at me. Instead, she turned her cold gaze toward Gemma. “I’m not going to waste my time talking to you about morals or integrity today. I doubt your parents ever bothered to teach you those concepts anyway.” “That’s enough!” I barked, stepping between them. “Look at yourself. Don’t you think you’re acting incredibly pathetic right now?” “Pathetic?” Fiona finally met my eyes. “You think my reaction is pathetic? You’re the one sleeping around, Marcus. If anyone is pathetic here, it’s you.” Before I could reply, Gemma reached out and gently tugged on my sleeve. “Marcus, please don’t fight with her because of me… It’s all my fault. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” Seeing Gemma’s tear-filled eyes, a protective anger flared in my chest. “Fiona, what the hell do you actually want?” “Good question.” Fiona reached into her designer bag, pulled out a thick manila folder, and slid it across the coffee table. “A powerful corporate executive like you shouldn’t have to sneak around. I’m going to make things easy for you both. I’m giving your little mistress a promotion to full-time wife.” I looked down at the documents. They were divorce papers. My chest tightened painfully. “Fiona, it’s late. Let’s go home and discuss this like adults.” She ignored me. She pulled a pen from her purse and handed it directly to Gemma. “As women, I think we understand each other. You can have the man. But you can’t have the money. Marcus committed a major marital fault. I am taking seventy percent of our joint assets.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “You can either sign these papers right now, and we settle this quietly. Or, I will hire a forensic accountant to audit every single dollar he has spent on you. And when the court rules in my favor, I will print the judgment and pin it to the bulletin board at his corporate headquarters. You choose.” The room fell dead silent. I closed my eyes, a sharp, throbbing pain blooming behind my temples. “So, this is who you really are,” I sneered. 4 Fiona looked at me, her expression entirely empty of emotion. “Yes. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I let out a harsh laugh. “You want to know the difference between you and Gemma? Gemma would never use money or a divorce to blackmail me. Your greed is showing, Fiona. It’s ugly.” She didn’t flinch. She simply tilted her head back and let out a soft, dry laugh. “Thank you for the compliment.” The moment Fiona walked out the door, Gemma threw her arms around my neck, holding the signed divorce agreement. Her voice was breathless with excitement. “It’s perfect! You’re finally free. Now you belong entirely to me.” I kissed her forehead, but my eyes wandered to the window. Under the harsh glow of the streetlamp below, Fiona opened the car door, leaning in to adjust the coat over our sleeping son. I watched her car pull away, its taillights bleeding into the darkness, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away until the street was empty. “Marcus?” Gemma gently kissed my jaw. “You’re free now. No one can ever dictate your life again.” She was right. I was free. In thirty days, the divorce would be finalized, and we would be strangers. But for some reason, there was a hollow, echoing ache in my chest. Perhaps I had been suffocated by routine for so long that this sudden, absolute freedom felt terrifying. That night, Gemma tried every trick, every touch, and every position she knew, but my body refused to respond. I gently pushed her away, tracing her cheekbone. “Let’s just sleep, babe. I’m really tired.” Every Wednesday was boys’ night. When I pushed open the door to our usual private dining room, the entire table went silent. “Everyone, this is Gemma,” I announced, pulling out a chair for her. “My girlfriend.” The silence stretched for a painful five seconds. Dave laid his fork down slowly. “Are you serious, Marcus?” “Yeah. The divorce papers are already signed.” Ben let out a forced, awkward chuckle. “Well… congrats on the fresh start, man.” They clinked their glasses together, offering weak, superficial congratulations. But one person didn’t move. My college roommate, Nathan. He leaned back in his chair, his cold, calculating eyes slowly sweeping over Gemma. I nudged his shoulder. “What, nothing to say?” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I don’t have anything nice to say, so I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Gemma raised her glass, looking at Nathan with a fragile, timid expression. “Nice to meet you, Nathan. I hope we can be friends.” Nathan let out a sharp, mocking snort. “I’m driving, so no alcohol for me. Got any green tea? I hear it’s your favorite flavor.” Gemma’s hand froze mid-air, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Ben frowned, trying to keep the peace. “Come on, Nathan. What’s your problem? Why are you taking it out on her?” “No problem at all,” Nathan said, sliding his chair back. He grabbed his leather jacket from the rack. “Next time we plan a dinner, let me know in advance. If we’re going to start inviting strangers, don’t bother calling me.” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room suffocatingly quiet. Ben tried to laugh it off. “Don’t mind him. He’s been single for too long. His social skills are practically nonexistent.” Under the table, I squeezed Gemma’s trembling hand. It was fine. It would just take some time for my friends to accept her. Over the next few weeks, my mind was a chaotic mess. My performance at work began to slip, so I decided to take a sudden vacation. I booked a trip to a beach resort for Gemma and me. Staring out at the endless blue horizon, the weight on my shoulders seemed to lift. We slipped back into our hedonistic rhythm. We made love in every corner of the hotel suite, from dawn until dusk, bathed in sunlight and the scent of sea salt. This was the life I had wanted. One evening, while we were walking through a local street market, I spotted a small golden retriever puppy in a pet stall. It looked exactly like Buster. Gemma knelt down to scratch the puppy behind its ears, looking up at me with a sweet smile. “Marcus, look how cute he is. Why don’t we buy him? It can be a peace offering for Toby.” I smiled and stroked her hair. “That’s a great idea.” I immediately dialed my son’s smart-watch. When Toby answered, I explained the surprise, but the line went quiet. “Thanks, Dad,” Toby said softly. “But I already have a new dog.” “Oh? Did your mom buy you one?” “No. Uncle Nathan bought him for me.” “Which Uncle Nathan?” I demanded, my grip on the phone tightening. Before Toby could answer, a deep male voice echoed in the background. “Toby, wash your hands. Dinner is ready.” 5 The voice was muffled, but I recognized it instantly. It was Nathan. “I gotta go, Dad. Dinner is ready,” Toby said, and the line went dead. My chest felt incredibly tight, as if a heavy stone was crushing my ribs. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Gemma noticed my pale face. “Marcus, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I… I can’t catch my breath,” I wheezed, clutching my chest. “Help me sit down.” She guided me to a nearby bench, wrapping her arm around me. “You don’t have a fever. Maybe you got too much sun? Let’s go back to the hotel.” I closed my eyes, but those words kept playing on a loop in my head. Uncle Nathan bought him for me. Toby, wash your hands. Dinner is ready. Nathan was my brother. We had known each other for twelve years. But friends don’t belong in another man’s kitchen. They don’t call another man’s son to dinner with that level of casual intimacy. That was my place. Not his. I snapped my eyes open, pulled out my phone, and opened my chat with Nathan. Where the hell are you? I stared at the screen, watching the little typing bubble appear and disappear. My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited. Finally, a text popped up: Fiona’s place. My fingers trembled violently as I typed: That is MY house! Ten seconds passed. Calm down, Marcus. Don’t let your little side piece catch you sweating. “Fuck!” I kicked the metal trash can next to the bench. The metal dented with a loud, hollow clang, sending a sharp, shooting pain up my foot. But the physical pain didn’t do anything to numb the white-hot rage consuming me. I dialed Fiona’s number. The number you have dialed is currently unavailable… She had blocked me. I opened our chat on social media. A small, mocking red exclamation mark sat next to my sent message. The tropical sky suddenly looked gray. The ocean looked dirty. Back in the hotel room, even when I held Gemma in my arms, my mind kept drifting back to the day we signed the papers, to the sight of Fiona bending down to put her coat over our son. Fiona and I didn’t love each other anymore. We hadn’t for years. So why was my chest aching like this? My phone buzzed again. It was a message from my mother. Marcus? Is Fiona’s phone broken? I sent her a text and it says it couldn’t be delivered. Tomorrow is Toby’s birthday, right? I wanted to know what time you guys would be arriving. I sat up so fast my back popped. His birthday? Tomorrow? Yes, of course, she replied. Your father and I have decorated the house. We want to give him a big surprise. I stared at the calendar on my phone screen. Tomorrow was indeed Toby’s birthday. I had completely, utterly forgotten it. “Marcus?” Gemma’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind. “Why are you so distracted today?” “It’s nothing,” I muttered. I typed a quick message to my mother: Mom, I’m so sorry, but something urgent came up at the firm. I don’t think I can make it back in time. I’ll make it up to him when I get back, okay? My mother’s reply was casual: Oh, don’t worry about it. Work comes first. I’ll figure something out. I assumed that was the end of it, but the next morning, my phone rang. It was my mother again. “Marcus, you need to make sure you thank Nathan. He was an absolute lifesaver today.” I froze. “What?” “Oh, you have no idea! I called Toby yesterday, and he told me Uncle Nathan was planning a birthday dinner for him. I figured, why not do it together? So I asked Nathan to bring him over. He even brought us a gorgeous prime rib. He is such a polite young man…” A sharp, high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530557”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My little sister playing with fireworks permanently deafened my right ear. During the final auditions for the conservatory, I couldn’t hear the piano accompaniment. My performance was flagged as a fail. I missed out on the university I had spent three years bleeding for, all because of one missing piece of paper. After the accident, Mom and Dad shipped my sister off to Europe. My older brother blocked her on every social media platform. Even Silas, the boy I grew up with, swore he would never look at her again. For years, I genuinely believed they were hurting for me. Until seven years later, when my sister finally graduated and flew back stateside. Mom tossed a set of car keys onto my lap. “Go pick up your sister.” I stared at the glowing notification on my phone screen. It was the schedule for my senior thesis defense. “I can’t,” I said. “My defense is this afternoon.” The living room went dead silent. Mom’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. “It has been seven years!” she snapped, her voice trembling. “She spent seven years sick in a foreign country, blowing out birthday candles by herself. She didn’t even dare come back for your grandmother’s funeral. Why won’t you just let her off the hook?” Dad set his coffee mug down hard on the coaster, his face dark. “She made a mistake back then, yes. But didn’t you end up going to college anyway? You’re about to graduate. So you lost hearing in one ear. You still have your thesis, your whole future ahead of you. What about her? She was locked out of her own home for seven years.” My brother stood in the doorway, staring at me with ice in his eyes. “You just missed out on one fancy music school. What she lost was her entire family.” Even Silas, who had been sitting in heavy silence, finally spoke up. “And me. For seven years, I didn’t see her, didn’t comfort her, didn’t spend a single holiday with her. I already promised to propose to you after graduation. Why can’t you just leave a door open for her to come home? Do you really need her to die out there alone before you’re satisfied?” My world had been missing half its sound for a long time. But in that exact moment, the remaining half went completely, terrifyingly quiet. Later that day, I logged into the university portal and changed my post-grad job placement to a city on the opposite coast. Three thousand miles away. From now on, the golden child they prayed for, and the guilt they faked for seven years, had absolutely nothing to do with me. 2 The morning Lily flew back, Mom knocked on my bedroom door at the crack of dawn and dropped a brass key on my desk. “Violet, clear out the south-facing room on the second floor. Your sister always loved the natural light.” I looked up at her. That room used to be my music studio. Seven years ago, after the fireworks destroyed my right ear, the grand piano, the ballet barre, and the sheet music stands were all shrouded in heavy dust covers. Mom had held me tight back then, crying into my hair. She told me not to look at it, that looking at it would only break my heart. I believed her. I thought they locked that room to protect me from the trauma. But today, the housekeeper yanked off the covers, and sunlight spilled over the polished mahogany of the piano lid. Mom personally directed the maids to wipe away every speck of dust. She swapped the decor for Lily’s favorite white roses, plugged in a lily-of-the-valley diffuser, and even changed the drapes to a soft, pastel pink. I stood in the doorway, looking at the gleaming keys, and suddenly felt a hysterical urge to laugh. It wasn’t that the piano couldn’t be touched. It just couldn’t be touched by me. Downstairs, Dad was stringing up a massive banner in the foyer. Welcome Home, Lily in glittering gold letters. My brother, Daran, had put on a sharp tailored suit hours ago, insisting he had to greet her right at the arrivals gate. Silas had originally promised to sit in the front row for my thesis defense. But right before he walked out the door, my phone buzzed. [Lily just landed. She’s really overwhelmed. I’m riding to the airport with your parents to calm her down.] I stared at the text bubble for a long time. Finally, I typed back a single letter. [K.] I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask questions. Because I knew fighting for it wouldn’t change a damn thing. I went back to my room to print my thesis materials. The printer was linked to the family’s shared cloud drive. When I opened the interface, a folder popped up on the screen. It was named: Lily – Europe Archives. I meant to close it. But my cursor hovered over the icon for a long time before I double-clicked. Inside was not the tragic, isolated exile Mom had painted. There was no evidence of a girl suffering alone for seven years. Instead, it was an avalanche of photos and videos. Massive birthday bashes. Graduation trips to Santorini. Skiing in the Swiss Alps. Ticket stubs for Broadway shows in London. A bedroom wall overflowing with designer gifts. Every single year was vibrant, loud, and incredibly crowded. Mom mailed her hand-knit scarves every winter. Dad wrote lengthy, emotional birthday cards. Daran’s passport stamps perfectly matched the dates of her winter and summer breaks. I clicked on a video from her eighteenth birthday. On the screen, Daran was laughing as he adjusted a party hat on Lily’s head. Mom was crying through the FaceTime call, saying, “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. It’s not that we don’t want you. We just can’t bring you home quite yet.” Lily rubbed her reddened eyes. “Is Violet still mad at me?” Dad sighed heavily into the microphone. “She’s still young, she’s holding onto a grudge. Just give it time. Once she stops hurting so much, we’ll bring you back where you belong.” I sat frozen in my desk chair. The blood slowly drained from my fingertips and toes. So, for seven years, they hadn’t cut her off. They hadn’t coldly punished her for ruining my life. They were just waiting for me to stop bleeding. Waiting for me to look a little less pathetic, so they could drag her back into the sunlight. My mind drifted back to the night I was admitted to the hospital seven years ago. The specialist told them the nerve damage in my right ear was severe. He said someone needed to stay in the room to monitor me. But the only person sitting in the dark with me was a hired nurse. Mom said she had been crying all day, that she was simply too exhausted and needed her own bed. Dad said he had a crisis at the firm. Daran claimed he had a mandatory frat event and promised to drop by the next morning. Silas told me there was an emergency at his startup, kissed my forehead, and told me to be a good girl. That night, I lay alone on the stiff hospital mattress. My right ear felt like it was packed with concrete. The entire world was split cleanly in half. One side was a chaotic buzz. The other was the silence of a grave. I was in too much agony to sleep. I kept swiping my phone screen, waiting for a single text from any of them. Nothing. Now I knew why. That was the exact night they were all on a group video call, watching Lily blow out her birthday candles. At the very bottom of the folder was a group photo. It was taken backstage after Lily’s first piano recital in Paris. She was wearing a stunning white gown, cradling a massive bouquet of lilies. Silas stood right beside her, holding her wool coat over his arm. The caption read: Lily’s first time back on stage! Silas says she’s the bravest girl he knows. I stared at that sentence until my vision blurred. Seven years ago, Silas sat by my hospital bed, holding my hand so tight it hurt. He swore to me he would never see her again. He told me he would stay by my side and help me navigate a world with only half its sound. I believed him. I believed him because he was the only person who never treated me like I was broken. But he hadn’t cut her out. He just got better at hiding her from me. 3 During my thesis defense that afternoon, one of the professors asked a question from my blind side. It took me a full beat to process the muffled sound and turn my head. Someone in the back of the auditorium let out a soft, mocking laugh. I steadied my breathing and delivered a flawless answer. But my chest felt like it was trapped in a vise, squeezing the air out of my lungs. The second I walked out of the hall, my phone lit up with a notification from the family group chat. It was a picture. Mom, Dad, Daran, and Silas were all huddled around Lily. The background was a sea of fresh white roses. Lily was sitting on the bench of my piano, tears shining in her eyes. Mom had added a caption. Seven years. We finally brought our baby girl home. Looking at that photo, the final puzzle piece clicked into place. They never punished Lily for seven years. They just hid her away, and loved her in secret. Instead of going home, I hailed a cab to the hospital where I was treated seven years ago. I only went to request an official copy of my hearing impairment certificate for my new employer. But when the aging specialist recognized me, the very first thing he asked was, “Why didn’t you ever come back for the second phase of the nerve reconstruction?” I froze. “What reconstruction?” The doctor frowned deeply, clicking through his ancient desktop to pull up my file. Lines of text populated the screen. Right auditory nerve not fully necrotic. Surgery within a three-month window yields a 70% chance of full recovery. Surgical fee: $65,000. Paid in full. The payer was my father. The emergency contact listed was Silas. I stared at the yellowed receipt. My heart gave a violent, agonizing spasm. They were that close to saving me. But the very next page was a formal cancellation request. The date of cancellation was the exact day before Lily flew to Europe. The reasoning written on the form hit me like a physical blow. Family experiencing financial strain due to younger daughter’s overseas conservatory tuition and the purchase of a new grand piano. Surgery suspended indefinitely. The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “I pleaded with your mother back then. I told her the window for nerve repair closes fast. Once you miss it, the damage is permanent. But she kept crying, saying your sister’s mental health was fragile, that she had to be sent to Europe immediately for a change of scenery. She said they needed to buy her a custom piano so she could heal.” My fingers turned ice-cold as I gripped the photocopies. “Your mother was sobbing on the phone,” the doctor added softly. “She said, Violet is already deaf in one ear. But if Lily loses her courage to play the piano, her whole life is ruined.” A dry, hollow laugh scraped its way out of my throat. It wasn’t that my ear was beyond saving. It was that they personally pulled my name off the surgery schedule. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford the sixty-five grand. It was that they decided my chance to hear the world again was worth less than Lily’s new piano. When I finally walked through the front door, Lily was sitting on the living room rug, tearing into wrapping paper. She was wearing a soft cream dress, her cheeks flushed with color. When she looked up, she put on that same timid, innocent expression she always used. “Violet. You’re home.” Mom had bought her a brand-new upright piano, calling it her official welcome-home gift. Dad chuckled warmly. “You haven’t touched a keyboard in this house for seven years. You can play whenever you want now, sweetheart.” Daran reached down and ruffled her hair. “You worked so hard picking it back up in Paris. You deserve to play in your own house.” Silas was standing by the piano, carefully adjusting the height of the leather bench so it was perfect for her. My memory flashed to him sitting on the edge of my hospital bed. Violet, from now on, I’ll be your right ear. Looking at him now, I realized the truth. He agreed with them. My chance to hear was just collateral damage in the mission to get Lily back on stage. I walked over and dropped the hospital photocopies right on top of the pristine piano keys. The papers were paper-thin, but the sound of them hitting the wood felt like a gunshot in the room. The laughter died instantly. Mom’s face paled. “Why were you digging around at the hospital?” I looked dead into her eyes. “So I could have been cured seven years ago. Is that right?” Lily’s eyes immediately swam with tears, and she jumped up. “Violet, if you think I stole your surgery money, I swear I’ll never touch a piano again!” Mom rushed forward and pulled Lily into a fierce hug. “It is not your fault! That was our decision as parents!” Dad’s face darkened with rage. He snapped his fingers at a maid to take the papers away. “Get this depressing garbage off Lily’s new piano.” I looked at the glossy black instrument and felt a wave of pure exhaustion. Seven years ago, I lost half my hearing. She lost her nerve to play. But they chose to save her nerve. And they chose to bury my life. 4 The welcome dinner was held in the formal dining room. Mom claimed Lily was too jet-lagged for a loud restaurant. But the massive oak table was groaning under the weight of Lily’s favorite dishes. Garlic butter shrimp, crab bisque, mango tart, lobster risotto, and a cold noodle salad generously topped with crushed peanuts. I was severely allergic to shellfish, mangoes, and peanuts. Seven years ago, the specialist explicitly warned them that severe allergic reactions would trigger massive vertigo and worsen my tinnitus. Yet Mom was entirely focused on peeling shrimp for Lily. Dad slid the only safe dish, a simple chicken broth, right in front of Lily. Daran reached over and took the plate of plain roasted vegetables away from my side of the table. “Lily just got off a long flight. Let her have the easy stuff first.” I was seated at the very end of the table, closest to the swinging kitchen doors. My bad ear was facing the room. My good ear was facing a blasting Bluetooth speaker. I didn’t even have a clean plate or silverware in front of me. Silas finally noticed. He opened his mouth to ask the maid for a setting, but Lily suddenly sniffled, her eyes going red. “Is Violet still punishing me?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is that why she refuses to eat with us?” Silas’s hand froze in mid-air. Eventually, he just slid his own water glass toward me. “Just drink some water for now.” I stared at the condensation rolling down the glass. I didn’t touch it. Halfway through the meal, Lily pulled a battered cardboard box from under her chair and pushed it toward me like it was a sacred offering. “Violet, I know it’s late, but this is to make up for what I did.” Inside was a single, beat-up headphone. The paint was chipping, the wire casing was split open, and the jack was held together by yellowing scotch tape. Mom’s eyes immediately filled with proud tears. “It’s the thought that counts, sweetheart. That’s so sweet of you.” Dad nodded approvingly. “She just got back. She doesn’t have much money to her name. The fact that she thought of you is what matters.” Daran chimed in, “Who cares what it costs? She’s swallowing her pride to apologize.” Silas leaned in and muttered near my shoulder, “Just take it, Violet. Don’t humiliate her in front of everyone.” Before I could even form a response, my phone buzzed violently against the wood. It was an automated alert from my bank. The savings account I had been desperately building for a future ear specialist consultation had just been drained of nine hundred bucks. The merchant listed was the exact vintage audio store down the street. I slowly lifted my head and locked eyes with Lily. “You used my credit card to buy a piece of garbage from a thrift store, and you’re calling it an apology?” All the color drained from Lily’s face. The tears spilled over instantly. “Violet, I swear I didn’t know that was your card! I just wanted to make things right!” For the first time in seven years, my control snapped. “You blew out my eardrum. You stole my surgery fund. And now you can’t even afford your own fake apology without stealing my money?” The dining room plunged into a suffocating silence. Lily grabbed her chest, gasping for air like she was having a panic attack, tears streaming down her face. Dad stood up and slapped me hard across the face. The crack echoed off the high ceilings. “Violet!” he roared. “Do you absolutely have to drive her to suicide on her first day back?” My head snapped to the side. A piercing, high-pitched whine exploded in my deaf ear, drowning out the room. Mom was already wrapping her arms around a sobbing Lily, crying right along with her. Daran stepped in front of Lily like a human shield, glaring at me with absolute disgust. Silas frowned deeply. “Violet, back off. Stop pushing her.” Lily, still weeping, reached over and twisted the dial on a vintage music box she had placed on the table. “I’ll play a song Violet used to love when we were kids,” she choked out. “Just please, everyone stop fighting.” The next second, the tinkling mechanical notes filled the room. It wasn’t a childhood lullaby. It was the exact piano accompaniment from my conservatory audition seven years ago. The piece I had practiced until my fingers bled for three years. The piece I had never been able to listen to again. As the sharp, metallic high notes hit the air, my good ear exploded in a symphony of horrific static. My vision went completely black. My balance vanished. I collapsed backward, crashing violently into the glass liquor cabinet. Glass shattered everywhere. Shards sliced deep into my palms. Blood immediately began trickling down the side of my neck, right behind my bad ear. Silas instinctively took a step toward me. But Lily let out a bloodcurdling scream. “My hand! It hurts so much!” Silas froze mid-step. He turned his back on me and rushed to pull Lily into his chest. I sat in a pile of jagged glass. The ringing in my head was so violent I thought my skull was going to crack open. Warm blood dripped down my wrists and soaked the collar of my shirt. Lily had a single, shallow scratch on the back of her hand. But she was wailing, screaming that her fingers were going numb and that she would never be able to play the piano again. When the family’s private doctor rushed through the door, he took one look at the blood pooling around my ear and his face lost all color. “She needs to go to the ER immediately,” he barked. “She’s bleeding near the old trauma site. We can’t wait.” He glanced over at Lily. “The younger Miss has a superficial laceration. It needs cleaning, but it’s not critical. Who’s going in the car first?” Mom didn’t even hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Take Lily first. She just got home. She cannot handle any more trauma today.” Dad’s voice was like iron. “Violet’s issue is chronic. If Lily’s hand scars, it ruins her career.” Daran kept Lily tucked safely behind him. “Violet threw this massive tantrum. It’s time she learned to step back.” I looked up at them through the blur of pain and realized how terrifyingly familiar this was. Seven years ago, when the fireworks went off, I was screaming on the grass, clutching my bleeding head. Lily was crying that she didn’t mean it. And they all crowded around her, telling me to stop screaming so I wouldn’t scare my sister. Silas finally noticed the blood soaking into my shirt. He went pale. He started to take a step toward me, but Lily grabbed fistfuls of his jacket sleeve. “Silas, please, it hurts so bad.” Silas stopped in his tracks. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Finally, he looked at the doctor. “We’re taking Lily first.” He turned back to look at me, surrounded by broken glass.

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1 Valentine’s Day Eve, I asked my boss—and fiancé—Simon for PTO to get our marriage license. He rejected it before the whole team and approved his new assistant Daisy’s lengthy vacation instead. She booked St. Barts ages ago, he said, tossing my form aside. Cover her shifts. I’ll be there on business anyway, keep an eye on her. The license? Push it back. A few days won’t kill you. The office went silent. Daisy looped her arm through his, cooing her thanks. When we return, I’ll bring you duty-free souvenirs. Watching them play the perfect couple, I didn’t swallow my pride this time. Simon didn’t know our wedding date was a hard deadline. If I wasn’t married by Memorial Day, I’d lose my bet with Grandfather and face his arranged marriage roulette. I unclipped my badge, dropped it in the trash, and signed a resignation form in one stroke. Then I called Manhattan’s wealthiest patriarch. Grandpa? I yield. I’ll take that arranged marriage. … “Fine,” I said out loud, hanging up the phone. “I won’t take the time off. I quit.” The moment those words left my mouth, the breathing in the office seemed to stop entirely. Simon’s expression froze for a fraction of a second before he let out a scoff. “Audrey, what kind of tantrum is this?” “Are you trying to use your job to blackmail me into marrying you right this second? Can you please act like an adult?” He casually snatched the resignation form off my desk and tossed it into the trash without a second glance. “Daisy finally has a chance to go out and relax. As her senior, what is so wrong with taking on a little extra work to help her out?” Daisy immediately forced tears into her eyes, shrinking timidly behind his broad shoulders. “Are you really mad at me, Audrey? Maybe I should just cancel my flight. I don’t want to ruin your relationship over a silly trip.” “You are not canceling anything,” Simon snapped, pulling her securely behind him. “I already booked the flights and the resort.” He glared at me with absolute frost in his eyes. “I’ve spoiled you too much. That is why you have zero concept of the bigger picture.” I just stood there and looked at him in total silence. Eight years. I had stood by his side from the moment he had absolutely nothing, carrying him through the darkest days of his startup. I pitched to investors, wrote business proposals, and dragged in clients. During our hardest month, I survived on three hours of sleep a night for two straight weeks. And now, he was pouring all his affection and privilege onto another woman. I gave a slow nod, pulled a fresh resignation form from my drawer, signed it, and placed it on his desk. “This isn’t a threat. I am actually done.” Simon’s face darkened instantly. My calm demeanor seemed to infuriate him. He snatched the massive project proposal I had just finished off my desk and shoved it right into Daisy’s arms. “Fine. Since you want to throw a fit, Daisy will be taking over this project from now on.” Daisy feigned panic. “Mr. CEO, I really shouldn’t! Audrey pulled all-nighters to write this.” “Take it,” Simon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I run this company. If I say you are ready, you are ready.” He shot a venomous look in my direction. “If certain people don’t want to work, their resources will naturally go to someone who actually brings value to this firm.” The office was dead silent. Even Sarah, the HR manager who never made waves, couldn’t sit still anymore. She stood up abruptly. “Simon, that isn’t fair. Audrey built this project from the ground up. Daisy has only been here for three days.” “Sarah.” Simon cut her off with a lethal glare. “Are you questioning my executive decisions?” “This company is preparing to go public. I need people who are hungry and ready to fight, not someone whose brain is entirely consumed by wedding bells and marriage certificates.” Sarah’s face went completely pale. I didn’t even look at him anymore. I pulled a cardboard box from under my desk and began packing my personal belongings one by one. Eight years of my prime, finally shoved into a single cardboard box. It was so light it was almost laughable. I turned and walked toward the exit. As I brushed past him, Simon suddenly reached out and clamped his hand around my wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, but it carried a faint, frantic energy that even he didn’t seem to realize. “Audrey.” “If you want to throw a tantrum, I can give you the time.” He stared down at me, still using that arrogant, patronizing tone. “One week.” “When I get back from St. Barts, you will swallow your attitude and come back to work like a professional.” He paused, then added a final sentence like he was granting me a royal pardon. “When that happens, I will consider taking you to City Hall for that license.” I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist and suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Simon.” “You have lost the right to marry me.” I pulled my arm free and turned to leave. Sarah grabbed my sleeve, her eyes red. “Audrey, are you really just walking away? Aren’t you just letting them win?” Before I could comfort her, a sickeningly sweet voice floated over from behind. “Sarah, what do you mean letting us win?” I glanced back. Daisy was strutting over in her designer heels, unable to hide the smug triumph in her voice. “Audrey is so obsessed with locking down a husband that she completely abandoned the company’s future. Our CEO hates women who can’t see the big picture. If Audrey ruins her own winning hand, she has no one to blame but herself.” Sarah’s face turned thunderous. She rolled up her sleeves, ready to march over. “Who are you calling blind to the big picture?” I reached out and stopped her. “Let it go.” A second later, the doors to the private executive elevator chimed open. “Daisy, the car is waiting outside. Let’s go,” Simon called out. Then, he lifted his gaze and looked in my direction. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second, as cold and detached as if he were looking at an irrelevant intern. No explanations. No begging me to stay. Not even a fake polite goodbye. Sarah cursed under her breath. “What an absolute piece of garbage.” I felt strangely at peace. It turns out that when a heart dies thoroughly enough, even the pain becomes a whisper. Right at that moment, the sky outside darkened violently. Following a low rumble of thunder, a torrential downpour smashed against the city windows without warning. The security guard had already pulled the luxury sedan up to the front steps. He ran over, holding a large black umbrella. Simon took the umbrella from him. His first instinct wasn’t to look back at me. Instead, he tilted his head toward Daisy. “Come on, don’t get wet.” The guard opened the car door for them. Daisy didn’t get into the back. Instead, she naturally pulled open the passenger door and slid into the front seat. Resting on that specific seat was a custom embroidered lumbar pillow. When Simon’s neck issues flared up last year, I had stayed up for three nights stitching it by hand. Now, Daisy stroked the fabric of the pillow. She deliberately rolled down the window and flashed me a crescent-eyed smile. “Audrey, this pillow is so soft. Since you already quit, you won’t mind if I keep it, right?” Simon slid into the driver’s seat, resting one hand casually on the steering wheel. Hearing her ask, he glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “It is just a pillow. Keep it if you like it.” With one careless sentence, he rendered eight years of my devotion completely worthless. The tinted window slowly rolled up, entirely cutting off my view. The next second, the sleek black sedan sliced through the puddles, speeding away from the corporate building without a hint of hesitation. The red taillights were quickly swallowed by the blinding rain. I stood perfectly still on the steps, watching until the very last drop of suffocating hope in my chest was washed away by the storm. Eight years really amounted to nothing. The rain was torrential, yet he couldn’t even be bothered to ask how I was getting home. By the time I gave the taxi driver the address to the apartment I had lived in for five years, my voice was so steady I barely recognized it myself. I pushed open the front door. Sitting in the entryway, right next to Simon’s expensive leather loafers, was a strange pair of women’s house slippers. They were pastel pink, adorned with a cheap faux pearl on the toe. I stared at those slippers for two seconds before a dry laugh escaped my throat. It turns out he had crossed the line long before today. I honestly didn’t have much to pack. Over the past five years, I had poured every single dollar of my savings into keeping his startup afloat. My own closet was filled with nothing but basic, out-of-season clothes I bought on clearance. As I opened my bedside drawer to grab my passport, my fingers brushed against a dust-covered jewelry box. Driven by some phantom impulse, I popped it open. Resting quietly on the velvet cushion was a plain silver band. Eight years ago, Simon bought it for twenty bucks at a local flea market. That night, he had dropped to one knee, his eyes shining with tears. “Audrey, I have absolutely nothing to my name right now. This is all I can give you.” “But I swear to God, when I make it big, I will buy you the biggest diamond in this entire city. I will make you the most envied bride in the world.” I believed him back then. I believed him so deeply that I cut ties with my family. I stood in front of my grandfather and declared that I would rather die than marry anyone else. Grandpa had just looked at me with cold, calculating eyes. “Fine. Eight years.” “If he does not marry you in eight years, you come back here, and you accept the arranged marriage I choose for you.” I was so utterly convinced I was going to win that bet. Now I realize the only true joke was me. I was just about to snap the jewelry box shut when the electronic deadbolt on the front door beeped open. Simon collapsed his wet umbrella and walked into the apartment, smelling of rain and expensive cologne. When he saw the open suitcase on the bedroom floor, his brows knitted together in deep annoyance. He marched over and slammed his hand down on the lid of my suitcase. “Audrey, are you ever going to stop?” “Throwing a tantrum at the office is one thing, but you’re giving me attitude in my own house?” I calmly brushed his hand away and folded my last two sweaters, placing them neatly inside. “I am not throwing a tantrum. I am moving out.” Simon looked at me like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Moving out? Where exactly do you think you can go?” He let out a heavy sigh and softened his tone slightly, playing the benevolent peacemaker. “Audrey, I know you are upset that I delayed the city hall appointment.” “But I already explained this to you. I am going to St. Barts to meet with some massive investors. Daisy is taking a vacation down there anyway, so it made perfect sense to travel together.” “She is young, she is pretty, and she has a silver tongue. She can drink the clients under the table and close the deals for me.” “You need to stop being so damn sensitive and acting insanely jealous over nothing.” “We are about to be a married couple. Can you please act like a supportive future wife?” Listening to his shameless justification, a wave of pure, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. What gave him the right to trample my dignity into the dirt and then demand that I be understanding about it? “Simon.” “Do you honestly believe that no matter how horribly you treat me, I will always just forgive you?” He froze for a second, clearly taken aback by how blunt I was being. The next second, his phone screen lit up. He had tossed it onto the nightstand. The message preview flashed brightly in the dim room. [Mr. CEO, I’m at the airport! I really want to eat at that seafood place you took me to last time!] Sender: Daisy. The bedroom fell completely silent. Simon’s face shifted, and he reached out quickly to snatch the phone. I gave a hollow smile. Any lingering doubt I had was instantly eradicated by pure disgust. “Just a business trip?” “Just traveling together?” “Simon, you are too lazy to even come up with a decent lie.” A flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but his tone immediately hardened to cover it up. “Daisy is young and she does not have a filter. Are you seriously going to obsess over a stupid text message?” “I do not have the time to argue with you right now. We will talk when I get back from St. Barts.” He still wore that invincible, arrogant armor. But right at that moment, my own phone lit up. A new message popped onto my screen. [Miss Sinclair, the Patriarch sent me to pick you up. I will arrive at the apartment in one hour.] The sender contact was saved simply as: Benson. Simon caught a glimpse of the message out of the corner of his eye. His brow twitched in confusion. “The Patriarch? Pick you up?” I didn’t answer him. Instead, while maintaining dead eye contact, I slowly and deliberately slipped the cheap silver ring off my finger. I dropped it into the velvet box. “It is nothing.” “Just someone finally coming to take me back to where I truly belong.” Just as the words left my mouth, his phone buzzed again on the nightstand. This time, it was a voice memo from Daisy. Simon didn’t even try to hide it. He tapped play right in front of me. “Mr. CEO, are you done packing? I’m waiting for you in the VIP lounge!” The flirtatious, breathy tone was so thick it practically dripped out of the speakers. Yet Simon stared at me with total self-righteousness. “Did you hear that? That is perfectly normal coworker communication.” “Daisy is a bubbly person. Stop projecting your own filthy insecurities onto other people.” I didn’t say a single word. I just picked up the twenty-dollar silver ring and walked over to the open window. Simon seemed to sense a shift in the air. His face changed. “Audrey, what are you doing?” I stared out at the gray, rain-soaked skyline of the city and slowly uncurled my fingers. The silver ring, heavy with eight years of my youth and his lies, plummeted straight down into the muddy alleyway below. It didn’t even make a sound. Like our eight years together, it rotted away completely. I turned around, looked Simon dead in the eyes, and spoke with absolute clarity. “Simon, I am done waiting for you.” He visibly flinched. A brief flash of panic crossed his features. But almost instantly, that panic was buried under his usual mountain of arrogance. “This again?” “Audrey, there really is no limit to the stunts you will pull just to make me bow my head.” In his eyes, dropping the ring out the window was just another tactic to play hard to get. He was absolutely certain that I could never survive without him, that I could never bear to actually leave. But this time, I didn’t even bother giving him an explanation. I zipped my suitcase shut, pulled up the handle, and walked straight past him. As our shoulders brushed, I didn’t spare him a single glance. Sometimes, walking away isn’t a tantrum. It’s a lifetime. The next morning, the storm cleared, leaving a brilliant blue sky. I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my luxury hotel suite, watching the endless stream of traffic below, and let out a long, heavy exhale. The doorbell rang precisely on time. I opened the door to find two rows of men in tailored black suits bowing deeply in unison. Standing at the front was Benson, my grandfather’s most trusted butler. “Miss Sinclair, your private jet is prepped and ready for takeoff. We can return to New York whenever you are ready.” I nodded, grabbed my designer handbag, and followed them without a word. The motorcade glided smoothly toward the international airport. Before we even reached the private aviation terminal, I could see the massive, chaotic crowds flooding the front of the commercial departure halls. Because of last night’s severe thunderstorms, all flights to St. Barts were heavily delayed, leaving thousands of furious passengers stranded. Amidst the sea of people, I instantly spotted the two most recognizable figures. Simon and Daisy. Right at that moment, Daisy’s gaze wandered past the massive glass walls of the terminal and locked onto my side of the tarmac. Her eyes widened in unfiltered envy. She tugged aggressively on Simon’s expensive jacket sleeve, whispering loudly. “Wow, Simon, look at that!” “That is what real old money looks like.” Simon frowned in irritation and looked up. His eyes met mine.

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1 The dealer eyed me skeptically. Ma’am, this car’s pristine, priced well below market. Why the rush? I rested my fingers on the doorframe, voice flat. Because of a preset seat memory. Yesterday, burning with fever, I sank into the passenger seat, aching to recline. But Max’s hand clamped my wrist. Don’t touch that. That slot’s for Sienna. Mess it up and her back flares for days. He reset the memory, watched the seat glide back, then softened his tone. Sienna’s back is bad. She’s your best friend, Stephanie. Show some empathy. Staring at his profile, I felt a wave of absurdity. Six years together, six years riding shotgun, and he’d never saved a setting for me. Yet he’d programmed one for my best friend. I said nothing, climbed into the back. In the mirror, he mistook my silence for a tantrum, sighed, offered no apology. Leaning against the cold glass, my phone lit up. Notification: Engagement venue reservation canceled. This ride with Max was over. … The car pulled up to our building. The rain was still pouring. Max held the umbrella as he escorted me to the lobby. I leaned against the tiled wall, trying to catch my breath, when he suddenly stopped. “Go on up. I need to go back to the car for a second.” I turned around and watched him run straight back into the downpour. He opened the passenger door, pressed the memory button twice, and even shook the backrest to test the angle. He bent down to measure the legroom with his hands, ensuring it was absolutely flawless before shutting the door. Half his shoulder was soaked, but he didn’t seem to notice. Standing in the chilly draft of the lobby, my heart went cold. It wasn’t that he lacked a sense of detail. He just never used it on me. Upstairs, I collapsed onto the couch. My phone buzzed. Auto-draft successful: $580. It came directly from my checking account. I had paid seventy percent of the down payment on that car; he had only chipped in thirty. The loan was entirely in my name, tied to my credit. In the beginning, he promised to transfer his share every month. He even attached a sweet note to his first transfer: For our little road-tripper. Then, the payments dwindled to nothing. Occasionally he would send me fifty bucks when he remembered, but most of the time he just conveniently forgot. I never pressed him. I figured we were getting married anyway, so keeping score felt cheap. What a joke. I was the one keeping up the payments, while my best friend claimed the passenger seat as her exclusive throne. I opened the car’s connected app on my phone. The number one frequent destination was Sienna’s yoga studio. Second was her apartment. My office was a distant third. Looking at the trip logs from the past three months, almost every route involved a massive detour just to pick her up. Suddenly, his constant refrain over the last six months made sense: “It’s on the way.” On the way to drop Sienna off at class. On the way to take her home. On the way to drive her to physical therapy. Yet, when I worked late into the night and called him for a ride, his response was always the same: “Just grab an Uber, babe. I’ll pay you back for it.” Apparently, convenience was selective. For some people, a detour across the entire city was “on the way.” For others, a two-mile drive was too much gas to waste. Max walked into the living room carrying a glass of warm water and some pills. He pressed his palm to my forehead. “You’re still burning up. Take these and go to sleep.” I took the glass without a word. He sighed, sitting down beside me. “Are you seriously still mad about the seat? Sienna’s back is just starting to heal. She can’t handle a bumpy ride. You need to be more understanding.” I stared at the swirling water in my cup. “You’re overthinking it.” He blinked, clearly caught off guard by my flat tone. He reached out to wrap his arms around me, but I quietly pulled away. “Tell you what. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll take you diving in the Bahamas, okay?” In the past, I would have taken the peace offering and let it go. Tonight, the promise just tasted bitter. Right then, his phone buzzed. “Sienna” lit up the screen. He shot a quick, guilty glance at me. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. But he didn’t close it all the way. His voice drifted through the gap, clear as day. “Don’t worry, I reset the seat. It’s at the exact same angle as last time.” “I’ll pick you up for therapy tomorrow morning sharp. I won’t let your back flare up again.” My grip tightened around the glass. I opened a used-car appraisal app, entered my license plate, and checked the estimated value. Then I looked up the remaining balance on the loan. If I paid it off early using the refund from our canceled honeymoon, it would cover it perfectly. I had spent six months planning that trip. It was supposed to be our honeymoon. But yesterday, he had casually brushed it aside. “Sienna can’t miss her therapy sessions. We can do the trip later.” I hadn’t argued. I just went online and canceled every flight and hotel booking. When Max came back inside, he tucked the throw blanket around my shoulders and told me to rest. I closed my eyes and muttered an agreement. The moment the bathroom door closed and the shower started running, I opened my eyes. I took a screenshot of the car’s trade-in value. Since the passenger seat was no longer mine, keeping the car was pointless. Just like keeping him. The next morning, I walked to the entryway to pick up a package. There, sitting prominently on the shoe rack, was a pair of plush bunny slippers. My own sneakers had been shoved into the dark, dusty corner. Max emerged from the kitchen. Seeing me stare at the shoe rack, he offered a sheepish explanation. “Sienna stopped by yesterday morning to wait for me before work. Her back hurts if she stands too long. Since she’s your best friend, I figured I’d keep a pair here for her. Don’t overthink it.” I nodded. I didn’t ask when they had become close enough for her to lounge around our place before work. I didn’t ask why an outsider’s belongings were taking up my space. I turned to grab a drink from the fridge. Hanging on the inside door was a sticky note in his handwriting: Sienna can’t have cold drinks. Keep them room temp. My stash of cold brew had been relegated to the bottom drawer. In their place stood two rows of sweet peach teas, Sienna’s favorite. Max walked over and offered me a bottle. “Her stomach’s been acting up, so I grabbed these. You like sweet drinks too, right?” I let out a dry laugh and shut the fridge door. He had forgotten. I hated sweet drinks. Sienna was the one with the sweet tooth. Sensing my coldness, he tried to patch things up. “Come on, babe. Don’t be petty with someone who’s sick.” Before he could finish, his phone buzzed with a voice note from Sienna. He tapped it, and it blasted over speakerphone. “Max! The mountain trail passes are buy-one-get-one free today! Want to go hiking with me this weekend?” Max’s thumbs flew across his screen. “I’m taking Sienna to Stone Mountain this weekend,” he announced casually. “You’ll have to grab dinner on your own.” I looked up at him. “What about me?” He glanced at me as if I’d asked a stupid question. “If you want to come, just buy a ticket. Sienna’s sweet. She won’t mind sharing the trip.” My fingers tightened around my bottle. I didn’t say another word. For years, this had been our dynamic. Two-for-one boba deals? They split them. Department store coupons? They pooled their purchases to hit the threshold. Even a weekend getaway? His first thought was to secure a discount package with her. I was always the third wheel who had to pay full price alone. I used to make excuses for him. Her back is bad, she needs the company. But in that moment, the illusion shattered. There was no innocent helping hand. They had simply drawn a circle around themselves and left me on the outside. To fully force myself to let go, I went with them. Sienna skipped over to the car, pulling the passenger door open. The moment she saw me sitting inside, her smile froze. “Stephanie! I didn’t know you were coming! If I’d known, I would’ve asked Max to grab another pass.” Max turned around from the driver’s seat. “Stephanie, hop in the back. Sienna’s back is sensitive, and she’s used to the front. Just accommodate her this once.” I looked at him, my eyes stinging. He remembered her back pain, but he entirely forgot that I got severely carsick. Sienna played the martyr, gently tugging at his sleeve. “Oh, don’t say that. I can sit in the back. It’s just that my spine acts up on long drives, and I’d hate to be a burden and make you drive me to physical therapy again.” At those words, Max threw open his door, marched to my side, and grabbed my wrist. His grip was rough as he pulled me out of the seat. I stumbled, and before I could steady myself, he shoved me into the back. He leaned in, his voice cold as ice. “Sienna’s condition is fragile. Be reasonable.” The door slammed shut. Rubbing my bruised wrist, a wave of nausea hit me. “Max, pull over.” My voice trembled, thick with bile. He caught my eye in the mirror and sneered. “It’s just the back seat, Stephanie. Do you have to make a scene out of everything? Can’t you just grow up?” Sienna immediately turned around, her face a mask of deep regret. “This is all my fault. Stephanie, if you’re really that uncomfortable, let’s swap. My back will be fine. I’ll just do an extra therapy session next week. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.” She reached for her seatbelt, but Max quickly pressed her shoulder down. “Don’t move. You just started feeling better. What if you slip a disc again?” He glared back at me, his teeth clenched. “Stephanie, stop pushing her. You know what she’s going through. Can’t you just tolerate it for once?” “I can’t tolerate it! I’m carsick!” My vision was blurring, and a sour taste flooded my mouth. “Carsick?” he scoffed, completely dismissive. “Since when do you get carsick? You’re just trying to ruin the trip.” By the time we finally reached the mountain park entrance, I threw the door open and scrambled out. Clutching the trunk of a pine tree, I threw up. Max leaned against the hood, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Unbelievable. We try to have a nice day out, and you turn it into a disaster.” Sienna’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Stephanie. If I hadn’t suggested the passes, you wouldn’t have to suffer like this.” She winced, pressing a hand to her lower back as if struggling to stand. Max immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to support her. He looked over at me, his expression softening slightly when he saw the tears of physical exhaustion on my face. “Alright, now that you’re done, let’s go.” He guided Sienna toward the trail entrance. The stone path was uneven and rocky. The two of them walked briskly ahead. Max kept his arm around her, never once looking back. I forced myself to keep up, but my foot caught on a jagged root. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my leg. I gasped, collapsing onto the dirt. “Max!” I cried out. Max stopped, starting to turn around. But Sienna suddenly shrieked and threw herself into his arms. “Ah! A bug! Max, get it off me!” Max caught her tightly, his voice frantic. “Where? Did it bite you?” He glanced at the ground, spotting a harmless black ant. “It’s just a little ant, Sienna. You’re terrified of that?” Yet, he bent down and scooped her up in a bridal carry. Sienna gasped, playfully swatting his shoulder. “Stop laughing! It scared me! What if it was poisonous?” “Alright, alright, my bad.” He carried her forward, laughing and chatting, completely forgetting I existed. I sat in the dirt, the pain in my ankle throbbing. I remembered a time when a tiny scrape on my knee would throw him into a panic. Now, nothing I did could catch his eye. Thunder rumbled overhead, and a sudden downpour slammed into the forest. I dragged myself up, limping heavily through the storm. By the time I reached the cable car station, I was soaked to the bone. “Last ride! Only one cabin left, and it only fits two people!” the operator shouted over the wind. My heart sank. I grabbed Max’s wet sleeve, my voice hoarse. “Max, please. I can’t walk. Help me up.” Sienna shrank into his chest. “Max, the thunder is so loud… and my back is killing me. If we have to hike down in this storm, I think my spine will give out.” She looked at me, her eyes red. “Stephanie, I’m so sorry. I’m so useless. You and Max should go first. I’ll manage.” Max looked conflicted, then turned to me. “Stephanie, wait here for half an hour. Let me get Sienna down safely, and I’ll come right back up for you. She has a chronic injury. If she gets cold in this rain, it’ll ruin her health.” I stared at him, and a cold, empty laugh escaped my lips. “I sprained my ankle, Max. Are you blind? Why should I give up my spot to her and freeze in the rain?” “Why can’t you ever be the bigger person?” His face darkened. He tossed his jacket to me. “Wear this. I’ll be back before you know it.” As the cabin door locked with a heavy metallic click, it felt like a blunt knife twisting in my chest. The torrential rain quickly soaked through his discarded jacket. Standing on the deserted platform, I watched the cable car vanish into the gray fog. I had no choice but to drag my injured foot down the mountain trail, step by agonizing step. Rainwater and cold sweat blinded my eyes. By the time I finally reached the bottom of the trail, my strength gave out entirely, and I collapsed onto the wet gravel. The next morning, Max finally noticed the silence in our chat history. Just as he grabbed his keys, his mother called. “Max! The venue just called to say the engagement party is canceled! What on earth is going on?” Before he could process her words, Sienna let out a sharp gasp from beside him. “Max! Look outside! The car is being towed!” He rushed downstairs to stop them, but the tow truck driver shrugged him off, shoving a clipboard in his face. “The vehicle was sold by Ms. Stephanie. All paperwork is signed and legal. Didn’t she tell you?”

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1 Kevin is a superstar voice actor with millions of fans. I’m a retired one, my career ended when I destroyed my vocal cords saving his life. On the day the doctors declared me mute, Kevin knelt beside me, vowing to adapt my novel into an audio drama. He promised to use my archived voice for the lead role. But when the script was finalized, he replaced me with a rising starlet. I signed frantically, demanding answers. He looked irritated. You’re mute, Gwen. Expect fans to listen to old, static recordings? Molly’s voice is expressive, nearly identical to yours. She’s perfect. Stop being selfish. At the launch, I lingered outside the dressing room. Inside, Molly cooed, Kevin, why mimic Gwen’s old pronunciation? He chuckled. It was her signature. Old fans will recognize it. We’ll ride her popularity for buzz. I froze, clutching a cassette of my master recordings. I’d believed seven years of sacrifice earned respect. Instead, I was just a washed-up prop for profit. My grip tightened until the plastic snapped. My world had been silent for seven years. I no longer needed his voice to fill the void. … The lights on the main stage flared to life, and Kevin led Molly to the center of the platform. The host smiled warmly. “Kevin, this audio drama has been seven years in the making. We all heard rumors that it was a gift for your wife, but the lead role went to Molly. Aren’t you worried your wife will be jealous?” Below the stage, the fans began to cheer and tease. Kevin held the microphone, his profile bathed in the soft stage lights, looking incredibly gentle. “She will understand. A masterpiece requires the most suitable voice, and Molly is exactly that.” Molly lowered her head with a shy smile. The silver custom earpiece she wore caught the light. That was a birthday gift I had customized for Kevin last year. Engraved on the inner band was a single sentence: May you always be heard by the world. I stood in the shadows of the backstage wing. My palm was still stinging from the sharp plastic edges of the broken cassette tape. Production assistants rushed past me, none of them recognizing who I was, and none of them knowing that the original creator of this story should have been the one standing in the spotlight. Kevin had once promised me that when he reached the peak of his career, he would personally narrate my story to the entire world. Now, he had reached the peak. But he was holding someone else’s hand. Molly took the microphone, her voice as sweet as honey. “Honestly, I’ve been under a lot of pressure. Kevin told me that Gwen’s voice used to be legendary, and I was so worried I wouldn’t do it justice. I didn’t want to let them down.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “You’re doing amazing, Molly! You have way more emotion than any AI!” Kevin smiled, reaching over to gently adjust her earpiece. “Don’t be nervous. You are far more suited for this role than she is now.” My fingers curled into a tight fist. Those words weren’t loud, but they felt like a cruel hand dragging my seven years of silence into the open just to stomp on it in front of a crowd. My assistant, Penny, saw me and quickly hurried over, keeping her voice low. “Gwen, Kevin said it’s best if you don’t go out to the front. Since you can’t speak, it might make things awkward if the media starts asking questions.” I opened the notes app on my phone and typed a message for her to read. I am the author, and I own the rights to this story. Why can’t I go out there? Penny’s face went stiff. “Gwen, there are too many fans here today. If you get emotional and start using sign language on camera, it’s going to look really bad. Kevin is only looking out for you.” Looking out for me. I had heard those words for seven long years. During the studio fire seven years ago, the soundproof panels collapsed, trapping Kevin inside the recording booth. I was the one who ran through the flames to drag him out, ruining my vocal cords from the toxic smoke. The doctor told me that if I had the secondary reconstructive surgery immediately, I might still have a chance of speaking again. But back then, Kevin had just signed his first major contract, and his sudden split from his management agency left him with a massive debt in liquidated damages. I took my surgery savings and used every penny to pay off his debt. He had held my hands and promised, “Gwen, once I make it, I will say everything you can’t say for the rest of our lives.” I believed him. I believed him right up until today, when the first thing he chose to say on my behalf was that I was no longer suitable. When the launch event ended, Kevin walked backstage. Molly followed close behind, cradling a massive bouquet of flowers from her fans. When he saw me, his brow instantly furrowed. “Why are you still here?” I raised my phone. Why did you block me from going on stage? Kevin glanced at the screen, pinching the bridge of his nose with obvious exhaustion. “The casting was a team decision. I don’t need to report every single business move to you.” This script is my intellectual property, and the female lead is based entirely on me. Why was I excluded? Kevin’s expression went cold. “Gwen, do you absolutely have to make things difficult for Molly?” I stared at him, typing out my reply letter by letter. But the only one being humiliated here is me. Kevin gave a dismissive sigh. “I have never forgotten that you saved me, Gwen. That’s why I’ve taken care of you and provided you with the best possible life for the last seven years. But business is business. You can’t use your past sacrifice to leverage my professional decisions.” A bitter smile played on my lips. So our seven years of marriage amounted to nothing more than him “taking care” of me. I looked down at my phone and tapped send on a pre-drafted email. I hereby withdraw my authorization for the audio drama adaptation. My legal counsel will follow up with the breach of contract details shortly. The confirmation notice flashed on the screen. I locked my phone, turned around, and walked out into the rain. 2 Kevin did not come home that night. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on and off in the empty apartment, leaving only the vintage cassette player sitting quietly on the desk. I placed the broken pieces of the cassette tape into a drawer. Lying right beside them was the unsigned surgery consent form from seven years ago. The paper had already yellowed with age, and the signature line remained entirely blank. At the time, the doctor had pressed me, “Are you absolutely sure you want to delay the secondary reconstruction? If you wait too long, you might lose your voice permanently.” I had simply nodded. I did it because Kevin had been standing in the hospital corridor, fresh off a devastating call from his agent, looking completely pale. He had told me that if his debut project fell through, his career would be over before it even started. I never could have guessed that once he finally made it, he would never bother to look back at the girl who sacrificed her voice for him. At eight in the morning, the front door clicked open. Kevin walked in, carrying the faint scent of the recording studio’s mint diffuser. He held a sleek shopping bag in his hand, which he placed gently on the dining table. “The launch went perfectly yesterday, and Molly is already trending,” he said, slipping off his jacket. “Look, I know I’ve been neglecting you lately. I bought this to make it up to you.” I opened the bag. Inside was the latest model of a digital text-to-speech voice synthesizer. A small sticky note was attached to the user manual. Pre-loaded with Molly’s customized vocal profile. I stared at the note, a chill creeping over my skin. Kevin unbuttoned his cuffs, his voice entirely casual. “From now on, whenever you type, it will read the words out loud. It’ll save you the trouble of using sign language when people can’t understand you.” I typed a single question on my phone and showed it to him. Why does it have her voice? Kevin glanced at the screen. “The sponsor gave it to me for free. Of course it uses Molly’s voice profile. Don’t be so sensitive. Having this is much better than you waving your hands around like a mute.” He sat down on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. The screen lit up with a voice note from Molly. “Kevin, I just tried the warm honey water you sent over. My throat feels so much better! I can’t believe you remembered that I can’t have ice.” A soft, genuine smile touched Kevin’s lips as he typed back, “Rest your voice. We have a long recording session this afternoon.” Standing next to him, I suddenly realized I hadn’t tasted warm honey water in years. My respiratory system had always been weak, and after the fire, the doctor warned me to avoid cold drinks, stress, and late nights. Kevin had remembered those rules for a few weeks in the beginning. But once his schedule packed up, my nightly coughing fits only brought a frown to his face. “Maybe you should sleep in the guest room, Gwen. I have a major session tomorrow, and I can’t afford to lose sleep.” Molly sent another photo. It was a shot of her newly decorated dressing room at the studio, complete with her favorite strawberry cakes and a wall covered in pink sticky notes. Her caption read: Kevin says every girl deserves to be spoiled at work. Kevin looked up at me. “See how sweet she is? She actually appreciates the little things people do for her.” I pulled up my phone. I used to love strawberries, too. Kevin blinked, as if trying to recall a distant memory, before giving a shrug. “Really? I thought you hated sweet things.” I didn’t bother replying. I stopped eating sweets because my stomach had been ruined by years of working double shifts to support us. When he got his first lead role, the studio didn’t provide meals, so I walked miles every day to deliver hot food to his booth. On my way back, I would huddle outside a convenience store, choking down cheap, stale bread just to save money. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion made me vomit at the smell of butter and cream. He didn’t know. He had never cared to ask. At noon, Kevin’s phone rang. It was his manager. “Kevin, Resonance Studios just contacted us. They said the author of the novel is renegotiating the audio rights. Isn’t the author your wife? What is going on?” Resonance Studios was the absolute titan of the audio production industry. Kevin’s gaze immediately snapped to me. He hung up the phone, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you contact another studio?” I nodded, offering no explanation. He stood up, his anger boiling over. “Gwen! Do you have any idea how much money we’ve sunk into this project? Are you really going to burn everything down just because of a casting dispute?” I am not throwing a tantrum. This is a business decision. Your studio changed the lead voice actor and altered the marketing direction without the author’s written consent. You are in material breach of our contract. Kevin let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “We are married, Gwen. My studio is your studio. Do you really have to draw such a petty line between us?” I looked at him, typing my response slowly and deliberately. From now on, yes. Kevin’s face turned incredibly dark. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang. Molly stood on the mat, cradling a stack of script folders. “Kevin, did I come at a bad time?” she asked timidly. Kevin’s voice softened instantly. “Not at all. Come on in.” As she stepped inside, she naturally slid her feet into a pair of soft-soled slippers. Those slippers were a custom pair I had bought for myself because of an old injury on my left foot that made hard soles painful. Kevin, of course, had never noticed. Molly sat down in my usual spot on the sofa, opening her script. “Gwen, I was hoping to listen to your old cassette tape today. Kevin said your crying scenes had incredible depth when you were younger. I want to study your technique to do the character justice.” I looked over at Kevin. He avoided my eyes, muttering, “It’s just an old demo tape, Gwen. Don’t be petty.” I walked over to the desk, pulled the broken cassette tape out of the drawer, and placed it on the coffee table. Molly gasped, her face turning pale. “It’s broken?” I typed. It’s useless now. Kevin suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. “Gwen, have you lost your mind? That was the only master recording we had of your original voice. We needed it for promotional comparisons! How could you destroy it?” The plastic edges dug into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. He remembered it was the only copy. But he didn’t care that my voice was gone forever. He only cared about the lost marketing value. The signing ceremony with Resonance Studios was scheduled for Saturday morning. Cory, the lead director, pushed the new contract toward me. “Gwen, once you officially revoke the authorization from Kevin’s studio, we will handle the production from scratch. We won’t use a stand-in voice for your character. We suggest keeping the female lead silent, using ambient sounds, narration, and text overlays to tell her story.” I stared at him, momentarily stunned. He understood my silence and added gently, “Your silence is a powerful part of the story. It doesn’t need to be simulated by anyone else.” I picked up the pen and signed my name. As the ink dried, my eyes welled with tears. For seven years, someone had finally acknowledged that my lost voice was not a flaw to be covered up. Cory’s assistant handed me a schedule. “Gwen, we have a small press conference scheduled for this afternoon. You won’t have to speak. We’ve prepared a digital board and real-time screen displays for you.” I nodded, a weight finally lifting from my chest. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a live-stream notification. I opened the link to find Molly’s personal account streaming live. The title read: Rehearsing the final confession scene with Kevin. I was about to close the app when I saw Marcus, Kevin’s childhood friend, sitting on the studio sofa, laughing loudly. “Did she actually think Kevin made this drama for her? Kevin, you really knew how to sweet-talk her back then.” Another voice chimed in. “She’s mute now, yet she still wanted to hoard the lead role. She obviously doesn’t care about what the fans want.” Molly made a weak attempt to quiet them down. “Don’t talk about Gwen like that. She did sacrifice a lot for Kevin.” Marcus scoffed. “Sacrifice? No one forced her to run into that fire. Kevin didn’t beg her to save him. Besides, Kevin has treated her like a queen for seven years. She has a house, a car, what else does she want?” The camera panned over to Kevin. He didn’t defend me. He simply kept adjusting the audio mixer, his expression indifferent. Someone asked, “Kevin, is she really revoking the rights?” Kevin replied casually, “She’s just throwing a fit. She has nowhere else to go. Once she calms down, she’ll sign the papers.” The comment section was flying by. So the author is Kevin’s wife? A mute trying to play the lead is honestly kind of embarrassing. Molly’s voice is so sweet. She shouldn’t be guilt-tripped by some washed-up senior. I gripped my phone, a cold numbness spreading from my chest to my fingertips. So everyone knew how pathetic I was. They knew he didn’t love me, they knew his promises were hollow, and they knew my seven years of silent waiting was nothing but a “tantrum” in his eyes. I was the only one kept in the dark. Cory gently took the phone from my hand, locking the screen. “Gwen, don’t look at it.” I took a slow, deep breath and typed. The press conference proceeds as planned. At two in the afternoon, the Resonance Studios press hall was packed with reporters. The giant screen displayed the new concept art for the audio drama. There were no actors’ names listed, only a picture of a shattered cassette tape and a single tagline: Her seven years of silence will finally be heard. When the host introduced me, the applause from the crowd was respectful and quiet. I walked onto the stage carrying my digital writing pad, writing my first statement: This story will no longer be a charity case for anyone. As I began typing the second sentence, a sudden commotion broke out at the entrance. Kevin pushed past the security guards, marching into the hall. He had clearly rushed straight from the airport; his black trench coat was damp with rain, and his brow was set in a deep scowl. The media cameras immediately swung toward him. Molly followed right behind him, panting for breath. “Gwen, please stop this. Kevin hasn’t slept in days because of this project.” Kevin looked at me on the stage, then at the massive Resonance Studios logo on the screen. His expression fractured. “Gwen!” His voice rang out clearly through the hall’s sound system. “Would you seriously rather give your work to strangers than support me?” I looked at him, feeling nothing but a profound sense of exhaustion. Even now, his only concern was his own career. Cory stepped in front of me. “Kevin, the authorization has been legally revoked. Please leave the premises.” Kevin glared at him, letting out a cold sneer. “And who are you? Her new sponsor?” The flashbulbs were blinding. I lifted my writing pad, displaying three words: He is my lawyer. Kevin’s eyes widened in shock. He took a step toward the stage, but security guards quickly closed in from both sides. I held the stylus tight, watching him stand just a few feet away. “Gwen, come down here,” Kevin commanded, his eyes locked onto mine. In the past, whenever he called my name like that, I would drop everything and run to him. I would hand him water, organize his scripts, or use sign language to soothe his anxiety when he was on the verge of a breakdown. This time, I didn’t move an inch. The host tried to diffuse the situation. “Kevin, today is Gwen’s press launch. If you have personal matters to discuss, please wait until after the event.” Kevin shot him a lethal look. “This is between me and my wife.” I raised my writing pad again. Not for long.

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1 After surgery, the doctor ordered three months of vocal rest. Still, my girlfriend Wendy and friend Jasper mocked me relentlessly. During arguments, Jasper would smirk and step back. Can’t hear you, buddy. Frustrated, throat burning, I’d clutch my shirt, struggling to repeat myself. He’d nudge Wendy, laughing. Told you—he’ll squeak himself hoarse and quit. Wendy smiled, high-fiving him. That evening, Jasper invited her to a bar for the playoffs. I gripped Wendy’s arm, signaling my needed follow-up. Jasper pulled her away. Too quiet, Nolan. Can’t hear a word. He whispered loud enough for me, Though he’s my brother, I pity you. Whiny before—now unbearable. Wendy adjusted my scarf. Be good. Stop the scene. Wait in the VIP lounge. I’ll take you after. She shoved me inside, locking the door. The room was stacked with nuts and snacks. AC blasted, circulating dust and peanut particles. I was severely allergic. I pounded the door, but only raspy hisses escaped my swollen throat. Outside, Jasper laughed. Another fit? Wendy paused. Let him be. He’ll tire out. By the time paramedics arrived, my airway was completely closed. … When I woke up in the hospital bed, my throat was in excruciating pain. Wendy was standing by the bedside, still wearing her coat, with the neon wristband from the bar still dangling from her wrist. Jasper leaned against her, his phone screen glowing. Someone in their group chat had just posted a photo of the crowd leaving the bar last night. In the center of the shot, Wendy and Jasper were clinking beer mugs, laughing brightly. The nurse flipped through my chart. “He had severe anaphylactic laryngeal edema last night. If he had arrived any later, it would have been fatal.” Wendy immediately bent over me, her eyes wide. “Nolan, does it hurt?” I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t opened the door. But the moment my throat muscles moved, tears of sheer physical pain welled in my eyes. The nurse pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Don’t speak. Not a single syllable.” She turned to Wendy, her tone accusing. “When the patient was screaming for help, why didn’t anyone open the door?” Wendy froze, then picked up my phone from the nightstand. In our three-person group chat, the last seventeen messages were all from me: Open the door. I don’t feel well. Further up was a meme Jasper had sent earlier: Understood, little mute. The little mute needs to be a good boy and type his words today. Wendy had replied once: Don’t call him that. Jasper had sent a tongue-out emoji: It’s just a cute nickname. He won’t get mad. Since then, I was the only one who ever posted in that group. The two of them had their own private chat. Last night, not a single one of my seventeen desperate messages had received a reply. Jasper bit his lip, stepping forward to speak first. “The bar was way too loud last night, Nolan. We didn’t hear our phones.” He looked at me, his voice dripping with cautious innocence. “And besides, you always exaggerate things whenever you and Wendy have an argument.” “Even though you’re my brother and I should support you, it’s exhausting for Wendy when you constantly use these emergencies to get her attention.” Wendy had been holding my hand, but when she heard Jasper’s words, her fingers slowly loosened. The nurse ignored him, turning to me. “Do you have any drug allergies?” I reached for the writing tablet on the bedside table. Jasper jumped in before I could grab it. “I don’t think so. I’ve looked after Nolan for a long time, and he’s never mentioned anything.” The nurse bent her head to write it down. I slammed my hand against the bed rail. The motion pulled hard on the IV needle in my hand, sending a sharp pain up my arm. Wendy finally handed me the writing pad. My hand was shaking so violently I could only scribble two words: Cephalosporin. The nurse’s face changed, and she immediately stopped writing. “Cephalosporin allergy?” Wendy’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered. “Yes, he’s highly allergic to cephalosporin.” Jasper’s eyes turned red instantly. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. I completely forgot. I was just trying to help you so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself writing.” He was always like this, completely ignorant of my life, yet constantly pretending to be my most devoted caretaker. He had only met me after Wendy and I started dating. At our first meeting, he had wrapped an arm around my shoulder, gushing about how lucky I was to have such a great girlfriend, and insisted on being my best friend. I had genuinely treated him as a brother. But over time, he became Wendy’s advisor. If she wanted to buy me a gift, she asked him first. If we had an argument, she went to him to vent. He used to tell me, “I’m just helping you train your girlfriend.” But every time they finished “training” her, I was the one who had to bow my head and apologize. Wendy watched Jasper’s tears fall, her expression softening. “He didn’t do it on purpose, Nolan.” I stared at her, turning the writing pad to a fresh page: Let’s break up. Wendy’s brow furrowed. “You just woke up, and you’re already starting a scene?” The doctor walked in just then, handing over the discharge instructions. “He must return for a follow-up in one week. During this time, he cannot be left alone. Someone must watch him constantly, especially monitoring his breathing and any potential allergic reactions.” Wendy took the forms, finally finding a convenient excuse. “Did you hear that? Before your follow-up, you’re staying at my place.” I didn’t write anything back. The nurse told me to go to the lobby window to sign some papers and pay the bill. Wendy took the invoice from my hand but immediately tossed it back to me. “Your ID is in your bag, so you go pay. I need to take Jasper downstairs to get something sweet. His blood sugar is dropping.” I was left clutching the prescription bag, limping slowly toward the payment window. By the time I finished paying and turned around, Wendy and Jasper were already standing by the elevator doors. Jasper said something, and Wendy leaned in with a soft chuckle. I hurried to catch up with them. The elevator doors were slowly sliding shut. Wendy looked out and saw me. Her hand was inches away from the open door button. But she didn’t press it. I stood in the corridor, watching the metal doors seal shut. I remembered the last time we were at the pharmacy. I was waiting in a long line to get my post-surgery medication while they went ahead to buy Jasper some cold medicine. When I finally limped out to the entrance, Wendy had only frowned. “Why are you always so slow?” And that time at the convenience store. I was typing on my phone to tell her I wanted warm water, but before I could finish, Jasper had already grabbed a cold soda and handed it to her. She took it, took a sip, and only then turned to me. “What were you trying to say?” The elevator numbers ticked down on the display. I unlocked my phone, opened the medical app, and booked the very last specialist appointment at the Seattle Vocal Rehabilitation Center for seven days from now. Then, I booked a one-way flight to Seattle for the exact same afternoon. Once I got my follow-up results in seven days, I would leave. On discharge day, the doctor pulled Wendy aside to explain the medications. “Take this one thirty minutes after meals.” “Use the nebulizer twice a day. Do not skip the evening session.” I stood at the counter signing the paperwork. From a distance, I could see Wendy nodding, while Jasper hovered close by, listening intently. Jasper even smiled and raised his hand. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll make sure he sticks to it.” When we got back to Wendy’s apartment, Jasper followed us inside, carrying his bag. “The match is tonight,” he sighed, tossing his bag onto the sofa. “But whatever. Who asked me to have such a high-maintenance brother like Nolan?” He turned to shoot me a playful wink. “Don’t get too emotional, little mute. Taking care of you is my duty.” Wendy’s brow twitched slightly. “I told you, don’t call him that.” Jasper stuck his tongue out. Wendy checked her phone. “I need to run to the office to grab some files. I’ll be back soon.” Jasper immediately raised his hand. “I’ve got him covered.” Once the door clicked shut, the apartment fell into a tense silence. Within seconds, Jasper blasted the TV volume. The roaring voice of the sports commentator echoed through the living room, sending a wave of tightness through my throat. Jasper curled up on the sofa, opening a bag of chips and sipping a cold milk tea. He laughed and cheered, his legs swinging wildly with every goal. My glass of water was empty, so I pushed myself up from the armchair, intending to get a refill. Just as I walked past the sofa, Jasper let out a sudden, ecstatic shout. “Yes! Goal!” He kicked his leg out in excitement. My knee caught on his shin, and I lost my balance, crashing hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. The medicine bag was knocked over, and pill bottles scattered across the hardwood floor. Jasper finally turned around, a chip still clutched in his hand. “Oh, my bad. Why didn’t you make a sound?” I pushed myself up, my throat throbbing so intensely my vision blurred. He scrambled down to pick up the mess, but the first thing he grabbed was his spilled bag of chips. “If Wendy sees this when she gets back, she’ll think I haven’t been looking after you.” I knelt down, silently gathering the scattered medicine boxes one by one. A moment later, my phone buzzed. In our three-person group chat, Jasper had sent nine selfies in a row. Help me choose one for my feed. Wendy replied almost instantly: The third one. Jasper: But the fifth one makes my legs look longer. Wendy: Then post both. The notifications kept coming, making my phone warm against my palm. I took a photo of the medicine boxes on the table and sent it to the group. The doctor mentioned how to take these, but I was paying the bill and didn’t hear. How do I take them? A few minutes passed. Wendy replied: Just read the manual. A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I locked my phone and placed it face down on my lap. At seven in the evening, Wendy returned. Jasper immediately bounced up from the sofa. “Boss, I’ve been playing maid all day. Don’t you think my advice deserves a reward?” Wendy set her files down, shooting a quick glance at me. “Is he okay?” Jasper cut in before I could move. “He’s fine. Good as gold.” He pointed to the medicine on the table. “I even made sure he took his pills.” In reality, the boxes remained untouched. The thirty-minute post-meal window had long passed. I reached for my phone, wanting to ask her directly, but Jasper was already dragging her toward the dining table. He had ordered spicy crawfish, claiming he was starving from a long day of caretaking. “Let’s see who can peel them faster,” Jasper said, tossing her a pair of plastic gloves. Wendy chuckled. “You lose every time.” “Then can’t you just let me win for once?” They sat directly opposite me. One peeled, the other grabbed. Jasper’s lips were bright red from the spice. Wendy placed a peeled crawfish into his bowl, and he immediately picked it up with his chopsticks, holding it to her lips. “Your reward.” I opened one of the medicine boxes, letting the pills spill into my palm. The tiny print on the instruction sheet blurred together. I stared at them for a long time, unable to figure out which ones could be taken together. I typed on my phone: I want to talk to you. Wendy looked up briefly. “Now?” I nodded, continuing to type: About the locked door, the nuts, and those seventeen messages. Before I could finish, Jasper burst into laughter. “Wendy, look at this one. Doesn’t it look like a heart?” Wendy turned her head to look. My fingers froze over the screen. By the time she looked back at me, her expression was laced with irritation. “Nolan, if you have something to say, can you speed it up? I have a major meeting tomorrow.” I slowly deleted the words in the text box. I backspaced letter by letter, until the screen was entirely blank. Wendy frowned. “Nothing?” She pulled her plastic gloves back on. “Then let’s wait until you can actually speak to have this conversation.” I lowered my head, blinking back tears as I tried to sort the pills in my hand. In the living room, Jasper won another round of their game. He piled the empty shells in front of Wendy with a grin. “You lost. You’re my personal driver again tomorrow.” Wendy agreed. Neither of them noticed that I hadn’t taken a single correct pill that night. The next day, Jasper complained that the apartment was too quiet and insisted on inviting a few friends over. “Nolan can’t go out anyway, so the least we can do is bring the fun to him.” By three in the afternoon, the living room was packed. The coffee table was covered with beers, chips, snacks, and two bowls of mixed nuts. I stared at the nuts, reaching for my phone to type. Wendy noticed my gaze and quickly moved the bowls to the far side of the table. “Keep those away from him.” Someone laughed. “Wendy, look at you being all attentive.” Jasper joined in, grinning. “Of course she is. Otherwise, Nolan would have another excuse to make her life miserable.” The room went quiet for a second, then someone chimed in. “Seriously, last night was wild. I thought it was some massive emergency, but Jasper explained it later. It was just Nolan getting jealous because the two of you were hanging out, right?” My fingers froze over the screen. Jasper quickly waved his hands. “Come on, don’t say that. Nolan just lacks security, that’s all.” He slid over, nudging my arm. “Right, Nolan?” I looked down, refusing to type a single word. When they played Truth or Dare, the bottle spun and landed on Wendy. “What is your biggest pet peeve about your boyfriend?” Before she could answer, Jasper raised his hand. “I know this one!” He grinned at me. “He is so incredibly slow.” The room erupted into laughter. “So true!” “Jasper, did you have to suffer through his whining too?” Jasper doubled over with laughter. “No, no, I’m on Nolan’s side. But seriously, when he could speak, he was slow, and now that he has to type, he’s even slower.” Wendy held her cards, her head tilted down as she let out a soft laugh. She didn’t disagree. I picked up my phone and slowly typed: I’m going to my room. Before I could hit send, Jasper shoved a card into my hand. “Nolan lost! Penalty drink, penalty drink!” Wendy frowned, pulling the shot glass away. “He can’t drink alcohol.” She poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me, checking the temperature with her finger. But Jasper immediately snatched the shot glass. “Then I’ll drink it for him!” He slammed it back, coughing as the liquid hit his throat, his eyes turning red. Wendy quickly handed him a tissue. “Why do you always have to show off?” Jasper waved her off, his voice slightly raspy. “Who asked me to have such a pathetic brother?” “I have to speak for him, take the blame for him, and now I’m drinking for him.” The friends laughed again. Someone teased, “Jasper, you act more like a real boyfriend than the actual boyfriend.” Jasper immediately covered his mouth. “Shh, don’t say that. Nolan will get mad.” Everyone looked at me. If I so much as frowned, I would be labeled as sensitive and petty. Later, they started singing. Jasper scrolled through his phone for a moment, his eyes lighting up. “This one! Didn’t Nolan and Wendy love singing this together?” It was a classic love song. Back when Wendy and I first started dating, she had held my hand and promised we would sing it together on every anniversary. As the intro played, Jasper held the microphone out to me. “Come on, Nolan. Let’s hear that romantic duet.” Then, as if suddenly remembering, he quickly pulled it back. “Oh, my bad. I forgot you can’t sing right now. I’ll sing your part for you. I know the lyrics anyway.” Wendy shot a quick, hesitant glance at me. I thought she would refuse. But Jasper had already forced the other microphone into her hand. “Come on, Wendy, let’s go!” She took it. They stood in the center of the room, singing together while their friends recorded videos on their phones. I sat on the very edge of the sofa, watching the lyrics scroll across the screen, unable to make a sound. By the time the party ended, it was almost midnight. Jasper, slightly tipsy, curled up on the sofa with a pillow. “Wendy, my throat is starting to burn.” Wendy pressed her hand to his forehead. “I’ll take you to the clinic tomorrow.” I looked up at her. Tomorrow was the day of my specialist appointment. The doctor had warned me that a follow-up within a week was critical. I had waited six days for this specific slot. Wendy seemed to recall something, looking down at her phone. “Let’s let Jasper use your appointment slot tomorrow.” I stood up so fast my knee slammed into the coffee table, making my water glass rattle. She frowned. “He drank that penalty shot for you tonight, and now his throat is irritated. You’re being selfish.” Jasper sat up quickly. “No, no, Wendy. Nolan’s condition is much worse than mine.” But as he spoke, he let out a couple of soft, dry coughs. Wendy’s tone hardened. “Don’t argue with him.” “You can’t speak anyway, Nolan. Going a day early or a day late won’t make a difference for you.” The next morning, Wendy went to park the car while Jasper, clutching his throat, walked ahead with her. I didn’t wait for them. I retrieved my ticket, checked in, and walked straight into the examination room. Every movement was swift and deliberate. The doctor reviewed my laryngoscopy results, falling silent for a moment. “Your recovery is not looking good.” “If you delay treatment any further, you may struggle to vocalize permanently.” I typed on my phone: I am flying to Seattle for treatment today. The doctor looked at me and nodded. “The sooner, the better.” When I walked out with my results, the corridor was empty. Wendy and Jasper were nowhere to be seen. My phone buzzed with a message from her: Jasper has been taking care of you for days. Is it really necessary to throw a fit over an appointment slot? Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Just wait at the entrance. Once Jasper is done, you need to apologize to him. He drank for you last night and offered to give his slot back to you today. Don’t be so ungrateful. I stood at the clinic exit, the cold wind making my throat ache. When the taxi pulled up, the driver asked where I wanted to go. I showed him my phone screen, which displayed the airport address. At three twenty in the afternoon, my flight was boarded. Before turning off my phone, Wendy called. I watched her name flash on the screen for several seconds. Then, I declined the call and blocked her number. From this moment on, I was completely done with both of them. Wendy walked back to the ENT department after Jasper’s examination, only to find the bench empty. She dialed my number. But the line only gave her a cold, automated rejection. Jasper, holding his neck, stood beside her and whispered, “Is Nolan still mad at me?” Wendy’s face was tense. “His temper is getting out of hand.” She typed a quick message to me, but a red exclamation mark flashed on her screen. Her fingers froze over the display. Jasper quickly grabbed her sleeve. “Wendy, don’t worry. Nolan is probably just upset that you took me first. Once he calms down, he’ll come back.” Wendy said nothing, driving straight back to her apartment. The entryway was dead silent. All of my belongings had been cleared out. The only thing left on the coffee table were a few boxes of medicine. One box was completely unopened. Another had some pills popped out, only to be stuffed back in. The nebulizer sat in its original packaging, its seal unbroken. Beside the boxes was a sticky note in my handwriting: Take after meals? Do not mix? Wendy picked up the note, her fingers slowly crushing the paper. Jasper walked in, and when he saw the medicine on the table, his expression faltered. Wendy looked up at him. “You said you made sure he took his pills.” Jasper’s eyes welled with tears. “I did remind him! But Nolan always hated me meddling in his business. I treated him like a brother, but he was always hostile toward me. You know that.” Wendy didn’t comfort him this time. She turned around and opened the living room security camera app. Jasper reached out to stop her. “Wendy, there’s no need to watch that. He’ll just accuse us of spying on him again.” Wendy brushed his hand away. The footage quickly loaded. On the screen, Jasper was lounging on the sofa watching the game with the volume blasted. I stood up, trying to get some water, when Jasper kicked his leg out. I tripped, my knee crashing into the table, and the medicine boxes scattered everywhere. Wendy’s hand stopped on the mouse. Jasper’s face went completely white. “I… I was just startled by the goal…” The footage kept playing. Panicking, Jasper lunged to slam her laptop shut. “Don’t watch it! He did that on purpose to make you feel guilty!” For the first time, Wendy shoved him away. “He didn’t even know I had access to these cameras.” In the footage from the early hours of the morning, the living room was empty except for me. I was quietly packing my medical records, ID, and a few clothes into my suitcase. Before leaving, I stood at the door, taking one final, long look at the apartment. Once the door clicked shut, there was no one left on the screen. Wendy immediately began searching my travel history. My GPS was turned off, but my flight had already landed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530552”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 World Cup final day, the city roared. I sat alone in the silent living room, staring at four faded jerseys on the table—Dad’s number 10, Mason’s 7, Noah’s goalie kit, and Mom’s bright red supporter shirt she’d worn to every game. Past tournaments, we’d cram into this room, eating barbecue and screaming at the TV. Dad once promised, “Graduate high school, Andrea, and we’ll all go live.” I’d graduated. But they’d taken my adopted sister Beth to Cabo for the final. In Mason’s post, Beth sat center, radiant. His caption: A family of four, finally whole.I stared until the words blurred. They’d cut me from the roster long ago. Last summer, Beth shattered my state physics trophy, wailing, “Andrea wins everything—what’s the point of me?” Dad ripped my gold certificate. Mom banned me from academic decathlons. Mason funded Beth’s European healing trip, banishing me to a dingy basement for senior year. “You’re a genius,” he’d said. “Study anywhere.” I did. Perfect 1600 on the national merit exam, full ride to Stanford. I stuffed the jerseys into a trash bag, tossed it by the dumpster. As the players lifted the trophy on screen, I held my acceptance letter. This time, I wasn’t waiting for their applause. … “Andrea, why the hell did you throw away our jerseys?!” The front door slammed open, and Mason’s furious voice exploded through the living room. I sat on the sofa, not even bothering to look up. Dad walked in carrying bags of expensive souvenirs, while Mom hovered protectively around Beth. The last person to walk through the door was Noah. He was carrying a pristine pink gift box. It was the limited-edition collectible Beth had been bragging about online all week. “Are you mute? Answer me!” Mason closed the distance between us in three long strides. “Mom and Dad felt bad that you were home alone, so they paid out the ass to change our flights and rush back early. And the first thing we see when we pull up is our gear sitting next to the garbage.” He slammed the plastic trash bag onto the coffee table. “Do you have any idea how much these mean to us?” I looked at the washed-out fabric spilling from the bag. They did mean a lot. They were the last remaining proof that this family used to love each other. But now, they were just dirty rags. “They’re old. We don’t need them anymore,” I said, my voice completely flat. Mom’s face contorted in disgust. “What do you mean we don’t need them? How did you get so cold-blooded? Beth was worried sick about you the whole time we were in Cabo. She insisted we come back early to watch the replay with you. Why are you acting like a psycho?” Beth shrank behind Mom’s back, her eyes rimmed with red. “Andrea, are you mad at me? Are you upset because my health is bad and Mom and Dad had to take me to the beach to recover?” Dad slammed the souvenir bags onto the floor, his face dark with rage. “Do you even have a heart, Andrea? If Beth’s biological father hadn’t pushed me out of the way of that semi-truck, you wouldn’t even have a dad today! And if you hadn’t pushed Beth down the stairs all those years ago, she wouldn’t suffer from these chronic migraines!” My fingers twitched. That same old story. When I was twelve, Beth missed a step and tumbled down the staircase. But she pointed her trembling finger at me and told everyone I pushed her. From that day on, I became the resident sinner of this house. Noah placed the pink gift box into Beth’s hands and turned his disappointed gaze to me. “Andrea, stop throwing a tantrum.” I slowly picked up my phone from the table, letting the screen light up. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m just giving you a heads-up. I got into Stanford.” The room went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Mason blinked, then let out a scoffing laugh. “You’ve been a straight-A nerd your whole life. Getting into a good college is expected. Mom and Dad pay for your food and board.” Mom nodded in immediate agreement. “Exactly. Your sister bombed her SATs this year, and she is already depressed about it. Did you really have to rub salt in her wound today?” Beth’s tears started falling faster. “Am I just completely useless? I just drag everyone down, don’t I?” Dad immediately wrapped his arms around her, shooting me a lethal glare. I watched them crowd around Beth, cooing and comforting her. I watched Noah gently rub her back to soothe her. It was purely absurd. I had bled over my textbooks for twelve years to get into one of the best universities on the planet. And my reward was a room full of people screaming at me. “She’s depressed?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Depressed from taking selfies in Paris? Or depressed from eating lobster on a private beach in Cabo?” Mason lunged forward and pointed his finger an inch from my nose. “Why the hell are you picking a fight with a sick girl?” I stared dead into Mason’s eyes. “Because I’m not sick, I deserved to rot in a basement for a year? I deserved to have my family not even text me on the day college decisions came out?” Mom waved her hand dismissively, cutting me off. “Enough. Cut the crap. Since you got accepted, you can spend the rest of the summer tutoring Beth. She has to repeat her senior year.” I slowly stood up and slipped my phone into my pocket. “No.” Dad’s face turned purple. “Say that again.” I looked at all of them, my voice perfectly steady. “I said, I don’t owe you people a damn thing.” Dad raised his hand, fully intending to slap the defiance out of my mouth. Noah caught his wrist just in time. “Mr. Davis, don’t. Andrea is just stressed from exams. Let it go.” He turned to look at me, using that tone reserved for unreasonable toddlers. “Apologize to Beth, and we can forget this ever happened.” I looked at Noah’s handsome, familiar face. Once upon a time, that face was my only light in the dark. When I had a fever, he carried me to the clinic on his back. When kids bullied me, he was the shield standing in front of me. But now. “Why should I?” I looked him dead in the eye. Noah’s brows furrowed deeply. “You already have everything, Andrea. The grades, the perfect future. It’s all yours. Beth only has us. Would it kill you to just let her have this?” The corners of my mouth twitched. “She only has you? She has my parents’ absolute devotion, my brother’s endless wallet, and your protection. I have nothing but my grades.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her chest and started hyperventilating. “Mason, my head… it’s spinning…” She collapsed straight into Noah’s arms. Noah caught her immediately, total panic washing over his face. “Beth! Hey, look at me, what’s wrong?” Mom turned pale as a sheet and started frantically digging through her purse for pill bottles. Dad pointed a trembling finger at me. “If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!” Mason shoved me hard by the shoulder, knocking me into the wall. They swarmed Beth, scooped her up, and rushed out the front door. The heavy door slammed shut, plunging the house back into suffocating silence. I leaned against the plaster wall, slowly sliding down until I hit the floor. The bruise on my shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the massive, hollow cavity in my chest. … Early the next morning, my homeroom teacher called me. “Andrea, the principal wants to throw an honors assembly for you next Wednesday. You need to prepare a speech.” Her voice was bursting with pride. “Make sure you bring your parents. Having the valedictorian of the entire district is a huge honor for your family.” I gripped my phone, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” I hung up. I was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to tell them, when the front door clicked open. They were back with Beth. Dad was on his cell phone. “Yes, next Wednesday at noon. The biggest banquet hall you have. We are throwing an eighteenth birthday and cheer-up party for my youngest. She didn’t do well on her exams, so we need to make her feel special.” I froze in my tracks. Next Wednesday. The exact same day as my honors assembly. Mason noticed me standing there and immediately scowled. “You cause a massive scene yesterday, and you don’t even bother coming to the hospital to check on her? What is wrong with you?” I ignored him and spoke slowly. “Next Wednesday, the school is throwing an honors assembly for me. The principal wants you all there.” Mason let out a loud, mocking snort. “An honors assembly? Who cares? It’s just a bunch of teachers blowing hot air.” Dad hung up the phone and glared at me. “We can’t do next Wednesday. We are celebrating Beth’s birthday.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “This is the most important moment of my academic life. I am the district valedictorian.” Mom walked past me toward the kitchen, rolling her eyes. “So you got good grades. Does that mean you can just abandon your sister? Beth is traumatized by her scores, and you want to parade around at some assembly? Do you have any idea how bad that will make her look in front of our relatives?” I stared at her entitled, unapologetic face. “Did you ever stop to think how it makes me look? The district valedictorian, standing on stage without a single family member in the audience?” Mason stepped into my space, looking down at me with sheer disgust. “Stop being so incredibly selfish, Andrea. Next Wednesday, you are going to put on a nice dress and sit quietly at the banquet hall.” I took a deep breath, fighting the acidic burn behind my eyes. “I’m not going.” Dad slammed his leather briefcase onto the dining table. “If you dare walk out that door next Wednesday, you can forget about calling me your father!” I looked at his purple, furious face, and felt nothing but pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “Fine. Then I won’t.” Before the words even settled in the air, a heavy hand cracked across my face. The slap echoed in the room. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing violently. Dad roared at the top of his lungs. “Then pay me back every single dime I spent raising your ungrateful ass!” Just then, the doorbell rang. Noah pushed the door open and walked in. He saw my bright red, swollen cheek and froze. “What happened?” Beth immediately threw herself into his arms, crying beautifully. “Noah, Andrea is insisting on going to her school assembly, and it made Dad so mad. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have planned my party for next Wednesday.” Noah held her, gently stroking her hair. He looked up at me, his brows knit in heavy disapproval. “Andrea, are you really not happy unless you are tearing this family apart?” I looked at his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and the sight made my stomach turn. “Get your facts straight, Noah. They are the ones stripping away the proudest moment of my life.” Noah let out a heavy sigh, sounding like a exhausted parent. “Beth’s health is fragile. She can’t handle the stress. Plus, her biological dad literally died for your family. Giving up one day of the spotlight won’t kill you.” As he spoke, he pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Look what I brought you, Beth.” He popped the box open. Resting on the black velvet was a delicate silver bracelet adorned with tiny, glittering stars. My breathing stopped completely. That was the bracelet Noah gave me for my sixteenth birthday. He had told me, “Andrea, you are the brightest star in my sky. I’ll protect you forever.” But a few months later, Beth “accidentally” lost it. I searched the house for a month, crying until my eyes bled. Noah had held me and promised to buy me a better one. It turns out, she never lost it. It just got a new owner. “Oh my god, Noah, it’s gorgeous!” Beth giggled through her tears. Noah smiled warmly and fastened it around her wrist. “No one is ever going to bully you again.” I took a step forward, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “Noah, that bracelet is mine.” Noah’s hands stopped. “You’re remembering things wrong. I had this custom-made just for Beth.” Beth immediately covered her wrist with her other hand, looking at me like a terrified deer. “Andrea, are you really going to steal the gift Noah bought for me?” Mason lost whatever patience he had left. He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me violently out the front door. “You are absolutely insane! Get your ass back to the basement and don’t come out until you learn how to act like a human being!” The heavy door slammed in my face. I stood in the humid hallway, touching my burning cheek, and suddenly let out a laugh. I laughed so hard the tears finally spilled over. I walked back to my dingy basement apartment in a complete daze. When I pushed the cheap door open, I froze. The room was completely trashed. My competition notebooks from the last six years, my medals, my certificates. All of them were submerged in a plastic tub full of water. The ink had bled through the pages, turning years of my blood, sweat, and tears into a soggy, illegible mess. My phone buzzed. A voice memo from Beth. “Hey Andrea, I am so, so sorry. I wanted to clean up your apartment and maybe borrow your study notes. But I accidentally kicked over the mop bucket. You’re so smart, you won’t hold a grudge against me, right?” I gripped my phone so tight my knuckles turned white. I didn’t reply. I walked over to the tub and stared at the ruined remains of my entire childhood. I pulled them out, one by one. And I dropped them straight into the trash can. Along with every last ounce of love and hope I had left for that family, and for Noah. “Good,” I whispered to the empty room. “Now I can leave without carrying any baggage.” The next morning, I woke up burning with a high fever. I dragged myself out of bed, fumbling for my phone to call an Uber to the clinic. The moment the screen unlocked, a notification from the family group chat popped up. Mom had sent a photo. Beth was lying in a VIP hospital bed, surrounded by everyone. Dad was peeling an apple for her. Mason was making funny faces. Noah was reading a book out loud to her. Mom’s caption read: Beth had a headache flare-up today. The whole crew is here. Praying for my baby’s health. I stared at the picture and couldn’t even muster a bitter smile. I dropped the phone, forced myself to get dressed, and swallowed two expired ibuprofen pills. By the time I took the bus to the local urgent care, it was late afternoon. My fever had broken slightly, but my stomach was cramping from hunger. I was standing in a massive line at the pharmacy counter, clutching my prescription slip. “Andrea?” A familiar voice echoed behind me. I turned around. It was Noah. He was holding a stack of lab results, his brows pulled tightly together. “What are you doing here? You look terrible.” I didn’t answer him. I just turned back around and stared at the back of the person in front of me. My coldness clearly stung his ego. He marched up and grabbed my wrist. “Andrea, I am talking to you! Are you seriously still throwing a fit over a piece of jewelry?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.” Noah looked stunned. Right then, Beth’s sickly sweet voice called out from down the hall. “Noah? Who are you talking to?” She was wearing a hospital gown, leaning heavily on Mason’s arm as they walked over. The second she saw me, she started trembling violently, hiding behind Mason’s broad shoulders. “Andrea, I swear I didn’t mean to ruin your notes.” Mason instantly flared up. He stormed over and pointed his finger right in my face. “You have some nerve showing up here! Beth’s head is killing her today because of the stunt you pulled yesterday!” I looked at him with dead eyes. “Do you own this hospital?” Mom and Dad hurried over from the waiting area, hearing the commotion. “What are you doing here? Did you come here to stress her out even more?” Dad barked. I looked at the group of people standing in front of me. My biological parents, my flesh-and-blood brother, and the boy who promised to protect me. They were guarding Beth like I was a serial killer holding a knife. “I have a fever. I came to get an IV,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Mom let out a vicious sneer. “A fever? Beth is the one who is actually sick. Cut the crap and stop acting.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her head and dropped into a crouch, screaming in agony. “Mason, it hurts! It feels like someone is driving needles into my brain!” Total panic seized Noah. He shoved me out of the way to get to her. He used his full body weight. I was already weak and dizzy from the fever. When his hands hit my chest, I flew backward. The back of my skull slammed violently against the cold tile wall of the corridor. A sickening crack echoed in my head, and a blinding wave of agony swallowed me whole. Right before the darkness took over, I heard Noah shouting. “Doctor! Get a doctor for Beth right now!” Not a single one of them turned around to look at me. Good. That made this so much easier. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a curtained-off ER bed. A nurse was gently removing an IV from the back of my hand. “You are crazy for walking around alone with a 103-degree fever, honey. That fall gave you a mild concussion. You need to go home and rest in a dark room.” I stared at the blinding fluorescent lights on the ceiling and whispered a raspy “Thank you.” By the time I walked out of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, it was pitch black outside. I went back to the basement and clicked on the flickering desk lamp. I pulled a rusted metal lockbox out from under my bed. Inside were eighteen years of blood, sweat, and glory. State math olympiad gold medals, regional physics trophies, straight-A report cards, and thick stacks of scholarship certificates. I took them out, one by one, and lined them up perfectly on my cheap desk. Then, I opened the local university forum on my laptop. I was about to create a new post when a recommended thread on the homepage caught my eye. It was an anonymous burner account named Beth Hates Meds. I scrolled through the posts, recognizing the highly specific details and photos. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I ran a script to backup and download the entire account history. Then, I clicked ‘New Thread’ and typed out my headline. Incoming Stanford Freshman Auctioning Off 18 Years of Medals, Trophies, and Academic Blood. All proceeds will be used to pay a legal severance fee to my toxic biological family. I clicked post. Seeing the ‘Published Successfully’ banner flash across the screen, I let out a long, heavy exhale.

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Late at night, Mom was driving me back to our old family home upstate. Just as we pulled out of the highway rest area, I noticed a black sedan start its engine at the exact same moment. All the way down the road, it followed our every move. It took the same turns, paused when we paused, and blinked its turn signals in perfect unison with ours. It hung back, keeping a steady fifty yards behind us. I was absolutely certain of it. We were being stalked. My mind raced, frantically trying to figure out how to shake them or call for help. But I had no idea that the truth was infinitely more terrifying than a simple stalker. 1 Once we exited the interstate, Mom began to sense it too. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror, her knuckles whitening on the wheel. “That black Volkswagen is still behind us, isn’t it?” I had told her earlier on the highway that I thought a car was tailing us. Traffic had been light, but with multiple lanes and occasional passing cars, the tail wasn’t completely obvious. It was Mom’s first time driving on the interstate at night, and her nerves were already stretched to their limit. When I first brought it up, she laughed it off, telling me I was letting my imagination get the best of her. Still, she didn’t dare take her eyes off the road to look back. Instead, she silently pushed the speedometer up to ninety, changing lanes three times. But now, off the interstate, the roads were emptying fast, and the black car was still right there. There were only two routes back to our house, and Mom had deliberately taken the one that added five minutes to the drive. Nobody heading in the same direction would make that choice. Yet, the black car followed. We were on a narrow county road now, bordered by thick woods. The streetlights were few and far between. It was just the two of us, a white sedan and a black sedan, our headlights cutting harsh, ghostly beams through the dark. Mom was visibly panicking now. As soon as I got into college, she had paid for my driving lessons. I didn’t have my license yet, and I’d never driven alone, but I had finished my road training and knew the basics. This county road was a narrow two-lane strip. The yellow divider line was dashed, meaning passing was allowed. Driving in the dead of night is exhausting, especially after a high-speed sprint on the highway. I tried to soothe Mom’s rising panic. “Mom, take a breath. Maybe they just live in our town and took the same detour. Let’s slow down. Force them to pass us.” Mom nodded quickly, eager for a solution. “Right. Okay. Good idea.” She tapped the brakes, dropping our speed to twenty-five miles per hour. The car lurched with a heavy, sudden deceleration. Coming straight off the highway, the drop in speed made it feel like we were crawling at a snail’s pace. Mom was too tense, and she had hit the brakes a bit too hard. The gap between us and the black Volkswagen shrank instantly, so fast I thought they were going to rear-end us. I silently swore that the moment I got my license, I would never let her drive again. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the passenger side mirror. But the driver of the black car had lightning-fast reflexes. They braked just as hard, maintaining that exact fifty-yard cushion. They had absolutely no intention of passing. Mom frowned, trying to stay steady this time as she eased her foot further off the gas. Twenty miles per hour. Then fifteen. The black car was like a phantom, slowing in perfect synchronization. The distance between us remained as precise as if it were controlled by a computer. Cold dread washed over both of us. There was no doubt about it now. They were hunting us. 2 Silence filled the cabin, heavy and suffocating. Once we hit the county road, the late-night radio station began to break up, filling the car with a harsh, grating static. Mom turned the radio off, leaving only the low, metallic hum of the engine beneath our feet. The GPS screen showed we were still thirty miles from home. Mom set her jaw, not saying a word, but I watched the speedometer climb again. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty. On a winding, unlit backroad, this was getting dangerous. I pulled up the navigation map, scanning the route ahead to see if there were any well-lit residential areas or main roads. Or a police station. If there was a station nearby, we would drive straight into the parking lot. But there was nothing. The nearest sheriff’s office was in the opposite direction, nearly forty miles away. I took a deep breath, opened my phone, and texted Dad. I told him what was happening and asked him to drive out in his truck to meet us. Then, I shared my live location. If Dad was with us, there was no way this creep would keep following. Thankfully, Dad replied instantly. He had been working late and couldn’t pick me up himself, which was why Mom had gone. He was too worried to sleep. I told Mom that Dad was on his way. The tight lines around her mouth softened slightly. I let out a long breath, feeling a wave of relief. If Dad was driving toward us, the distance to safety was cut in half. I reached out to pat Mom’s shoulder, only to find her muscles as rigid as stone. Thinking back, we had been targeted at the last highway rest stop. Our tank had been nearly empty, so we pulled in to refuel and grab a bite. While Mom was in the restroom, I sat at a booth, eating a burger and waiting for her. That was when I felt a heavy, unsettling gaze on me. It was a stranger, a tall, dark-skinned man who looked to be in his early twenties. Even though it was midnight, he wore a dark baseball cap pulled low, casting a thick shadow over his face and hiding his eyes. The stare was intense, making my skin itch with discomfort. I looked down, self-consciously checking my clothes, feeling incredibly exposed. When I finally saw Mom walking toward me in the distance, I summoned the courage to look back up, ready to glare at the creep. But he was gone. We finished our food and walked back to the car. Mom’s car was a white crossover, decorated with cute steering wheel covers and dashboard trinkets. It was obviously a woman’s car. I had read online that predators specifically target female drivers. Normally, I loved those little personal touches, but in that moment, I wanted to rip them all off and throw them out the window. Mom started the engine. At the exact same second, the headlights of a black Volkswagen parked nearby flickered to life. An icy knot twisted in my stomach. I felt a terrible, instinctual certainty that the car was waiting for us. I glanced through their windshield, but I couldn’t see the driver’s face. The man kept his head down, wearing a dark baseball cap. The exact same cap as the man from the fast-food joint. The car heater was running, but goosebumps erupted across my arms. As Mom pulled out of the parking lot, the black car rolled out of its spot and slotted in behind us. And it had stayed there ever since. Looking at the dashboard, I saw Mom was holding a steady sixty-five, and she was still accelerating. No, this was too fast. My pulse raced in sync with the roaring engine. The road was flanked by thick stands of pine trees. If a deer or a person jumped out, any swerve would flip us into a ditch. My palms were slick with sweat. But I didn’t tell her to slow down. The terror of being hunted had taken over, and I wanted what she wanted. Only twenty-five miles left. We had to keep moving, as fast as we could. Once we reached Dad, we would be safe. But as Mom accelerated, the black car didn’t just keep pace. It began to flash its high beams aggressively. 3 At first, it was just two quick flashes. When Mom didn’t react, the high beams began to strobe relentlessly. The sudden, blinding glare reflected off our mirrors, searing Mom’s eyes. She threw up a hand to shield her face, and the car veered slightly. Still, she didn’t dare slow down. The flashes became faster, almost frantic. The black car surged forward, closing the gap until it was practically riding our bumper. At its closest point, the glare illuminated the driver’s profile, his jaw clenched, muscles tense under his baseball cap. He was too close. Panicking, Mom jerked the steering wheel to the left, crossing into the oncoming lane and slowing down, desperate to let him pass. But we were driving against traffic now. It was suicide. Mom knew how dangerous it was, her face slick with sweat that dripped down her neck. She tried to swing back into our lane, but the black car refused to give her space. It stayed parallel, matching her speed, flashing its lights, trapping us in the wrong lane. We were trapped on the wrong side of a blind, two-lane road. Mom’s voice shook violently. “Addie, call the police! Now!” “He’s crazy! He’s out of his mind!” I had wanted to call earlier, but before this, the car had just been driving behind us. I didn’t think the dispatcher would take a tailgating car seriously. But this was different. He was forcing us to drive head-on into potential traffic. If another car came over a hill, we would collide at highway speeds. On this narrow road, there was nowhere to dodge. He had to know this. This wasn’t just harassment. It was murder. Why did he want to kill us? What did we do to him? Sweat poured down my forehead. I forced myself to take a ragged breath, trying to steady my trembling hands as I grabbed my phone. Just then, a faint, distant blare of a horn echoed through the trees. But there were no headlights ahead. What was that? In a fraction of a second, I realized the danger. The road ahead dipped sharply into a blind intersection at the bottom of a hill. The horn was a warning from a driver coming from the side road, letting others know they were pulling out. I looked to my right. The black car was right beside us now. The driver had rolled down his window, wildly waving his arm, gesturing at us. What was his problem? Suddenly, the black car slammed on its brakes. It dropped back, disappearing from my side window instantly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Mom! There’s a car! Get over!” A pair of massive high beams burst over the crest of the hill, and the silhouette of a heavy pickup truck materialized right in front of us. I squeezed my eyes shut, shielding my face, bracing for the impact. The car lurched violently, tossing us side to side like a toy boat in a storm. In that split second, I heard my dad’s voice screaming in my head, crying over our mangled bodies in a burning wreck. The sound of his grief was so low, so raw, and so real that it felt like he was standing right next to my ear. But the crash never came. Suddenly, the violent swaying stopped, replaced by the smooth, steady motion of the road. I opened my eyes. The blinding high beams of the truck were gone. Beside me, Mom was staring wide-eyed at the road, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. We were back in our lane. In the moment I screamed, Mom had realized there was a blind intersection at the bottom of the dip. A truck had been turning onto the road. Because of the terrible visibility and the trees, the driver had honked to warn anyone coming. It was the move of an experienced local driver. And he had no idea that his horn had just saved our lives. A sob tore from my throat, and tears streamed down my face. Mom’s hand shook as she reached over to touch my hair, her voice trembling. “It’s okay, Addie. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m going to protect you.” Her hand was ice-cold, but her shirt was completely soaked with sweat. I couldn’t begin to comprehend the sheer terror she must have felt in the driver’s seat, staring down a head-on collision. If she hadn’t swerved back in time, we would be dead. My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, filled with a sudden surge of anger. Through the pitch-black night, a pair of headlights reappeared. The black car accelerated, quietly resuming its position behind us. The flashing had stopped. The driver’s window was still down, and his arm was extended, waving at us, his cap poking out slightly. But I still couldn’t see his face. What did he want from us? Anger and the lingering adrenaline of near-death mixed into a toxic cocktail. The GPS showed we were twenty-five miles from home. Crying, I picked up the phone that had slipped into my lap and dialed 911. We had a dashcam. Once we got to safety, I was going to make sure this lunatic ended up behind bars. The call connected on the second ring. Relief washed over me. I opened my mouth to speak. Suddenly, a freezing chill touched my neck. Out of the darkness of the backseat, a hand shot forward, clamping down hard over my mouth. A cold, razor-sharp blade pressed firmly against my carotid artery. A wet, raspy voice whispered directly into my ear, sounding like it had crawled straight out of a grave. “Shh. Don’t make a sound.”

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