Author: Momo Chan

After the miscarriage, I stopped clinging to Ethan. I stopped sharing the little joys of my day, stopped caring what time he came home, or who he’d been with. So when I found a first-grade English workbook in his briefcase, I didn’t even ask. He offered an explanation anyway, his voice tight with forced patience. “It’s for Chloe’s son. He has a spelling bee coming up, and I picked him up from school. That’s all.” I just nodded. That’s when his eyes reddened, his composure finally snapping. His hands shot out, closing around my throat. “Why aren’t you fighting me about seeing Chloe?” he rasped, forcing me to look at him. “I’m your husband! Don’t you care about me at all anymore?” My face flushed, starved for air, but I managed a small, empty smile. Because you’ll never know, Ethan. In all those years you called me crazy… that was when I loved you the most. 1 The moment before my vision started to blur, he let go. I collapsed onto the sofa, gasping, my lungs burning. I was the one who had been choked, yet he was the one who looked utterly wrecked, his voice hoarse with a pain I no longer recognized. “I’m going to say this one last time. It’s over between me and Chloe.” He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “Can you please just stop all this drama?” Drama? The word was so absurd I almost laughed. A year ago, when I was on my knees, sobbing, begging him to leave Chloe, he called it drama. Now, a year later, when I asked nothing and said nothing about them, he still called it drama. “Whatever you say.” I pushed myself up, my limbs feeling heavy. I offered him a vacant smile. “I’m going to bed.” My indifference seemed to hit him harder than any scream ever had. Ethan froze, a statue carved from disbelief. All his anger, his prepared speeches, were like punches thrown at a pillow. Useless. Later that night, he pushed open the door to the guest room. He slid into the bed behind me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest. The familiar scent of cedar and expensive cologne filled my senses, a scent that used to mean home. “Can we go back to how things were?” he whispered into my hair, his voice thick with a desperate, fragile hope. “Please, Ava?” Moonlight streamed through the window, tracing the anguish on his handsome face. Gently, I unclasped my watch and slid it off. I turned my arm over, exposing the ugly, twisted scar that snaked across the delicate skin of my wrist. He went rigid. I had a whole arm full of scars like that one, souvenirs from the depressive episode that nearly claimed me a few years ago. And where was Ethan then? He was busy trying to find any way possible to divorce me, to abandon me and our unborn child, so he could play the role of devoted partner to another woman and her son. So now, I smiled. I looked him right in the eye, my voice quiet but firm. “No.” We could never, ever go back. Because I could never, ever forget the feeling of my world collapsing, the moment I saw my best friend and my husband tangled together in my own kitchen. 2 This year marks the seventh anniversary of my marriage to Ethan. We’ve known each other for twenty years. College sweethearts, from the right families, the golden couple. That’s what everyone called us. I never imagined marrying anyone else. In the beginning, it was a fairytale. Until Chloe’s divorce shattered the calm. She was my best friend, my maid of honor. She’d married earlier than me, a pampered princess in her own love story. None of us saw the betrayal coming, the revelation that her mild-mannered husband was cheating. The day she found out, she sobbed in my arms for hours, and all I wanted to do was drive to her house and punch that bastard in the face. It was me who begged Ethan to let her stay with us for a while. It was me who begged Ethan to pull some strings and get her son, Leo, into a good preschool. And it was me who begged Ethan to give Chloe a job at his firm so she could get back on her feet. I remember how annoyed he was at first. He’d always found Chloe’s delicate, damsel-in-distress act grating. “All that pink and green she wears,” he’d grumble to me in private. “She looks like a goddamn Christmas ornament.” So later, after I’d gotten pregnant and quit my job, when a junior associate at his firm quietly warned me, “Ava, the way Mr. Prescott looks out for his new assistant… it seems like a little much. Someone saw them kissing in the parking garage,” my first instinct was to dismiss it as malicious gossip. The three of us had known each other for over a decade. They’d bickered for just as long, a mutual annoyance that dated back to our college days. They could barely get through a conversation without sniping at each other. Kissing? Impossible. But the warning planted a sliver of glass in my heart. I couldn’t ignore it, and I couldn’t swallow it down. So one night at dinner, I brought it up jokingly. I said it was time to find Chloe a new husband, maybe set her up on a few dates. Ethan was the first to put down his fork. His brow furrowed. “Just eat your dinner, Ava. Stop worrying about things that aren’t your business.” He added, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “It’s not like I can’t afford to take care of two women.” A cold dread washed over me. I looked at Chloe. She just stared down at her plate, refusing to meet my eyes. And that’s when I noticed it. The choicest cuts of steak in her bowl, the perfectly roasted asparagus—all put there by Ethan. He and Chloe were sitting so close, with only her little boy squeezed between them. They looked like a happy family of three. The rest of the meal was tasteless. In a fog of rising panic, I was starting to grasp the edge of the truth, still desperately unwilling to face the blade being held by the two people I trusted most in the world. 3 Throughout my pregnancy, I watched them. I watched them leave for work together and come home together. Every morning, Ethan would make Chloe a coffee, just the way she liked it, before gently knocking on her door to wake her up. In the evenings, they’d go pick up her son from school and then eat out at a restaurant. I was left at home with the housekeeper. It felt like a boulder was sitting on my chest, but I didn’t know how to speak the words, how to give voice to the suffocating dread. The days bled into one another in a haze of quiet misery. Finally, the day Ethan skipped my prenatal ultrasound to attend a parent-teacher conference for Chloe’s son, I broke. “Anyone would think Leo was your actual son,” I spat out, my voice dripping with a bitterness that choked me. I was breathing hard, a sharp, twisting pain starting in my abdomen. “What are you two doing?” My voice rose to a shriek. “What the hell are you doing to me!” I screamed, swiping everything off the dining table, my vision blurred by a flood of hot tears. Chloe started crying too, grabbing her son and fleeing to a hotel. Ethan stood on the balcony and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. The next day, he rented an apartment for Chloe and her son. I thought the nightmare was finally over. But Ethan’s nights at the “office” got longer and longer. His voice on the phone grew colder, more distant. One evening, after waiting until dark, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I drove to Chloe’s new apartment. I just needed the truth. I had a key. I let myself in. And there they were. Chloe was perched on the kitchen counter, naked from the waist down, a long, soft sound that was something between a sob and a moan escaping her lips. Ethan was half-embracing her, his lips pressed to her hair, their bodies moving together in a sickening rhythm. I stood there for a full minute before the two lovers, lost in their world, finally noticed me. Chloe shrieked, scrambling to grab her clothes from the floor. Ethan just looked at me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. The executioner’s axe had finally fallen.

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New Year’s Eve. The night Leo left me, pregnant and shivering, on the side of the road. He was on his way to a fireworks show with his assistant. All for her. From the passenger seat, the assistant, Zoe, made a show of telling him to bring me along. Leo just glanced at me, my arms wrapped around myself against the biting wind. “Zoe’s been working so hard. I want this night to be special for her.” His voice was flat, devoid of pity. “You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be out this late anyway. Besides,” he added, a familiar curl of contempt in his voice, “you’ve never understood things like this. This kind of romance.” His final words before driving off were, “I’m not coming home tonight. Don’t bother me and Zoe.” As his taillights disappeared, the sky behind me exploded in a million-dollar cascade of light and color—his gift to her. I stood there for a moment, the lone audience to their celebration, before I turned and started the long walk to the hospital, my hand resting on my stomach. To end the pregnancy. After this, I would never again have to beg Leo to come with me to an ultrasound. 1 I woke up in the sterile quiet of a recovery room, the distant pop-pop-pop of the fireworks echoing against the windowpane. The lights bursting across the dark sky blurred through the tears welling in my eyes. My poor, unborn child. Never even had a chance to see how beautiful they were. A young nurse came in, her face pressed to the glass. “Wow,” she sighed, her voice full of envy. “That’s the show from Axton Corp’s CEO, Leo Axton. For his new girlfriend, they said. A million dollars’ worth of fireworks. They’ve been going for five hours straight. Can you imagine anything more romantic?” Ten years together, and Leo had never once bought me a single firework. Whenever I’d mentioned it, he’d scoff. “What’s the point of something that only lasts a few minutes? It’s such a waste of money, Tessa. You’re so frivolous.” He never knew I adored them. Just like he never knew he was the one who didn’t understand romance. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. “Professor Albright,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Last year… you offered me a spot in the conservatory program in Vienna. I’ve thought about it. I want to go.” His voice on the other end was electric with excitement. “Tessa! It’s about time! With your talent, you should have been one of the greats by now!” “It’s a shame…” he trailed off. A shame. Yes, it was. A shame that I had given up the piano for Leo. Given up my life to be a stay-at-home wife, my fingers gathering dust instead of dancing across ivory keys. I never imagined that the marriage I sacrificed everything for would bring me nothing but one wound after another. After a week of recovery in the hospital, I was discharged. I walked into our cold, silent house to find Leo there, a rare sight. Between his long days at the office and his longer nights with Zoe, he’d become a ghost in his own home. He saw me and let out a short, irritated scoff. “So you finally decide to come home. You throw a tantrum and run off just because I spent New Year’s with Zoe.” He crossed his arms. “Were you waiting for me to call and beg you to come back?” I looked at him, my voice flat. “No. I was in the hospital.” He froze for a second, his bravado faltering. Then, anger flared in his eyes. “And you didn’t tell me?” It was true. In the past, even when he ignored my texts for days, I would send him a full itinerary of my every move. A pathetic attempt to stay on his radar. I met his gaze without flinching. “I forgot.” My indifference seemed to enrage him more than any argument ever had. “Is this really just because I didn’t spend New Year’s with you? I’ve spent so many with you, Tessa. This was the one time I was with Zoe.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Leo, we have never spent a single New Year’s Eve together.” First, the excuse was that his startup was too demanding. Then, it was parties with friends and clients, leaving me to wait alone by the window for his car to pull into the driveway. He’d forgotten. He had actually forgotten that he had never, not once, chosen to be with me when the clock struck midnight. A flicker of memory, then guilt, crossed his face. He pulled me into an awkward hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. After the baby is born, I promise. Every New Year’s Eve, it will be just us.” Ten years I’d waited for that promise. Now, it was just an empty sound. I pulled away without a word and walked to the music room, needing to feel the familiar weight of the keys under my fingers. But the room was a disaster. And my piano… my piano was destroyed. It was the piano my mother had bought me with her entire life’s savings before she passed. It was the most important thing I owned. Leo followed me in, his tone casual, dismissive. “Oh, that. Zoe was playing around on it the other day. Guess she broke it by accident.” One look told me it was no accident. The polished wood was gouged, the lid cracked. This was deliberate. Leo knew what this piano meant to me. He knew I’d fly into a rage if anyone so much as touched it without my permission. Seeing my face darken, he sneered. “It’s just a damn piano, Tessa. Zoe broke it, I’ll buy you a new one. Is it really worth getting this worked up about?” I lifted the fallboard. The keys were chipped and stained, pitted as if someone had taken a hammer to them. And lying across the mangled ivory was a scrap of pink lace and ribbon. A thong. Leo lunged, snatching it away. “Zoe must have left it here,” he said, his eyes darting away from mine. “It’s not what you think. Nothing happened.” But I knew. The placement, the desecration. They had used my mother’s piano—my sanctuary—for that. A wave of nausea washed over me. Sensing my revulsion, a flicker of guilt finally broke through his anger. He took my hand, trying to change the subject. “Tessa, come on. Let’s get you to your appointment. I’ll go with you to the ultrasound today.” He forgot. He forgot I had just come from the hospital. He never even asked what I was doing there for a week. This was the first time he had ever offered to come with me. Every other time, I had pleaded, and he had always refused, citing work, calling me selfish and needy for trying to distract him from his responsibilities. All I had ever wanted was what every other woman in the waiting room had: a husband by her side. Just once. Now the baby was gone. I no longer needed him. Leo placed a hand on my stomach, a frown creasing his brow. “You’ve lost weight. That’s not good for the baby. I’ll hire a nutritionist, get you some healthy meals.” I shook my head, my voice quiet but firm. “Leo, don’t bother.” “The baby is…” Before I could finish, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately walked out of the room to take the call. When he returned, his expression was already distant. “An emergency at the office,” he said, the lie worn and familiar. “You’ll have to go to the appointment by yourself this time.” It was always Zoe. Any call from her was an emergency. I had tried to fight it in the past, tried to make him stay. It only ever made him resent me more. Suddenly, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen—an aftershock from the procedure. I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Leo’s brow furrowed in irritation, not concern. “Tessa, can you stop with the dramatics? Do you really think that just because you’re pregnant, I have to drop everything and revolve around you?” He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. I fumbled in my purse for the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, swallowed them with a dry throat, and collapsed onto the bed. When I woke up, I scrolled through my phone. A new post from Zoe popped up on my feed. My boss is the absolute best~ Got my period and the cramps were killing me, and he dropped everything to come take care of me~ I let out a hollow laugh. In Leo’s world, his assistant’s period cramps were an emergency. His wife’s pregnancy was a nuisance. A moment later, my phone rang. It was him. For a foolish second, I thought it might be a flicker of concern. “Tessa,” he said, his voice urgent and annoyed. “What brand of pads do you use?” The question hit me like a physical blow. “Zoe, the idiot, forgot to buy any.” I thought back to a time years ago, when my period had come unexpectedly. I was wearing white pants, and a large, crimson stain had blossomed on the fabric. I was mortified, stranded at a cafe without any supplies. I had called Leo, begging him to run to the drugstore across the street. “You’re asking me, a man, to buy you pads?” he had hissed into the phone, his voice laced with disgust. “How humiliating is that? What if someone sees me?” But now, for Zoe, there was no disgust. Only concern. “And is it normal for cramps to be this bad?” he continued, his voice a frantic buzz in my ear. “She looks like she’s in so much pain. What can I do to help? Should I buy her medicine? Or make her one of those brown sugar drinks? Does she need a heating pad? What about…” He was terrified of letting Zoe feel an ounce of discomfort. He had never, not even once since I’d gotten pregnant, shown me this level of care. The love I thought we’d had felt like a pathetic joke. “Have you ever heard of Google?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. I hung up before he could answer. The next morning, he called again, his voice simmering with rage. “Tessa, you’ve got a lot of nerve hanging up on me. But I’ll give you one chance to make it up. Get over to Zoe’s place and cook for her. If you do, I’ll forgive you.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and she loves your honey-glazed short ribs. Make sure you make those.” The breath caught in my throat. A sharp, physical pain lanced through my chest. I finally understood. For the past year, there was a period where Leo suddenly started loving the lunches I packed for him. He was especially ravenous for the short ribs. I thought I had finally found a way to his heart through his stomach. I spent hours perfecting the recipe, my hands calloused and dotted with burns from the splashing oil, all because I thought it was his favorite. It was never his favorite. It was hers. He was just taking my food to her. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Leo, you could hire any chef in the city who could cook better than I can. Why does it have to be me?” His voice became a command. “Zoe said she wants yours. You will be there today. End of discussion.” He hung up. I walked to Zoe’s apartment with a single file folder in my purse. Some things between Leo and me needed to end. Today. Zoe opened the door, a picture of faux humility. “Oh, Tessa, hi! I feel so bad. I just had a craving for your short ribs, and Leo insisted on calling you, even though I told him the cooking fumes can’t be good for the baby with you being pregnant and all.” Her voice was laced with the triumph of being his chosen one. I was no longer his wife; I was their caterer. Ignoring her, I walked past her to where Leo was sitting on the couch and placed the folder on the coffee table. “Sign this,” I said, my voice even. “And I’ll cook.” He didn’t even glance at the document. He just scrawled his name on the signature line. “Aren’t you afraid it’s our divorce papers?” I asked. He let out a derisive laugh. “And so what if it is? Is that more important than making Zoe happy? Besides,” he said, looking me up and down with disdain, “you’re pregnant. You wouldn’t dare divorce me. Who else would want you?” His casual cruelty sealed something inside me. I said nothing more and walked into the kitchen. This would be the last meal I ever cooked for him. There was a time he loved my cooking. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that love had curdled into annoyance. As I worked, the sound of their laughter drifted in from the living room, each peal grating against my nerves. By the time the meal was ready, my body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. I felt dizzy, my vision tunneling. Leo looked at me, not with concern, but with contempt. “You’re going to faint from making one meal? Pregnancy has made you so fragile. Zoe has cramps and still goes to the office every day without a word of complaint. You sit at home all day. You have no idea what real work is.” It wouldn’t matter what I did. In his eyes, there was only Zoe. She came over, placing a hand on my arm in a cloying gesture of support. “Tessa, you must be exhausted. Thank you so much. Oh, your shirt is dirty. Let me take you to my room so you can change into something fresh.” She led me into her bedroom. The floor was littered with more than a dozen used condom wrappers. Zoe blushed prettily. “Oops. My boyfriend is just a little… intense.” She gave me a sly, pitying look. “Is Leo that wild with you, too?” My face went cold. So this was the real reason she brought me in here. This was her trophy room. I had always believed Leo when he said he was too tired from work. The truth was, he was never too tired. He just didn’t want me. Every time I tried to initiate anything, he would call me disgusting. Our baby had been the result of a single, drunken accident. I looked at the mess on the floor and gave her a cold smile. “At that frequency, you might want to worry if your boyfriend will have anything left in a few years.” The color drained from her face. Back at the dining table, Leo was fawning over her, piling food onto her plate. “Here, Zoe, eat up.” She giggled, batting her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Leo, you spoil me! You’re the best boss in the world!” Then, she turned to me, scooping a large spoonful of crab roe into my bowl. “Thank you again for cooking for me today, Tessa.” I stared at the bowl, my chopsticks frozen in my hand. Zoe’s face crumpled into a mask of hurt. “Did… did I do something to upset you, Tessa? Why aren’t you eating?” Leo’s face darkened. He stood up and slapped me, hard, across the face. “Tessa, don’t push your luck.” Before I could react, he grabbed the back of my head and forced my face down into the bowl, shoving the crab roe into my mouth. I couldn’t even struggle. By the time he let go, an intense itching had already started, and angry red welts were erupting across my skin. Years ago, Leo had promised me, sworn to me, that he would always remember my severe shellfish allergy. He promised he would never let me near it. Now, he was the one forcing it down my throat. Zoe, who had been smiling a moment before, recoiled in theatrical horror. “Leo! Look at her! That’s so gross! Does she have some kind of disease?” Leo saw the hives covering my face and neck and dragged me to my feet, his face a mask of revulsion. He shoved me out the apartment door. “You’re disgusting, Tessa.” He kicked me away from the door. “Don’t get her place dirty.” I grabbed at his pant leg, my throat closing, each breath a desperate gasp. “Leo,” I rasped, “call an ambulance. Please.” The only answer was the sound of the door clicking shut. Luckily, a neighbor saw me and called 911. Later, as I was waiting at the hospital pharmacy to pick up my prescription, I saw them. Leo and Zoe. Leo shot me a look of pure annoyance. Zoe, clinging to his arm, smirked at me. “I told Leo it was just a tiny cut, but he insisted on bringing me to the ER to get it bandaged. He was so worried it would get infected.” Leo stroked her hair, his voice dripping with concern. “That wasn’t a tiny cut, it was bleeding.” My own bleeding, the bleeding he’d never seen from the life I’d lost, didn’t even register to him. He turned his attention back to me, his voice sharp. “It’s just an allergic reaction. Are you still here?” Thank god he didn’t know I’d had an abortion. I couldn’t imagine what he would have done. As if granting a great charity, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait and take you to your ultrasound check-up.” He walked off to the registration desk without waiting for my reply. Zoe leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “He’s so good to you, isn’t he? But if he were really so good to you, would he have spent New Year’s watching fireworks with me? Would he be living at my place?” She smiled, a slow, cruel curving of her lips. “You can’t win, Tessa. He loves me now. You’re just the old, pregnant hag he’s tired of. He even told me,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, “that the stretch marks on your stomach were ugly. That they made him sick just looking at them.” My mind went blank. The marks that he found so disgusting were the only proof my child had ever existed in this world. Zoe gave me a triumphant little smile, then suddenly slapped herself, twice, hard across the face. She burst into tears just as Leo was walking back. “Tessa, please! I swear I didn’t seduce Leo! Please don’t hit me!” she sobbed. “I’ll stay away from him from now on, I promise! I won’t get in your way!” Leo saw her red cheeks and his face contorted with a rage so pure it was terrifying. He stared at me, his voice a low growl. “Tessa, is this how you bully Zoe the second I turn my back?” He took a step forward and kicked me, hard, in the stomach.

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I came home a day early from a year-long work assignment, eager to surprise my husband and our three-year-old son. But when I pushed open the door, the surprise was mine. I saw my son on all fours, scuttling across the hardwood floor like an animal, gnawing on a piece of raw meat. My husband, Liam, was holding up his phone, broadcasting it all on a private, encrypted live stream. “He can catch a live chicken with his bare hands now!” Liam narrated with a showman’s grin. “Come on, viewers, let’s see those donations light up the screen!” A scream tore from my throat as I lunged for my child, but Liam shoved me back, hard. His old flame, Chloe, who was perched beside him, offered a sickeningly sweet piece of advice. “Ava, honey, don’t be mad at Liam,” she cooed. “This is for Leo’s own good. We’re teaching him real-world survival skills. That’s invaluable, isn’t it?” Liam wrapped an arm around her waist, his smile turning into a sneer directed at me. “Chloe is a professional survivalist. Our son is better off learning from her than from a mother who’s gone half the year.” Chloe added, her voice a soft poison, “Kids today are just so coddled. This is character-building.” I looked at my son’s eyes—eyes that held nothing but a feral glint—and with a cold resolve, I dialed my brother’s number. My brother, the Green Beret. “Rhys,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “They’re turning your nephew into a beast for a livestream. Get your guys. Come get us.” Fine. If they worship the law of the jungle, I’ll let them experience what it’s like to be at the bottom of the food chain. 1 The moment I hung up, Liam snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it against the floor. “Are you insane? What the hell was that?” he hissed, his face a mask of fury. “Your precious brother died three years ago! Who did you think you were calling to save you?” I didn’t tell him that my brother, the one he thought was killed in action, was actually commanding an elite Special Forces unit from a black site deep in the borderlands. Seeing my silence, Liam scoffed. “Everything I do is for our son’s benefit! Look at Leo—he’s strong, he’s tough. This is how you build resilience!” Beside him, Chloe chimed in with her false sincerity. “He’s right, Ava. Everyone is talking about ‘primal parenting’ now. If you’re not hard on them, the world will eat them alive.” She preened, continuing her pitch. “And the stream is for his future, too. It’s building his brand. Leo has hundreds of thousands of followers already. He’s an influencer, on track to be the next Bear Grylls! You have to trust my professional expertise.” I ignored their twisted logic. My gaze found my son cowering in the corner, and I softened my voice. “Leo? Look at Mommy. Mommy’s home.” But the child only crouched lower, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He didn’t respond to his name. His eyes were bloodshot, wild. Yet, as they met mine, for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of something gentle, something familiar, pierced through the feral madness. That flicker instantly reminded me of a horrific video I’d stumbled upon online months ago, a viral clip titled The Wolf Cub. It showed a naked, filth-caked child fighting with stray dogs in the mud over a scrap of meat. The brutality of it was seared into my memory. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I pointed a trembling finger at them. “For his own good? Primal parenting? That viral video… The Wolf Cub… that’s Leo, isn’t it?” Chloe’s eyes lit up with a disturbing pride. “Oh, you saw that? I knew he was getting famous! The engagement on that clip was incredible!” She turned to Liam, shaking his arm excitedly. “See, Liam? I told you! At this rate, he’ll hit a million followers by the end of the year!” Liam pulled her closer, his eyes soft with adoration. “It’s all thanks to you, Chloe. Leaving Leo’s education in your hands was the best decision I ever made.” Something inside me shattered. “You monsters!” I grabbed a heavy glass vase and lunged at Chloe, aiming for her face. The moment the vase left my hand, a blinding pain exploded in my abdomen. Liam had kicked me, sending me crashing to the floor. The impact felt like my organs had been rearranged. Chloe, clutching a shallow cut on her cheek, burst into theatrical tears. “Liam, why can’t she see we’re trying to help? We’re doing this for Leo’s future!” Liam’s gaze fell on the trickle of blood on Chloe’s face, and his expression turned murderous. He kicked me again, a brutal, full-force blow that made me curl into a ball, gasping for air. “You ungrateful bitch, Ava! Chloe has poured her heart and soul into making our son strong, and this is how you repay her?” Suddenly, a furious snarl erupted from the corner. Leo, my little boy, launched himself across the room and sank his teeth into Liam’s leg. “Agh! You little animal!” Liam roared in pain. He grabbed Leo by the arm and flung him against the wall with sickening force. “LEO!” A terror I’d never known ripped through me. I scrambled across the floor, ignoring the fire in my ribs, and threw my body over my son’s small, trembling form. The livestream was still running. The comment section scrolled at a frantic pace: “HOLY SHIT! Plot twist! The cub protects his mom!” “We got blood! This is what I’m talking about! So raw!” “Donations coming in! This is the content I paid for!” “Yeah! It’s not primal training without a little blood!” Chloe saw the comments and the soaring viewer count, her eyes gleaming with a manic light. “Liam, look! It’s a new record! They love it!” she squealed. “We should strike while the iron is hot. Let’s add a bonus stream: ‘Wolf Cub vs. The Hunger Hound.’ It’ll break the internet!” The chat exploded with “YES!”, “DO IT!”, and “LET’S GOOOO!” “No! Liam! Chloe! Please, I’m begging you! Don’t do this!” I sobbed, clutching Leo tighter. The numbers on the screen had made Liam’s eyes feverish. He loomed over me, his voice dripping with cold contempt. “A soft mother makes a weak son. Open your eyes and see the incredible results of my methods.” In the corner, Leo’s little body was wracked with uncontrollable tremors, his eyes wide with pure terror. Liam barked an order toward the door. “Get in here!” Two large men, security guards, entered the room. “Take the young master to the training area,” Liam commanded. “NO! Don’t you touch my child!” I screamed, trying to shield him. The guards ripped me away, pinning me down as one of them lifted Leo into the air like a sack of potatoes. Leo kicked and writhed, terrified whimpers escaping his throat. “Let him go! You’re not human, Liam! And you, Chloe, you venomous snake! You’ll both pay for this!” I was slammed against the wall, held fast by two sets of hands, able to do nothing but scream curses. Liam’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Gag her,” he said to the guards. “I don’t want her noise ruining the stream or upsetting Chloe.” A filthy rag was shoved into my mouth. My protests turned into muffled, agonized sobs, tears streaming down my face. One guard carried Leo to a large iron cage in the center of the room and tossed him inside. Leo landed hard with a cry of pain and immediately scrambled into the farthest corner. Chloe clapped her hands, her face alight with excitement. “And now, for tonight’s main event! ‘Wolf Cub vs. The Hunger Hound!’” Another guard entered, leading a snarling, emaciated-looking dog on a thick chain. The livestream chat went into a frenzy. “Here we go! The ultimate showdown!” “Place your bets! I’m putting $100 on the dog!” “Nah, I’m with the cub! Did you see him bite his dad?” “Rocket donation sent! Let’s get this show on the road!” Chloe, watching the donations pour in, announced in a high-pitched, carnival-barker voice, “Alright, family! The moment you’ve been waiting for! The odds are open! On the left, ‘Wolf Cub’ at 1.5. On the right, ‘The Hound’ at 1.8! Get those gifts in to support your champion!” A guard unlocked the cage, shoved the dog inside, and slammed the heavy door shut. In the confined space, the dog fixed its eyes on Leo, a predatory growl vibrating in its chest as it advanced. Leo was shaking from head to toe, but pure survival instinct took over. He dropped to all fours, bared his teeth, and let out a surprisingly ferocious roar of his own. “That’s it! Get him!” Chloe cheered from outside the cage. The starved dog lunged. Leo dodged, rolling to the side with an agility that spoke of horrifying practice. This was not his first time playing this “game.” A brutal dance of predator and prey began inside the cage. It was a scene from hell. The livestream was a chaotic blur of gift animations and donations that almost completely obscured the screen. The comments were scrolling too fast to read. “YES! So wild!” “Go for the throat! DO IT!” “This is way better than a dogfight!” “Take my money! This is epic!” My mouth was gagged, my body restrained, my heart shattering as I watched. My son. My baby, who should be in preschool learning his ABCs, was fighting for his life against a vicious animal in a cage. And I could do nothing but watch. I thrashed against the guards, slamming my body into them with all my might, a desperate, hopeless sound trapped in my throat as tears blurred my vision. Liam watched the revenue counter on the stream climb, a satisfied smile on his face. He showed no sign of recognizing the child in the cage as his own flesh and blood. Chloe was on her feet, giving a giddy, play-by-play commentary. The moment the dog’s jaws clamped down on Leo’s calf, his shriek of agony broke through my despair. A surge of adrenaline, of pure maternal fury, gave me impossible strength. I ripped free from the guards’ hold. Liam’s eyes darkened. “She wants to be with her son so badly?” he sneered at the guards. “Let her. Maybe she can help our little champion.” The guards obeyed instantly. One of them opened the cage door and kicked me viciously in the back, sending me sprawling inside. I landed hard, and the dog’s attention immediately shifted to me. It bared its teeth, saliva dripping from its jaws, and stalked toward me. It lunged, aiming for my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the tearing pain. It never came. I heard a pained yelp from the dog, not me. My eyes flew open. Leo, my tiny, wounded son, had thrown himself onto the dog’s back, sinking his teeth deep into its neck. The animal thrashed wildly, its sharp claws raking bloody lines across Leo’s body. Seeing my son covered in blood, a primal power exploded within me. My vision went red. I scrambled up from the floor, my fists clenched, and brought them down on the dog’s head with every ounce of strength I possessed. Once. Twice. The dog went limp, collapsing to the floor in a twitching heap. My knuckles were raw, my arms splattered with blood—I didn’t know if it was the dog’s or my own. I was panting, gasping for air as I pulled Leo into my arms, holding him tight. He trembled violently. He lifted his small face, streaked with blood and tears, and his lips moved, trying to form the word ‘Mama.’ But after so long being trained to be an animal, the ability to speak was gone. All he could produce were pained whimpers and grunts. In that moment, my heart wasn’t just broken; it was annihilated. Outside the cage, Chloe was applauding. “What a touching display of maternal love!” she chirped. “I think having Ava join the streams will be great for ratings!” Liam put his arm around her. “You’re right, Chloe. Since she’s so bad at raising a child, she can be re-educated right along with him.” The livestream chat was a mix of people complaining about losing their bets and others cheering the dramatic turn of events. But one comment stood out: “This is too much. That’s his wife and kid…” Liam saw it, and his brow furrowed. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. Chloe, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. She snuggled into his side, her voice returning to its soft, manipulative tone. “You know, Liam, maybe the training was a little intense today. We have to be scientific about this. Why don’t we let them rest for now?” Looking at her, so seemingly thoughtful and caring, the last ember of Liam’s conscience was extinguished. He looked back at me in the cage, his expression hardening into pure disgust. “See? Chloe knows what she’s doing. She understands the science behind it. If you’d been a better mother, none of this would be necessary.” With that, he ended the stream. He ordered a guard to toss a cheap first-aid kit, a bottle of water, and some bread into the cage, then he turned and left, his arm securely around Chloe, without a single backward glance. I held my trembling son, my own heart bleeding as I used the crude supplies to clean his wounds. I don’t know how much time passed as I rocked Leo, trying to give him some sense of safety. Then, I heard footsteps. Chloe had returned, alone. She stood outside the cage, the mask of sweet concern gone, replaced by a look of undisguised, triumphant malice. She looked down on me as if I were dirt beneath her shoe. “Ava,” she began, her voice dripping with venom, “I want you to know something. I’m going to train your son until he’s nothing more than a feral animal who crawls and howls, a tool to make me rich and famous.” I stared up at her, my eyes burning with hatred. Her smile widened. “And soon enough, you’ll be just like him. A broken thing. A pet, begging for scraps at my feet.” “Why?” I rasped. “Why are you doing this?” I must have hit a nerve. Her face twisted into a mask of pure rage. “Why? Because of you! You and that little bastard! You stole my place as Mrs. Donovan! He stole the place of the rightful heir—my future child!” She laughed, a hysterical, unhinged sound. Leaning down, she pressed her face close to the bars. “Just wait. Tomorrow, you’ll get a front-row seat to see all the wonderful new skills your son has learned.” Chloe walked away, her laughter echoing in the cavernous room. I pulled Leo closer. He wrapped his small arms around me, as if trying to transfer his own tiny spark of strength to me. I had no idea what new hell tomorrow would bring. I could only pray, over and over, a silent mantra in the dark. Rhys, hurry. Please, be fast. Leo finally cried himself to sleep in my arms. It was a fitful, troubled sleep, punctuated by whimpers and sudden jerks. I stroked his hair, my heart aching as I looked at the tear tracks on his dirty face. I didn’t sleep. Early the next morning, the cage door was thrown open. Several guards stormed in, forcefully separating me from Leo. He let out a sharp, animalistic cry, reaching for me as they dragged him away. I fought with everything I had, but they pinned me down easily. A large television screen outside the cage flickered to life, showing a live feed. The image was of Leo, a chain around his neck, being led by Chloe through a public park. He was naked, filthy, walking on all fours like a dog. His eyes were wide with confusion and fear. People stared, pointed, and pulled out their phones to record the horrific spectacle. “What are you looking at?” Chloe snapped at the camera, as if addressing the gawking strangers. “This is a new educational philosophy—re-wilding! We’re helping him connect with his natural instincts! You people just don’t get it!” The scene changed. Leo was now in a more wooded area, skillfully climbing a tree to pick at some unfamiliar berries. Moments later, he was being herded toward a dumpster, forced to scavenge for food amidst rotting garbage. Chloe and Liam provided commentary, praising his “precious survival skills.” Occasionally, a concerned bystander would intervene. “How can you treat a child like that? That’s abuse!” Liam would step forward, wrapping a protective arm around Chloe, and rebut them with sanctimonious pride. “This is our educational philosophy! Primal parenting! Don’t criticize what you don’t understand. Look how strong my son is! How agile! Can your kid do that?” I watched the screen, watching my son stripped of his humanity, and my tears finally ran dry. All that was left was a hollow cavern in my chest, filled with blood and hate. The memories came flooding back, sharp and painful. When I was pregnant, Liam had been so excited. He would press his ear to my belly to listen for movement. He’d been as giddy as a child the first time Leo kicked him. When Leo was born, he held the tiny bundle with trembling hands, his eyes red with emotion, and swore he would give us the world. Back then, his world was me and our son. He was gentle, attentive, perfect. Everything changed when Chloe, his high school sweetheart, came back to town. He started finding fault in everything I did. He started parroting her twisted theories about modern children being “too soft” and needing “primal training.” And I was so stupid. So trusting. I thought it was just a phase, a misguided educational philosophy. I believed that deep down, he still loved his son. I even took his advice and accepted the long-term overseas project, thinking the distance might help us cool down and reconnect… How could I have been so blind? I had personally walked my son into the hell these two monsters created. I hated Chloe for her venom, but I hated Liam more for his betrayal and cruelty. Most of all, I hated myself. It was my failure to see the truth, my lack of vigilance, my absence, that had allowed this to happen. Guilt and fury were devouring me whole. I watched the screen and beat my fists against the bars of my cage. Rhys, please, save us! Just then, the image on the screen shook violently. Liam was raising a whip, but his arm was stopped mid-air, caught in the iron grip of a large hand wearing a tactical glove. The feed cut to black. Less than thirty seconds later, the front door of the villa didn’t open—it exploded inward. Dozens of heavily armed, black-clad soldiers stormed the room. “Hands where I can see them! Now!”

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It was two in the morning, and my phone was having a seizure. I finally fumbled for it on my nightstand, the screen a blinding white in the darkness. Mrs. Wallace. Of course. “Ava,” she slurred, her voice thick with what sounded like wine and entitlement. “The thermostat in the rendering. It’s set to 24 degrees Celsius. The numerology is all wrong. Bad energy. Make it 26.” For a second, my sleep-fogged brain struggled to connect. Then it clicked. The full-home design commission. I forced my eyes open, the grit in them almost audible. “Of course, Mrs. Wallace. I’ll make that change first thing in the morning.” Ten minutes later, a FaceTime request lit up the room. I let it ring. It stopped, then immediately started again. I sighed and accepted. Her face, slick with some expensive night cream, filled the screen. “The entryway,” she commanded, pointing a manicured finger somewhere off-screen. “The shoes you placed by the door. I would never wear those. Fix it.” I mumbled an incoherent agreement. A few minutes passed. Another FaceTime call. “The windowsill,” she snapped. “The planter is white. My husband prefers blue. A cobalt blue. And the pattern on it needs to be symmetrical.” I fought the primal urge to hang up. “Mrs. Wallace,” I said, my voice strained with forced patience, “these are just placeholder details for the initial rendering. You’ll be able to arrange the decor however you like once the renovation is complete.” I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, a sound ripped through the quiet of my apartment. BAM. BAM. BAM. Someone was pounding on my door. 1 All traces of sleep vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. I crept out of bed and peered through the peephole. My blood ran cold. It was her. Sharon Wallace. I unlatched the door, and before I could even process the shock, she was towering over me, radiating fury. “From 2:00 AM to 4:43 AM, I initiated 132 video calls. Why didn’t you answer?” The sheer audacity of the question left me speechless. “Don’t you dare use ‘I was sleeping’ as an excuse,” she sneered. “Your job is to be on call. 24/7.” I glanced at my phone. The call log was a solid, unrelenting block of her name. A hundred and thirty-two calls. Then driving across the city to hammer on my door. The dam of my professionalism broke. “I am not obligated to answer your calls in the middle of the night, Mrs. Wallace. That is my personal time.” Her face contorted. “Personal time?” she screeched. “The client isn’t resting, so what gives you the right to rest?” She pushed past me into my apartment. “Now, open your laptop and make these changes exactly as I say.” She began rattling off a list. “One, the desk mouse is wired. I use a wireless mouse. Change it. Two, turn off that accent lighting in the living room. Are you trying to run up my electricity bill? Three, the fruit bowl on the coffee table. Pears? Pears are for farewells. Are you trying to jinx my marriage? Change them to pomegranates. For abundance.” She finally paused, glaring at me. “You have ten minutes. Send it to me for review.” That was it. I was done. “You are my client,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You do not have the right to give me orders, and you certainly do not have the right to show up at my home and pound on my door.” In all my years working my way up in my family’s business, I’d seen my share of difficult clients. But this level of aggressive, unhinged entitlement was new. “Are you leaving now, or should I wait for the police to escort you out?” I raised my phone, my thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 shortcut. She let out a string of curses and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I thought the harassment would end there. The next day, I went into the office early to revise her files. The moment I opened the design software, a video call came through from her. “Well, look who’s alive,” she chirped. “I told you to make those changes at five this morning. What have you been doing?” Before I could answer, she cut me off. “I’m going to watch you work. Go on. Faster!” I clenched my jaw. I am the daughter of the CEO of this entire corporation. The only reason I was here, hiding my identity and taking this abuse, was to understand the company from the ground up. On my screen, Sharon Wallace was lounging on a plush sofa, a green mask on her face, pointing at the design. “The plant in the living room. The third leaf from the top has a spot on it. Get rid of it.” I said nothing, but my internal monologue was a stream of pure venom. “And white flowers in the entryway? Are you trying to curse me? Change them to roses!” I took a deep breath and swapped the lilies for roses. Then we got to the master bedroom. Her eyes narrowed. She pointed a trembling finger at the pillows on the king-sized bed. “You bitch, Ava!” she screamed. “You want my husband and me to break up so you can crawl into his bed, don’t you!” My patience snapped. “And what evidence do you have for that insane accusation?” “Evidence? The pillows! They’re green, and they’re so far apart! What kind of sick game are you playing? I see right through you!” I slammed my mouse down on the desk. “My sick game? You’re the one who requested a sage green linen set! You’re the one who said a wider spacing on the pillows looked more ‘aesthetically pleasing’ for a California king! Have you lost your mind, Sharon?” I ended the call and silenced my phone. The world was finally, blessedly quiet. The quiet lasted less than five minutes. My supervisor, Mr. Davies, burst into the office, his face a thundercloud. He marched straight to my desk. “Ava, who the hell gave you the nerve to upset Mrs. Wallace?” he boomed. “You will call her, on video, and apologize immediately. Or you can pack your things and get out.” Apologize? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I suppressed my rage, pulled up the security footage from my apartment building’s hallway, and showed him the log of 132 missed calls. “Sharon Wallace harassed me all night, and when I didn’t answer, she showed up at my apartment and tried to break down my door,” I explained calmly. “Just now, she accused me of trying to sleep with her husband. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s her.” Smack. Davies slapped his hand on my desk, the veins in his forehead bulging. “If you want to keep your job, you will apologize. Now. Otherwise, you’re fired.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss. “And your final paycheck? That five thousand dollars goes straight to Mrs. Wallace as compensation for your attitude.” Every word was a command. I felt my composure cracking. I looked him dead in the eye. “Dream on.” A cold, ugly smile spread across his face. “You’re forcing my hand, Ava.” He turned and raised his voice to address the entire office. “Listen up, everyone! Since Ava refuses to take responsibility for her actions, the whole department will pay the price! For every hour she refuses to apologize, five hundred dollars will be deducted from each of your paychecks!” The room erupted in groans and angry murmurs. “Just say you’re sorry, Ava,” someone whined. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t make us all suffer for it.” Greg, from two desks over, shot to his feet. “You want to be a martyr? Fine. But don’t drag us down with you. Some of us have mortgages to pay!” Then Quinn, who sat next to me, the one I’d always considered a friend, stood up. “Guys, don’t be too hard on Ava,” she said in a placating tone. “She just… only ever thinks about herself.” She looked at me with pity. “She’s not trying to get us all fined. She’s just petty like that.” Her words were a slap in the face. I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “Quinn, if I recall correctly, you only got this job because my family pulled some strings, didn’t you?” Her face went pale. “I have the power to get you in here, and I have the power to get you thrown out.” She sank back into her chair, her head bowed. I looked around at the faces of my colleagues, the people I’d covered shifts for, helped with deadlines, brought coffee for. The people now glaring at me as if I were the enemy. My heart turned to ice. In front of everyone, I ripped my employee ID from its lanyard and tossed it on the desk. If the choice was between screwing over my colleagues and screwing over myself, I’d rather go back to corporate headquarters. Back to the position my father had waiting for me. “I quit.” Davies strode over, a smug look on his face. “Ava, Ava, Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “A girl like you, with no connections, no special talent. Who’s going to hire you after you leave us? This firm has been good to you. Out there? You won’t even be able to afford rent.” I had lost all patience. I turned and walked toward the door. Let someone else have this godforsaken job. Just as my hand touched the handle, my phone rang. It was the corporate Compliance Department. “Ms. Scott?” a stern voice said. “Per the request of your client, Mrs. Sharon Wallace, you are required to complete her design draft as specified. Failure to do so will result in a breach of contract, and you will be liable for a penalty of two hundred thousand dollars.” I laughed in disbelief. “She’s the one making baseless demands, and you’re siding with her without even investigating?” It seemed the entire department needed a complete overhaul. I was about to hang up when the voice on the other end added, “And given your history of insubordination, this penalty will be passed to your official mentor to be paid out of his medical leave fund.” My blood ran cold. William. “This has nothing to do with him!” William was the only person in this entire office who had been genuinely kind to me. He was in the hospital, recovering from a sudden illness. He didn’t have family money; he had a wife and two kids. Without that fund, he’d be ruined. I couldn’t let a good man suffer because of me. I swallowed my pride and my rage. “Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll finish the project before I resign.” The person on the other end chuckled. “Wise choice.” They had no idea what I was really thinking. A department this corrupt didn’t need an overhaul. It needed to be dismantled, and every single person in it needed to be fired for gross negligence. I walked back to my desk. Davies smirked when he saw me. “Changed your mind? I told you. Someone like you could never survive without this company.” He then placed a small, white device on the corner of my desk—a pet monitoring camera. Before I could ask, a shrill, tinny voice erupted from its speaker. “Ava! What are you waiting for? Get back to work!” My phone pinged. An email from Sharon. I opened it. It was a 20-page document titled “Working Protocol.” I scanned the list, each rule more insane than the last. If your hand leaves the mouse for more than three seconds during work hours, this month’s performance bonus is forfeited. Bathroom breaks may not exceed three minutes. Any longer will be considered an unauthorized absence. All messages from me must be answered within 20 seconds, including nights, weekends, and holidays. When communicating with me, you must address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace.’ The final rule, on page twenty, was the kicker. If any of the above protocols are violated, you must kneel on the floor and continue your work until I am satisfied. What fresh hell is this? I rolled my eyes and deleted the file. Trying my best to ignore the camera spying on me, I quickly finished a new version of the design and sent it to Sharon. A few seconds later, her voice shrieked from the camera. “Ava! You did not address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace’ in your email!” The command followed instantly. “Kneel! Now! And state the reason for your violation!” Her voice was so loud that the entire office turned to stare. Davies rushed over and put a heavy hand on my shoulder, his face beaded with sweat. “Just do it, Ava! Are you trying to get us all fined again?” Sharon’s voice, dripping with smug satisfaction, floated from the speaker. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. In here, I am the law. And when you break the law, you get punished.” The threat was clear. “I’ll count to three. If you’re not on your knees, your entire company will be kneeling with you.” She laughed, a low, cruel sound. “What else is a bottom-feeder like you good for, anyway? Your only purpose is to kneel and keep me happy.” That was it. I couldn’t take another second. Helping my father, learning the business—none of it was worth this level of degradation. But if I didn’t kneel, all these innocent—well, mostly innocent—people would be dragged down with me. “Three… two…” I snatched the heavy ceramic mug from my desk. With a roar of pure frustration, I hurled it at the camera. It shattered on impact. “Kneel for my ancestors!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Who the hell do you think you are to command me? Fuck your rules! I’ve had it with you, you entitled, sadistic bitch! Get the hell out of my life!” I yanked the camera’s cord from the wall and threw the useless plastic on the floor. The office was dead silent. Davies’s face was a mottled purple. “Ava,” he hissed, “do you have any idea who you just insulted? That is the fiancée of the richest man in this city’s son!” An older employee, who had been quiet until now, stood up and pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’re insane, Ava! Don’t you know Mrs. Wallace could have us all blacklisted from the industry with a single phone call? You’ve ruined us! All of us!” Quinn jumped to her feet, her face twisted in rage. “You troublemaker! The future daughter-in-law of Robert Sinclair! Are you happy now that you’ve dragged us all into your mess?” She swung her arm, aiming to slap me across the face. I caught her wrist in a vice grip and twisted. She cried out in pain. “The son of the city’s wealthiest man,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You mean Leo Sinclair?” Davies froze, then let out a derisive snort. “So, now you realize who you’ve crossed?” I nodded slowly and pulled out my phone, opening my photo gallery to a recent family picture. In it, my brother had his arm slung casually around my shoulders. Standing behind us, beaming, was the man they all feared: Robert Sinclair. “Let me properly introduce myself,” I said, turning the screen for them to see. “My name is Ava Sinclair. And Leo? He’s my idiot younger brother.” The office was silent for a full thirty seconds. Then, it erupted in laughter. “Keep lying,” Davies choked out, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I could photoshop something more convincing than that.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, Ms. Sinclair. If Robert Sinclair is your father, call him right now. If he shows up, we’ll all apologize to you. On our knees. We’ll even slap ourselves ten times each.” I smiled grimly and dialed my father. “Dad, it’s me—” CRASH! The office door flew open, kicked in with tremendous force. My phone was snatched from my hand and smashed against the floor. Sharon Wallace stood there, flanked by two burly men who looked like hired thugs. “You worthless piece of trash!” she shrieked, her face a mask of fury. “I gave you the honor of kneeling for me, and you dare to curse me?” She lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. I was forced to look at her two goons. “She broke the rules, and she defied me,” Sharon said to them. “Tell me, what do we do with lowlife scum like this?” “She needs to be taught a lesson, Mrs. Wallace!” they chanted in unison. I tried to break free, but one of them kicked the back of my knee, sending me crashing to the floor. The other pinned my arms behind my back. My kneecaps hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. I struggled, but their grip was like iron. Davies scurried to offer Sharon a chair. She sat, crossing her legs, looking down at me like a queen surveying a particularly disgusting insect. She extended one leg, the razor-sharp heel of her stiletto pressing into the back of my head. “Ava, since you can’t seem to learn the rules, I guess I’ll have to teach them to you myself.” At her nod, one goon twisted my arm while the other tightened his grip on my hair. A bolt of agony shot through me, and my body went limp, pitching forward. Thump. My forehead hit the tile. The world exploded in a flash of black and white. “Again,” Sharon’s vicious voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “Until I’m satisfied.” She pressed her heel down, grinding it into the floor, my head trapped beneath it. The pain was so intense I thought I would pass out. Thump. “What’s wrong, Ava?” she taunted. “Where’s all that fight? Where’s that backbone? Look at you now, kneeling like a pathetic dog.” Thump. Thump. Thump. The goon slammed my head against the floor again and again. A warm stream of liquid trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision. I bit my lip, tasting blood, and forced myself to look up at her. “When my dad gets here,” I squeezed the words through clenched teeth, “you’re finished.” Sharon froze for a second, then burst into maniacal laughter. “Your dad? What, is he some construction worker from a job site down the street?” Her eyes glittered with a new, venomous idea. “Fine. Let him come. Let him see what his daughter really is.” She leisurely stood up and retrieved a utility knife from her purse. I tried to turn my head away, but the goon held me fast. Click. The blade slid out, glinting under the office lights. “A worthless bitch like you should have it carved on your face for the whole world to see.” The cold metal traced a path along my cheek, sending a tremor of pure terror through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. It’s over. It’s really over… The instant before the blade could cut— BANG! The main door of the firm was thrown open with such force it slammed against the wall. A powerful voice, filled with a familiar, grounding authority, echoed through the room. “You dare lay a hand on my daughter? Grant, liquidate every asset tied to the Wallace name. Terminate all our contracts with their family’s companies. Immediately.”

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Fifteen years of being child-free by choice, and my husband has a secret son. More than one, it turns out. The other woman isn’t in a rush to get a ring. She’s played her cards perfectly. She knows I don’t have children, and in the eyes of the law, his children have a right to his inheritance. She doesn’t need to be his wife. Her kids will still inherit the empire my husband and I bled for, the one we spent half our lives building. I thought about this for a long time. If I divorce him, I can walk away with the majority of our assets, but what’s left would be more than enough for them to live on for generations. It would be letting them off too easy. If that’s the case, then bankruptcy it is. I’m on my own. As long as I don’t starve, I’ll be fine. Let’s just see how they manage to raise his precious children when the money runs out. 1 By the time I found out about my husband Trevor’s affair, his son was about to start preschool, and a second pregnancy was already in the works. The reason it took me so long to discover the truth is that not a single person in Trevor’s family is a decent human being. For years, they’ve all conspired to help him cover his tracks. The only reason I found out at all was because the other woman was pregnant again—this time, with twins—and Trevor accompanied her to a doctor’s appointment. Someone sent me a photo. An anonymous text from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a picture of Trevor walking into the maternity ward of a downtown hospital. When I saw it, I just stared at my phone for two full minutes. The anger was there, a hot coil in my stomach, but before it could spring, a cold, hard rationality clamped down on it. After all these years clawing my way up in the business world, I was long past the age of impulsive reactions. I wouldn’t confront him without knowing the full story. I paid a top-tier private investigator a small fortune. In just two days, every secret Trevor had hidden from me was laid bare. Four years ago, he had started seeing a recent college graduate. Three years ago, she gave birth to their son. And now, she was pregnant again. Twins. It suddenly made sense why Trevor’s mother had stopped her passive-aggressive nagging about grandchildren these past few years. I’d assumed she’d finally given up, accepting that we were getting older. The truth was, she already had the grandchild she so desperately wanted. 2 Once the affair was confirmed, I suppressed the volcano of rage inside me and didn’t say a word to Trevor. His infidelity was a fact. Screaming, crying, throwing things—none of it would change what he had done. What I needed to figure out now was how to maximize my own interests in the coming divorce. In the world of adults, self-interest has to come first. I found a quiet hotel bar downtown and spent the entire afternoon replaying the fifteen years of our marriage in my head. It was Trevor who had wanted to be child-free in the first place. I found it grimly ironic that he was the one to regret it. In the early years, when we were starting our company, we had nothing. No foundation, no connections. Even our families were less than supportive. To say we struggled would be an understatement. We ate, slept, and breathed that business, pouring every ounce of ourselves into it. And now, after all that sacrifice, the moment we could finally breathe, the first thing he does is find a younger woman to give him the children he told me he never wanted. The bitterness of it was like acid in my throat. I spent that afternoon on the phone with three different lawyers. The consensus was bleak. We never signed a prenuptial or postnuptial agreement. Even though Trevor was the one who cheated, forcing him to walk away with nothing would be nearly impossible unless he agreed to it. That path was a dead end. I needed another plan. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Trevor. He was asking why I wasn’t home yet. I glanced at the time. It was after ten. For the past few years, despite having a secret second family, he had maintained a flawless facade. Aside from the occasional late night for a “client dinner,” he was always home by ten. That was one of the main reasons I’d never suspected a thing. I’d forgotten a simple truth: a man who truly wants to cheat doesn’t need much time. By the time I got home, it was almost eleven. Trevor was on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. When he heard the door open, he looked up. For a man in his forties, he was in good shape—no gut, no bald spot. He had that mature, steady look that time can bestow. But I saw it. The flicker of his thumb as he instinctively locked his phone and placed it face down on the coffee table. It was a tiny detail I would have never noticed before. Now, it was magnified, glaring at me under a spotlight. Once suspicion takes root, every shadow looks like a monster. He walked over to me, his expression as normal as ever. He took my purse from my hand, his smile gentle. “Hey, you’re late. Long day?” For a second, I was stunned. How could a person do something so fundamentally destructive to a marriage and still not show a single flicker of guilt? For four, almost five years, he had hidden this from me. The man I shared a bed with had a mind so meticulous, so duplicitous, it made my teeth ache. He must have noticed my silence, because his expression shifted to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” I looked away, forcing myself to remain calm. I shook my head. “Nothing. Just tired.” After more than twenty years together, Trevor knew me too well. He could read the slightest shift in my posture, the smallest change in my tone. But the same was true for me. I knew this wasn’t an accident, him getting caught. It wasn’t a moment of carelessness. He was simply done hiding. Our company was stable, a well-oiled machine. I had weathered all the storms of our startup years with him, and now, someone else was ready to step in and enjoy the calm seas and sunny skies. On what grounds? I managed a few more noncommittal responses, careful not to betray any of the turmoil inside me. Trevor, likely still unaware of what I knew, acted completely normal, though his glances at his phone were a little too frequent. For a middle-aged couple, a quiet, predictable life can be a blessing. But some people can’t stand the quiet. A wave of raw impulse surged through me. I wanted to scream, to throw a lamp, to rake my nails across his handsome, lying face. I wanted to demand, hysterically, why he had betrayed me, betrayed us. For a fleeting, ugly moment, I even wanted to hurt him back in the same way, to have an affair of my own. And then, just as quickly, the wave receded, leaving me cold. The person I had been in that moment felt terrifyingly unfamiliar. Betrayal deserves punishment, but you don’t punish someone else by setting yourself on fire. Trevor was already rotten. I refused to become rotten too. 3 I knew I couldn’t keep up the charade for long, but moving assets takes time. A man who cheats is like a used tissue in a public restroom—disgusting and worthless. The two decades of shared history, the hardships we endured together… all of it became a sunk cost the moment I learned there was a third person in our marriage. And the sunk cost of my marriage to Trevor was devastatingly high. I was nowhere near as composed as I appeared. But the sharp, stabbing pain of the emotional impact was forcing me to become more and more rational. Trevor was a wreck. Our marriage was a wreck. But our company wasn’t. Not yet. Our lives were too deeply intertwined. Pulling one thread would unravel everything. This was far more complicated than simply filing for divorce. About two weeks after I learned the truth, Trevor finally noticed something was wrong. He stood in the doorway of my home office for a long time before finally asking, “Ava… what’s going on with you?” No matter how much I told myself to stay rational, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep next to him. Citing some minor, insignificant disagreement, I had banished him to the guest room for the past fifteen nights. My replies to his texts were clipped and perfunctory. He was a naturally suspicious man; he had probably already guessed the reason for my coldness. But since I hadn’t made a scene, hadn’t screamed at him or gone after the other woman, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question directly. I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe a dull ache. I decided to go on the offensive. “I was looking over the financials. There are some irregularities. A few large expenditures don’t add up.” I knew exactly where that money had gone. And as the one who had spent it, Trevor certainly knew better than I did. His mistress, with one child and two more on the way, needed to be well taken care of. And Trevor, now a successful entrepreneur in his forties, had the capital to keep her satisfied. He froze for a fraction of a second. I saw his right hand, hanging by his side, clench into a tight fist. But he recovered quickly. “That was me,” he said, his voice calm. I lifted my head and met his eyes. He looked away, his explanation laced with guilt. “Mark and I have been making some small private investments over the past couple of years. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t mention it.” Mark was his childhood friend. He would cover for Trevor without hesitation. I didn’t press for details about the “investments.” He didn’t offer any more explanations. He simply closed the door and left. He suspected I knew about his other family, but there was no panic in him. It was as if he was certain I would endure it. And if I didn’t, what could I do? If I filed for divorce now, it would be a gift to him. He would have everything: immense wealth, a loving family, perhaps soon to be three sons. And me? I’d be approaching forty, alone. Even so, there was no point in wasting another second of my life on a man this broken. 4 I found it increasingly unbearable to have Trevor play the role of husband in my life, but the transfer of assets wasn’t complete. The cold war between us had to continue. Maybe he was waiting for me to come to my senses. Maybe he was waiting for me to ask for a divorce. Either way, I had no intention of letting him off easy. Twenty days after I discovered the affair, I met the woman he was keeping. She must have heard something from Trevor, because she decided to provoke me directly, staging a “chance encounter” at the coffee shop I frequented. She was even sitting at my usual table by the window. The P.I. I hired had sent me dozens of photos and videos of her. I recognized her instantly. She was young, probably no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. The clothes she wore, the designer bag at her side—none of it was cheap. Trevor must have sheltered her well; she had a vibrant, almost naive energy about her. Her eyes held a sort of clear-eyed stupidity. For a moment, I thought of myself at twenty-five. Trevor and I had been married for just over a year, living in a cramped, second-floor walk-up on a meager salary. Our clothes were worn for years, faded from countless washes. It was during those years that we scraped together every penny to fund our startup. Late at night, overcome with emotion, he would sometimes swear he would never betray me. I believe, back then, some part of him meant it. What a pity that sincerity has such a short shelf life. I acted as if I didn’t know her. I ordered my usual coffee and sat at a table diagonally across from hers. I didn’t give her so much as a sideways glance. My initial assessment of her was quickly proven wrong. She moved to the seat directly opposite me, a provocative smile on her face. “Mrs. Hayes,” she said. So, she knew exactly who I was. This wasn’t a case of being manipulated or lied to. She was a willing participant. And now, she was trying to challenge me, openly and brazenly. Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, everything she wore, belonged to me? I took a sip of my coffee, my gaze drifting over her slightly swelling belly. “I’m sorry, have we met?” In the end, she didn’t have the courage to admit her sordid role in all this. She stammered out a flimsy, ridiculous explanation of how she knew of me. I said nothing, simply watching her with a half-smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little game. A vine that spends its life clinging to a tree forgets how to withstand the wind and rain on its own. She didn’t last thirty seconds under my gaze before she scrambled away, her hasty retreat a picture of utter humiliation. I felt a pang of something like pity. For her, and for the state of the world. So young, with a whole life ahead of her, and this was the path she chose: to be someone’s broodmare. 5 Whether Trevor knew about this little stunt or not, the fact that the woman he was keeping had the audacity to confront me was his problem. I decided it was time to move the divorce proceedings to the top of my agenda. Before I could act, my phone lit up with a series of texts from my best friend, Jenna. She was sending me screenshots of the other woman’s Instagram stories—a constant stream of her flaunting her lavish lifestyle. This was nothing new, but today’s screenshots were different. Jenna added a message: She’s provoking you. Everyone needs a few trusted friends. I’d had Jenna follow the woman’s account months ago. If she so much as breathed in the wrong direction, I knew about it immediately. I opened the last screenshot. It was her latest post. The picture was of a child, laughing so hard he was practically rolling on the floor. Above it was a caption. The gist of it was: What does it matter how arrogant you are now? Everything you’re working so hard for will belong to my children one day. Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten. She has a child. I do not. And her child with my husband, though born out of wedlock, still has inheritance rights. This world is a real piece of work. I looked at the divorce papers I had drafted on my laptop. No matter how hard I fought, the most I could hope for was 70% of the assets. The remaining 30%, combined with the company’s annual profits, would be more than enough to support their family of five for the rest of their lives. I have her Instagram post to thank. It was the final push I needed to realize that this was not enough. It was far too easy for them. I clawed my way through hell to build this life. No one was going to walk on the path I paved without my permission.

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She asked me once, her head resting on my chest in the quiet of our shared apartment, “If you ever made it big, Luke, would you leave me?” “Never,” I said. And for the next six years, I kept that promise. Through every failed audition, every soul-crushing rejection, every moment she was ready to give up, I was there. Then, she was the one who made it big. At the Lumina Awards, the industry’s golden night, she stood on stage, tears welling in her mascara-lined eyes, ready to announce the love of her life to the world. The spotlight swept past me, landing instead on the kid I’d taken under my wing. He stood beside Sienna, his own eyes glistening. “Luke, man,” he said, his voice thick with emotion for the cameras. “Thank you for taking care of her all these years. But love and gratitude are two different things. You can’t hold her hostage with kindness.” Sienna’s gaze found mine, and it was as cold as steel. “I transferred a hundred thousand dollars to your account,” she mouthed silently, a final, brutal transaction. “We’re even.” Six years of my life, reduced to a wire transfer. As the internet exploded with headlines branding me the obsessive “other man,” I made a single phone call. “Pull every film Sienna Croft has ever been in from every platform. Effective immediately.” You see, Sienna, you weren’t the only one who made it big. And in that moment, I knew I’d made a mistake all those years ago. If I had been the one to hit the big time first, I would have left you without a second thought. 1 After the awards show, in the sterile quiet of our now-fractured home, Sienna tried to soften the blow. “I’m grateful for the six years we had, Luke. For weathering the storm together,” she’d said, avoiding my eyes. “But you can’t force love. I knew it was over the day you brought Evan home.” She offered a final, hollow olive branch. “We can still be friends, though.” But by the next morning, friendship was the furthest thing from her mind. A coordinated smear campaign erupted online. The six years I’d spent supporting her were twisted into a narrative of coercion and emotional blackmail. Sienna went on a morning talk show, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. “When he first told me how he felt,” she said, dabbing a tear, “I never planned on saying yes. But he used Evan’s situation against me. For six years, I had to do what he said. Taking bad scripts, doing those terrible reality shows… I’m so sorry I gave my fans such a poor experience.” Six years had honed her acting skills to a razor’s edge. She bowed her head, and a single, perfect tear hit the floor. And there he was, right beside her, the boy I’d mentored, his own eyes red-rimmed. “Sienna and I were terrified of what he’d do,” Evan said, his voice trembling. “We never dared to even see each other alone. I never dreamed we’d be able to stand here together, in the light. Thank you all for your support.” Perhaps as a final pang of guilt, Sienna had another hundred thousand dollars wired to my account. I had to laugh. It was a bitter, hollow sound. The resources I’d leveraged for her, the deals I’d brokered from the shadows—the commission alone on any one of them dwarfed this pathetic sum. I didn’t say a word. This was a job for my PR team. The team I had secretly built over the years, a crack unit designed for the sole purpose of protecting Sienna Croft from negative press, was now about to be turned on its original subject. But when I called my department head, his voice was clipped and unfamiliar. “Luke, the entire department is resigning. The letters are on your desk. Sorry, but we won’t be working for you anymore.” The line went dead before I could respond. I scrambled to call the others. Each call went straight to voicemail. They’d all blocked me. The entire department, the one I’d built from the ground up to serve her, had abandoned me. A quick search confirmed my suspicion. They had all been hired by a new boutique agency, a joint venture co-owned by Sienna Croft and Evan Ross. I shrugged, a gesture that felt heavier than it should. They had no idea what they’d just thrown away. I started calling the major PR firms I had on retainer. But something was wrong. The same agency heads who had called me “Luke, my man” for years were now rejecting my calls. One of them, a guy I’d considered a friend, finally picked up. His tone was cautious. “Listen, Luke, I’m telling you this as a friend. Your ex… she’s been hand-picked by a major player. Someone with serious backing. She’s untouchable right now.” He sighed. “She wants to make her new boyfriend a star, and you getting in the way is bad for his image. Take the money and walk away. You don’t want to go up against the person behind her.” The person behind her? A cold smile touched my lips. Who could possibly have more power than me? For six years, I had moved mountains for her, all from the shadows. She never knew the extent of my influence, the true nature of my work. It was all because of that one damn question she’d asked. I was afraid that if she knew who I really was, she’d feel insecure, that our relationship would be built on an imbalance of power. So I played the part of a small-time manager, carefully lifting her up so that one day, she could stand beside me as an equal. Just as I was about to call my real team, my right-hand man, the hospital’s number flashed on my screen. I answered, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. “Mr. Walker? Your father… his room has been surrounded by a mob of radical fans! You need to get here now!” 2 “That’s the bastard’s mom! And if the son is harassing our queen and trying to tear down our king, you can bet the father is just as scummy! Don’t let him get away!” By the time I arrived, the entire hospital corridor was a chaotic sea of screaming fans, their phone cameras held high like weapons. Hospital security was completely overwhelmed. My bodyguards and I forced a path through the throng. Inside the room, I found my father, huddled in a corner, his face bloodied. “The bastard’s here! Get him!” “We’ve been shipping Sienna and Evan for three years, asshole! Who the hell are you to get in their way?” A phone was hurled at my head. My father, despite his injuries, lunged to shield me. The sound of sirens finally pierced the chaos. “Police! Everybody drop what you’re holding!” The mob’s makeshift weapons clattered to the floor. My father was rushed into emergency care. Seething, I pulled out my phone and dialed Sienna. “It was you,” I snarled, my voice raw with fury. “You told them where my dad was. Only you and I knew which hospital he was in.” There was a pause on the other end. When she finally spoke, her voice was cool and detached. “Fans can be resourceful, Luke. They dox people all the time. I know you’re upset about your father, but you can’t just throw baseless accusations around.” She hung up. But she had forgotten something. I still had the password to her private social media accounts. I logged into her official fan Discord server. And there it was, in a private channel for her most dedicated “stans”: a message from her, posting my father’s location and medical information. My hands started to shake. My dad had treated her like his own daughter. After her parents passed, he’d always set a place for her at our dinner table. Before I could screenshot the evidence, the system logged me out. A notification popped up: “Password has been changed.” She knew. My anger was choked by a wave of panic. My father’s doctor appeared, his face grim. “He’s older, Mr. Walker. The assault caused severe internal bleeding. We need to transfer him to a specialized trauma center immediately.” “Then transfer him!” I yelled, my voice cracking. The doctor hesitated. “Mr. Walker… the funds from your account won’t clear.” I froze. My father’s medical expenses were tied to my personal black card. The account held, at a minimum, nine figures. How could there be no money? It took a dozen frantic calls before a friend at the IRS gave me the news. “Someone tipped us off, Luke. An anonymous report with some very convincing-looking documents suggesting money laundering. All your domestic accounts have been frozen pending a full investigation. Don’t worry, if it’s clean, they’ll unfreeze everything eventually.” The floor dropped out from under me. I felt like I was plunging into ice water. 3 My friend didn’t say who reported me, but I knew. Only one person could have fabricated evidence that convincing. The person who had shared my life for the past six years. I hadn’t done it. The authorities would eventually clear my name. But the investigation could take weeks, months. The delay was a death sentence for my father. And then, the knockout blow. The news of the investigation broke online. Sienna was immediately in front of a camera, her eyes artfully red-rimmed. “He could be very controlling,” she said, her voice catching. “He did some terrible things to me and Evan. But he did help us in the past. I… I never thought Mr. Walker was this kind of person.” Evan stood beside her, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “Was it because of me?” he whispered to the reporter. “Because Sienna and I fell in love? Did we push him over the edge? If I’d never fallen for her, maybe none of this would have happened.” Sienna squeezed his hand tightly. “No, Evan. It’s not your fault.” A photo of her clutching his hand went viral, catapulting to the top of every trending list. A high-resolution shot of Evan’s “perfect tear” became a meme celebrating their tragic, beautiful love. And I became the villain who tried to tear them apart. You two have to stay together forever! Show that monster Luke Walker what real love is! I’m literally crying. My ship is finally sailing! My choice was simple. Cooperate with the investigation and let my father die, or… My fists clenched. Or become the criminal they accused me of being. 4 I discarded the thought as quickly as it came. There had to be another way. I immediately initiated an emergency funding request. But the platforms that usually approved my requests in seconds were now rejecting me outright. I didn’t give up, assuming my name was temporarily toxic due to the money laundering allegations. I tried using a trusted friend’s credentials. The result was the same. Desperate, I called a contact at one of the firms, someone whose career I’d helped build. He spoke in a hushed, nervous whisper. “Luke, stop trying. Ms. Croft put the word out to the entire financial community. A total blackout. Anyone who provides you with capital is blacklisted. She’s got Mr. Morrison behind her, and nobody is willing to cross him.” He hung up and blocked my number. I couldn’t believe Sienna could be so ruthless. She had already used me to launch Evan’s career. Now she was systematically sealing every possible escape route. My eyes fell on the bank card she’d given me. The two hundred thousand dollars. I had sworn I would never touch her pity money. But now… my pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford. My father’s life depended on it. I handed the card to the hospital administrator. She ran it. The machine beeped. “Insufficient funds.” “Mr. Walker,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “It appears Ms. Croft contacted the bank and had the transfer reversed as soon as she heard about your legal troubles.” I nearly collapsed. A nurse had to grab my arm to steady me. My hands trembled. First, the false accusation. Then, clawing back the money meant to buy her a clear conscience. And while I was trapped in this bureaucratic nightmare, she and Evan were basking in the public’s sympathy, their careers soaring. I finally understood. She wasn’t just pushing me out of the way. She was building Evan’s throne on top of my grave. I called her. She let it ring a dozen times before answering. After a long silence, she sighed. “You helped him once, Luke. You couldn’t stand to see him suffer. I can’t stand seeing him as just some nobody in this town. The day you brought him home, bleeding and scared, I knew there was no future for us.” The phone felt like it was about to shatter in my grip. Her voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. “I admit, I used you. I’ll cover your father’s transfer fees.” The call ended. A moment later, a notification confirmed the deposit. At this critical juncture, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and accept. But as soon as this is over, Sienna, I swear, you will pay for this. 4 (Continued) My father was stabilized, but it was a temporary fix. His ongoing treatment would cost a fortune. To make matters worse, the fan who had assaulted him was defiant, choosing jail time over paying any compensation. My accounts were still frozen. My friends pooled their money and covered a fraction of the bill, a gesture that touched me deeply but barely made a dent. The hospital administrator delivered the grim news: if I couldn’t secure more funding soon, my father would be moved to a standard ward. I sat slumped against the wall in the hallway, the rhythmic beeping of my father’s heart monitor a steady drumbeat of my own failure. Hope was a distant memory. “I hear you’re in need of some capital, Mr. Walker.” A group of men in sharp, ill-fitting suits stood over me. “We can offer you a loan,” the leader said with a slick smile. “But first… we need to see how serious you are.” 5 He showed me their company’s website on a tablet. It wasn’t a legitimate financial institution. This was the underworld of lending, a place of exorbitant interest rates and broken kneecaps. Loan sharks. But I had no other choice. As soon as my accounts were unfrozen, I could pay back any loan, no matter how predatory the terms. “Where’s the contract?” I said, holding out my hand. “I’ll sign. Anything under fifty percent interest is fine.” They laughed. “Slow down, Mr. Walker. We can offer you an interest-free loan.” I stared at him, confused. “All we require,” the man said, his smile turning predatory, “is some… collateral. Something personal.” He slid the tablet over. It was a contract for what amounted to a sex-for-loan agreement, demanding compromising photos and videos. “I’ll take the high-interest loan,” I said, my voice low and hard. “Sorry,” he shrugged, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Ms. Croft’s instructions were specific. This is the only deal on the table for you.” My eyes widened. Sienna. Again. Why was she pushing me this far? What kind of sick game was this? The contract was placed in my hands. The choice was clear: sign away my dignity and save my father, or watch him die. I couldn’t do it. With a roar of fury, I ripped the contract to shreds. “Bad move,” the man sneered, brushing a piece of paper off his suit. “We’re the only ones willing to lend to you. You’ll be back.” A wave of hot rage washed over me. I stumbled to the restroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. When I walked back out, my blood ran cold. Nurses were forcibly removing my father from his bed, wheeling him out into the hallway on a gurney. I rushed to stop them. “His account is empty,” one of them said, shoving me aside. “This equipment costs ten grand a day, and we have paying patients who need the room. This is a private hospital, Mr. Walker. We’re not a charity.” “No!” They dumped my father onto a cot in the busy corridor and left him there. I scrambled to his side, cradling his head in my arms. “Ms. Croft said the offer still stands,” one of the nurses called over her shoulder with a contemptuous smile. “You can still think about it.” “What did he do to piss off someone like her?” another nurse whispered loudly. “Who knows? But everyone knows who she’s with now. This guy clearly doesn’t know his place.”

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My philosophy is simple: scorched earth. When the golden boy of campus wanted to shove my face in a septic tank to fish out his girlfriend’s diamond ring, I blew the whole thing sky-high with a quarter stick of dynamite. When some rich prick cornered me on a rooftop, ready to play king of the hill, I wrapped my arms around him and took us both for a swan dive. After that little swan dive, I woke up here, inside the dog-eared pages of some old, tragic romance novel, cast as the long-suffering male lead. A System, buzzing in my head like a fluorescent light, told me all I had to do was play my part. Live through the story’s greatest hits of agony, let the female lead dig out my heart and my kidney for another man. Once her Regret Value hit 100% and she started down that long, groveling road of redemption, I’d get my life back. Plus a hundred-million-dollar bonus. The System’s voice oozed smarmy confidence in my ear. “Listen, kid. The others who came before you? They all tried to fight it. Tried to run. Every single one of them got erased by this world. I’m telling you, don’t be an idiot.” It paused, clearly expecting me to break down. Instead, a grin spread across my face. I couldn’t nod fast enough. “Don’t worry,” I said. “An offer this good? Why would I ever run?” After all, making people regret things? That’s my specialty. 1 So when the female lead, Victoria, demanded I give my kidney to her one true love, the ghost of her first love, I injected a vial of HIV into my own veins without a moment’s hesitation. Sure enough, just as they were wheeling me out of the OR, I heard Victoria’s furious roar echo down the hall. “Leo, are you insane? Why didn’t you tell me you were HIV-positive?” I glanced up. Floating over her head, a shimmering meter labeled REGRET spiked to 40%. I shot a wicked grin at the System. “Who ever said her regret had to be the romantic, I-miss-you-so-much kind?” I thought. “See? Right now, she definitely regrets asking for my kidney.” The System was practically having an aneurysm. “You’re supposed to be the one suffering, not her!” I ignored it, turning to the furious Victoria with a face full of manufactured sincerity. “You never asked,” I said simply. “What? Is Evan not happy with this one? I can give him the other one, too.” I made a show of trying to sit up. The next thing I knew, Victoria had me by the collar, pinning me to the bed. “Leo, you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she seethed. “This is your pathetic way of getting back at him! Where did you get HIV? Were you cheating on me?” Ah. So, the idea of me being unfaithful was more infuriating than the fact that I’d just given her precious Evan a diseased organ. Good to know. Tears welled in my eyes on command. “Victoria, how could you say that? The only reason I have this… this disease… is from that time I sold plasma to pay for your medical bills. You can’t possibly question my loyalty to you.” The mention of her amnesia made her pause. Her expression flickered. According to the novel’s script, the original Leo had found a gravely ill Victoria with no memory and mountains of debt. To save her, he’d done everything—participated in shady medical trials, sold his plasma at those sketchy clinics down on the south side, nearly sold a kidney even back then. He was the picture of devotion. Remembering that time, Victoria’s grip on my collar slowly loosened, her brow furrowed in thought. “Even so, you should have told me. Evan’s health was already so fragile. Now he has this because of you. You need to go apologize to him.” I nodded immediately. “Okay. I’ll go.” Victoria looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. Before this, Evan and I were like oil and water. Every encounter was a barely-veiled declaration of war. Her face hardened. “You’d better mean it.” The moment she was gone, the System exploded in my head, screeching like a groundhog. It raged about me going off-script. I scoffed. “What do you mean, off-script? Did I give him the kidney? Yes. Does she regret it? Yes. Has the world erased me? No. So what, exactly, is your problem?” My logic seemed to stump it. The System had to admit that I hadn’t received any kind of warning or punishment. When I first got here, I’d asked what would happen if I didn’t follow the plot. The System had just laughed. Then, a massive jolt of electricity had coursed through my body. I convulsed, my heart feeling like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. “If you deviate,” it had said, “the rules of this world will punish you. A hundred times worse than that.” Clutching my chest, I’d cursed the System out, but I knew I had to play within the rules. A slow smile spread across my face now as I got up and dressed. “No punishment means it’s allowed by the rules,” I said. “And if I remember correctly, the apology is a key scene, isn’t it?” The System was getting scared of me. “What are you going to do now?” My smile was pure poison. “She regrets making me donate the kidney. Now, it’s time to make her regret making me apologize.” When I pushed open the door to Evan’s private room, he was nestled in Victoria’s arms, sobbing quietly. The moment he saw me, his whole body trembled. “Victoria, get him out of here! I don’t want to see him…” Victoria rubbed his back, her voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “He’s here to apologize.” When she looked up at me, her gaze turned arctic. “Well? Get over here.” I walked forward and gave a perfunctory bow. “I’m sorry.” “That’s it? That’s his apology?” Evan lifted his head from her shoulder, his face a mask of indignation. “Victoria, he gave me this… this filthy disease. If this gets out, my acting career is over. I’ll never be a star. And all I get is a simple ‘I’m sorry’?” Victoria frowned. “Then what do you want…” “I’ll give you an apology you can be satisfied with,” I cut in. “Just give me two hours.” I turned and walked out before they could respond. Two hours later, the quiet hospital grounds turned into a circus. I’d brought with me a dozen protestors I hired off Craigslist, complete with a massive, bright red banner. In bold yellow letters, it read: 【I’M SORRY, EVAN PIERCE! I NEVER SHOULD HAVE DONATED MY HIV-INFECTED KIDNEY TO YOU! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!】 One of the women I hired, a pro with a bullhorn, aimed it directly at Evan’s hospital window and let loose. “MR. EVAN PIERCE! WE’RE SOOOOORRY!” “MR. LEO WANTS YOU TO KNOW HE WAS WROOOONG!” “YOU’RE A BIG MAN, A GENEROUS MAN! PLEASE FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO FORGIVE HIM FOR GIVING YOU AN HIV-INFECTED KIDNEY!” “HE TOLD YOU HE DIDN’T WANT TO DONATE, BUT YOU INSISTED! HE FINALLY AGREED, SO PLEASE DON’T LET THIS UPSET YOU! THINK OF YOUR HEALTH!” All up and down the hospital wing, windows slid open. Curious faces peered out, their gazes zeroing in on Evan’s room. The System screamed again. “This is not how the apology was supposed to go!” “There are different types of apologies?” I sneered. “He got the words ‘I’m sorry,’ didn’t he?” Just then, Victoria stormed out of the building. She snatched the bullhorn and slammed it onto the pavement, her voice a low, furious hiss. “Leo, have you lost your mind? Evan’s an actor! Are you trying to destroy him?” I watched the Regret Value above her head climb to a neat 50%. I blinked innocently. “But I just wanted to show him the depths of my sincerity. If this isn’t enough… I can come back and do it again tomorrow?” Victoria lunged, grabbing my collar in a rage. “Leo, are you incapable of understanding English? How dare you pull a stunt like this? Do you want me to cut off your mother’s medical payments?” As the words left her mouth, her phone rang. She answered, and her face went ashen. After hanging up, she stared at me, her eyes burning. “What else did you do?” “Nothing much,” I said, smoothing the wrinkles she’d made in my shirt. “I just rented out the Jumbotron in the middle of the city. It’s looping my apology video 24/7.” Seeing the veins throbbing in her temples, I added helpfully, “If Evan’s still not satisfied, I could always contact a few TV networks, set up an exclusive interview…” “You—!” Victoria raised her hand to slap me, but she was interrupted by a nurse sprinting towards us. “Ms. Blackwood! It’s terrible! Mr. Pierce… he’s slit his wrists!” Victoria’s hand froze in mid-air. She immediately turned and ran back toward the hospital. Halfway there, she spun around to glare at me. “If anything happens to Evan, I’ll make you pay with your life!” A grim smile touched my lips. “Look, we’re at 60%,” I mused to the System. “Think I can get it to 100% by tonight?” “And you know, most people take three, five years to complete this mission. Do I get a bonus for speed?” The System sounded like it had a migraine. “A bonus? Evan is trying to kill himself! That never happened in the book! The plot is completely off the rails!” “Relax.” I yawned, turning to head back to my own room. “He doesn’t have the guts to die.” The System was still panicking. “Aren’t you afraid Victoria will just kill you herself in a fit of rage?” My face was blank, but my voice was cold. “If she tries, that just makes things simpler. We die together.” “But I don’t think,” I added, “that Victoria will have time for me.” Just as I predicted, Victoria was insanely busy for the next two months. My apology video went viral. #EvanPierceHIV #EvanPierceScandal Both hashtags were trending worldwide within thirty minutes. Victoria threw a fortune at PR firms to kill the stories and scrub the search results, but it only backfired. People started digging. They found traces of her long, ambiguous relationship with Evan. And then the bombshell dropped: the story of how she forced her own husband to donate a kidney to save her old flame. The moment that news broke, Blackwood Industries’ stock took a nosedive. To save the company’s image, Victoria had to make a choice. She sacrificed Evan. She released a public statement claiming they were just friends and expertly redirected most of the ensuing blame onto him. Evan’s career was incinerated. To make it up to him, Victoria brought him to our home. She gave him total control over the household finances, making him the de facto house manager. The System was stunned. “The… the plot point where he gets control of the finances… that just happened five years ahead of schedule!” In the original novel, Evan took over the money, but only after years of his own self-destructive behavior had ruined his career. Victoria gave him the responsibility to try and help him get back on his feet. Somehow, I’d managed to fast-track the whole damn thing. “No, it wasn’t an accident!” the System declared, a newfound respect in its tone. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you?” I just smiled and said nothing. Once in power, Evan began to make my life a living hell. He moved my mother to the worst ward in her nursing home, citing budget cuts. He cancelled my driver and gave me a ten-dollar daily allowance, calling it a “real-life experience.” I accepted it all without a word of protest. Even when he deliberately withheld the payment for my mother’s life-saving medication, I just smiled and said, “As you wish.” The System finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Host, have you had a personality transplant? You’re just going to let him do this?” I was calm. “What’s the rush? Have you forgotten the most critical turning point in this book?” The System thought for a moment. “It’s when Evan, in charge of the finances, arranges for your mother to be in an accident. Then he refuses to pay the medical bills, she dies, and you, heartbroken, finally leave. That’s when Victoria’s regret kicks in and the redemption arc begins!” I nodded. “Should be any day now.” The System was speechless. “You don’t mean…” “That’s right.” I smiled. “I’ve already built the stage. Now we just have to see if Evan will play his part.” And how could he not? He was desperate to get me out of the Blackwood family. So, two days later, the call came from the hospital. “What?” I gasped into the phone, my voice filled with panic. “A car accident? How? I’ll be right there with the money.” I hung up and sprinted to find Evan, my voice trembling. “Evan! There’s been a car accident! A family emergency! They’re in the ER, they need money for the surgery right now, can you give me some?” “Sure.” Evan coolly pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. “You’d better hurry. Don’t want to keep them waiting.” I stared at the ten dollars. “This is it? You’re only giving me ten dollars?” Evan smirked. “Ten dollars a day. That’s the rule. You want more, you can come back tomorrow.” He was doing this on purpose. I knew it. No more words. I dropped to my knees in front of him. “Evan, please, this isn’t a joke. The hospital said they won’t operate without payment. Please, just give me more. You don’t understand, the one in the accident is…” He cut me off before I could finish. “It’s the same procedure for everyone. The Blackwood fortune wasn’t built on handouts. If I make an exception for you, how will I ever manage this household?” I figured he wouldn’t budge, so I pulled out my phone and dialed Victoria. “Victoria, Mom’s been in a car accident! She’s at the hospital waiting for money to save her life, and Evan won’t give it to me! Please, just talk to him, tell him to give me something! It’s life or death!” There was a few seconds of silence on her end before she told me to put Evan on the phone. I quickly handed the phone over. His tone immediately softened. “Victoria, darling, it’s not that I’m being unreasonable. It’s just, if I break the rules so soon after they’re set, the staff will never respect my authority. I know you feel for him, but I need to establish my position.” I couldn’t hear what Victoria said, but a triumphant smirk spread across Evan’s face. He handed the phone back to me. “Victoria wants to talk to you.” I took it. Her voice was sharp with impatience. “Leo, a house has rules, just like a country has laws. Evan just took over the finances; he needs to establish his authority. If he makes an exception for you now, how will he ever stand on his own two feet in this house? As for your mother, it’s fine if the money is a little late. The hospital won’t actually let her die.” “A little late?” My voice shot up an octave. “Victoria, are you insane? It’s emergency surgery! A single minute could be the difference between life and death! Are you telling me you’re just going to do nothing? You are going to regret this!” “Regret it?” A cold laugh came through the phone. “Leo, I still haven’t settled the score with you for that disaster you created at the hospital. This time, just let Evan have his way. Once he’s calmed down, the money will be sent. Just behave yourself and stop making trouble.” The line went dead. I shot Evan a murderous glare, spat out the word “bastard,” and left. Of course, I went straight to the hospital. No money, and Evan had clearly given them instructions. It wasn’t long after I arrived that they handed me the death certificate. Looking at the paper, my lips trembled slightly. I knew these were just characters in a book, but still… Just then, the System whispered, “Try to keep your laughter down.” I tried. I really did. I failed. “Sorry,” I choked out. “I just can’t help it when I think about what’s coming next.” The System was completely immune to my antics by now. “So, what’s the plan?” I clutched the death certificate and hailed a cab. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to settle the score with those two scumbags.” The second I walked into the Blackwood mansion, I went straight for Evan. I slapped him hard across the face, twice, before he could even react. “You son of a bitch, Evan! It’s all because of you! She didn’t make it! She’s dead! Are you happy now?” The commotion brought Victoria through the door. She had just gotten home. She ran over and shielded Evan with her own body, pointing a finger at my nose. “Leo, who do you think you are, hitting him? It’s not Evan’s fault your mother died! If you have to blame someone, blame her for being too weak! We were about to send the money. It’s not our fault she couldn’t hold on! Who can you blame for that?” Her words lit a fire in me. Without thinking, I blurted it out. “Victoria, are you even human?” “And besides, it wasn’t my mom who died. It was yours!”

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The day I transferred to Blackwood Academy, some rich kid had a banner stretched across the main gate. It read: ONE KISS: $100. Everyone else was hesitating, too shy to step forward. I, on the other hand, moved like a lightning strike. Not only did I plant eighteen solid kisses on the guy, but I also conscientiously peeled eighteen crisp hundred-dollar bills from his hand. When I was done, I wiped my mouth, utterly satisfied. “City life really is full of opportunities,” I told him. “Let me know next time you’re running a charity event like this.” 1 My mom always said the city was full of opportunities. That’s why she pulled every string she could to get me into Blackwood Academy. I’d heard the sons and daughters of the elite were a tough crowd, so before I left, I spent two months learning Muay Thai, just in case. But when I arrived, I realized I’d worried for nothing. Not only were they easy to get along with, but they even held impromptu charity events. The kind designed specifically to help out a poor student like me—one with a soft spot for pretty faces and a deep love for cash. I counted the money, a goofy grin plastered on my face that I couldn’t suppress. I was so absorbed that I didn’t notice the bustling crowd behind me had fallen eerily silent. After a long moment, someone finally whispered, “That’s Landon Prescott. Does she have a death wish?” So, his name was Landon. My hand paused its counting, and my gaze shifted back to the boy in front of me. Unlike my triumphant glow, he looked… wrecked. His lips were swollen, his eyes unfocused, and he stood frozen to the spot. The designer shirt he’d deliberately left unbuttoned was now wide open, revealing the hard lines of a well-defined abdomen. It seemed that in my enthusiasm, I’d ripped off a couple more buttons. A pang of guilt hit me. With a heavy heart, I pulled two of the hundred-dollar bills from my new stash and stuffed them into his hand. “It was my first time, so I’m not very experienced,” I said. “Here, take a little back. Call it a refund.” Either way, I still came out ahead. This Landon kid was gorgeous, and his lips were incredibly soft. But as the words left my mouth, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Anyone who’d ever been to a club knew that line. Did she just treat Landon Prescott like an escort? Sympathetic glances landed on Landon, and it was only then that he seemed to process what had just happened. That he’d been taken advantage of. And that this girl thought he was for sale. Landon’s expression shifted through a storm of emotions before he finally ground out, his voice tight, “What do you take me for?” Anyone who knew him recognized this as the calm before the storm. But all I saw was the blush creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. He was putting on a tough-guy act, but underneath, he was all innocence. Realization dawned on me. I dug out another five hundred dollars and held it out to him, my tone sincere. “I didn’t realize it was your first time, too. Here, I’ll give you a bit more. But that’s all you’re getting.” At that, Landon’s brow furrowed even deeper. He let out a laugh that was pure, frustrated disbelief. “Is that what you think this is about? Did I say you could kiss me?” He was a full head taller than me, and when he leaned in, his shadow completely enveloped me. I had to tilt my head back, blinking innocently as I pointed to the banner behind him. “Isn’t this a charity event?” I asked. “Wasn’t I allowed to kiss you?” Even if it was just for students, I was a student now. I was here to enroll today. Speaking of which, I glanced at my phone. 7:55 AM. I had five minutes before I was late. Seeing that Landon was still motionless, I tucked the cash into the collar of his shirt. As I turned to leave, I noticed the strange looks on everyone’s faces. Especially the girl who had been hesitating in front of Landon earlier; her glare was so intense it felt like it could drill a hole through me. I figured they were just impatient for their turn, so I thoughtfully stepped aside, clearing the path to Landon. Before I left, I made sure to put in a good word for him. “Don’t be shy, everyone! Landon’s a great kisser. Let’s not let his charitable spirit go to waste.” 2 As I walked away, a few people actually looked tempted to try their luck. But one withering glare from Landon sent them scurrying back. The girl who had been hesitating before, however, took a step forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “Landon,” she said, her voice steady but laced with hurt, “even if you wanted to humiliate me, did you really have to hire someone to put on a show?” She spoke with a fragile dignity, as if she’d suffered a terrible injustice. The crowd’s mood shifted. So that’s what this was. A twisted little game Landon had orchestrated to make Audrey Reed feel a pang of jealousy, to finally get her to accept him. Landon wasn’t about to take the blame for this. He rubbed his temples, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “I don’t know her.” His words shut everyone up. Just then, a voice from the crowd piped up. “What’s with the innocent act? When Landon asked her out before, she acted like she’d rather die. Why the wounded routine now?” That opened the floodgates. “Seriously, she’s such a hypocrite. Everything she’s wearing, everything she owns, didn’t Landon pay for it? How does she have the nerve to say something like that?” “I think she’s just stringing him along. She doesn’t want him, but she doesn’t want anyone else to have him either.” “Didn’t it feel like her little speech was meant to lead us on? If Landon hadn’t clarified, I would’ve actually thought he staged all this just to get her attention.” Seeing her carefully constructed narrative crumble, a flash of panic crossed Audrey’s face, quickly masked by a fresh wave of tears. She bit her lip hard, looking at Landon with a defiant stare. “Is that what you think, too?” Landon was silent. Normally, the slightest hint of redness in Audrey’s eyes would have sent him into a tailspin of concern. But today, his heart felt like it was crawling with ants. Another second of her tear-streaked face and he felt his patience snap. When it was clear Landon wasn’t going to comfort her, Audrey took a staggering step back, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her nails dug into her palms. “Landon, I’ll never forgive you for this.” With that, she turned and ran off, sobbing. This time, Landon didn’t follow. He shot a cold glare at the gawking crowd. “Get lost,” he snarled. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of Landon Prescott’s anger. In an instant, the school entrance was empty. Landon’s best friend, Leo, slung an arm over his shoulder. “Still thinking about her, Mr. ‘Great Kisser’?” Leo teased. “Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for that new girl. You didn’t even seem to care about Audrey.” The movement was too rough. The cash I’d stuffed into Landon’s collar tumbled out, scattering across the pavement. Landon’s face darkened further. The Prescotts were one of the city’s founding families, with deep roots and even deeper pockets. Landon was the sole heir, spoiled beyond belief. He was used to being the one dishing out humiliation, not the one on the receiving end. Seeing his friend continue to poke the bear, Landon’s jaw tightened. He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Like her? I’d have to be blind.” He kicked at a stray bill on the ground. “She won’t last a day in this school if I have anything to say about it.” 3 I was completely oblivious to all of this. After enrolling, the dean of admissions told me to head up to the senior hall, room 1A. My eyes were wide with wonder the whole way. So this was an elite prep school. It was more than twice the size of my old, rundown public school. There were elevators in every building, and even the hallways and bathrooms had air conditioning. But after wandering around for what felt like an eternity, I still couldn’t find room 1A. Classes were in session, so the hallways were completely deserted. I couldn’t even find someone to ask for directions. I scrunched up my face, pacing back and forth and nervously twisting the hem of my shirt. Then I looked up and locked eyes with someone at the far end of the hall. He was a long way off, but I recognized him instantly. Landon. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He’d changed into a clean white shirt, this time buttoned meticulously all the way to the top. The moment he saw me, he started striding in my direction. I walked toward him, too. When I was close enough, and with no one else around, I threw my arms around his waist. It was lean and solid. “Landon!” I chirped happily. He really was a good guy. He must have been worried I’d get lost and come looking for me. Landon’s entire body went rigid. He froze, whatever he’d been about to say or do completely forgotten. After a beat, he peeled me off him, his voice a low growl. “What kind of game are you playing now?” I shrank back, feeling a little guilty. I tried to placate him by rubbing my cheek against the palm of his hand. “I can’t find room 1A, Landon.” Whenever my mom got mad, I’d just let her squish my cheeks and she’d calm down. I wasn’t sure why Landon was angry, but a little charm couldn’t hurt. Except Landon didn’t squish my cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He snatched his hand back as if it were burned, his expression unreadable. He grabbed my wrist instead. “I’ll take you.” On the surface, it looked like he was dragging me down the hall. But in reality, his grip was light, and he was matching his pace to mine. I beamed to myself. A soft mouth and a soft heart. Just as I thought. I wanted to take advantage of the situation a little more, but he was on guard now, not letting me get close enough to touch him. When we reached the door to 1A, he dropped my wrist like it was hot, a flicker of annoyance on his face. So moody. Impossible to figure out. But I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. I sidled up to him with a grin. “So, Landon, which class are you in?” He took a step back, creating distance between us, and turned his head away. “None of your business,” he mumbled. “This is 1A. Just go in.” I pouted, a little disappointed. But then another thought struck me: people only get shifty and avoid eye contact when they’re lying. He must want me to know but is too embarrassed to say it himself. With that, I cheered myself up and decided to ask someone else later. The classroom door was slightly ajar, needing only a gentle push to open. Just as my hand reached for the handle, I paused. I turned back to Landon and flashed him a sweet smile. “Thanks for everything, Landon.” He looked startled. Seeing me reach for the door again, he barked, “Don’t move!” I froze. Landon closed the distance between us in three long strides, glancing at the top of the doorframe. Then, his usual arrogant smirk returned. “Who do you think you are,” he said, his voice dripping with mock contempt, “walking in before me?” He shoved me back, making me stumble, and made a big show of entering first. The second he pushed the door open, a bucket of water tipped over, drenching him from head to toe. 4 Room 1A was on the top floor, the only classroom in that wing. It was usually quiet, but right now, it was filled with raucous laughter. The students looked like they’d just pulled off the perfect prank, their jeers and disdainful looks aimed at the doorway. The teacher was standing at the side of the room, arms crossed, with no intention of stopping the charade. I peeked my head out from behind Landon, confused about what was so funny. But their laughter died on their lips pretty quickly. A heavy silence fell over the room. Landon’s presence was a storm cloud, his eyes scanning the classroom, memorizing every face. The smiles froze on their lips, replaced by looks of pure terror. They couldn’t understand why Landon, of all people, had walked in first. Even the teacher went pale, standing there, utterly lost. This Landon guy was powerful. Just by standing there, silent and dripping, he had the entire room under his thumb. I looked at him with stars in my eyes, full of admiration. But he wasn’t buying my act. He simply covered my eyes with his hand. My world went dark. Landon’s deep, furious voice came from above me. “Wasn’t I clear the last time this happened? One more incident, and you’re out of this school for good.” From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time he’d stood up for someone. I pulled his hand away from my face, annoyed. The teacher, who had been gloating just moments before, was now a crumpled heap on the floor. That made me happy. I hid behind Landon and made a face at her. The teacher’s expression soured even more. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. A boy in the front row tried to play peacemaker. “Landon, man, we didn’t know she was with you. Look…” He tried for a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace. For some strange reason, Landon didn’t correct him. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. He wasn’t about to let this go. The silence was heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm. Seeing that Landon was unmovable, they turned their hopeful gazes to me, silently begging me to intervene. But I didn’t spare them a single glance. My attention was entirely on Landon. He was soaked. The ill-fitting white shirt clung to his skin, clearly outlining the smooth, powerful muscles underneath. I tentatively reached out and poked one of the distinctly defined squares of his eight-pack. Solid. When Landon didn’t react, I grew bolder, my hands starting to explore. Up past his stomach, over his chest, to those little pink nubs my grandpa used to call his “sweethearts.” They looked like they were just begging to be pinched. But before my fingers could make contact, Landon’s hand shot out and captured my wrist. 5 I looked up, annoyed, only to find Landon already looking at me. His face was a mask of stone, but his eyes were dark and complicated. His voice was a raw, scratchy whisper. “What do you think you’re touching?” With that, he grabbed me by the collar like a stray kitten and deposited me at an empty desk in the back of the room. It was his old seat. Landon didn’t show up for the rest of the afternoon. The other students, however, did a complete one-eighty. They were suddenly falling over themselves to be my friend, showering me with gifts. I accepted everything, expensive or not. In no time, a small mountain of offerings had piled up on my desk. Only one person kept her distance—a girl by the window, who was staring at me with an unnerving intensity. I knew who she was. Audrey Reed. Her name was the one that came up most often when I’d asked about Landon. They said she was special to him. That there was never supposed to be a scholarship spot in a class like 1A, but she’d casually mentioned she was jealous of their resources, and Landon had pulled strings to get her in. They also said that she’d once declared she didn’t want to be in the same class as a guy who only knew how to throw his weight around, and Landon had immediately transferred out. Audrey treated him like dirt, but Landon just kept doting on her. Before I came along, no one had ever challenged her position. I pursed my lips. It was a waste of a perfectly good Landon. My sour mood for him extended to her. Seeing her still staring, I shot a glare right back. To my surprise, she wasn’t intimidated. She stood up and walked calmly toward me, stopping right in front of my desk. The sunlight caught her from behind, framing her in a way that really sold the whole “defiant, delicate flower” vibe. “How can you have so little self-respect?” she demanded, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “Just accepting handouts from anyone!” I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. That kind of moral high ground might work on herself, but she had no right to preach to me. Besides, if she really had so much integrity, her eyes wouldn’t have been glued to the pile of gifts on my desk the entire time. Worried she might try to take something, I shifted my body to block her view, refusing to engage with her nonsense. Seeing my defensive posture, Audrey’s face flushed with anger, her pretty features twisting into something ugly. “Do you really think they want to be your friend? They’re just using you to get close to the Prescotts.” She leaned in closer. “Without Landon, no one would give you a second look. And you’re treating their trash like it’s treasure!” I remained completely unfazed, offering a dismissive, “Yep, you’re right, everything you say is absolutely right.” Real or fake, I couldn’t tell the difference between genuine kindness and cold, hard cash. But the gifts were in my possession now, so who cared about the empty sentiment behind them? My indifference finally broke her. Her face contorted with rage. She leaned in so close her lips were at my ear, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. “Landon is just using you to make me jealous because he’s mad at me. I bet if I so much as crooked my finger, he’d drop you in a heartbeat. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave on your own. Otherwise, you have no idea what you’re in for.” The mention of Landon finally got a reaction out of me. Not because I was hurt, but because I was disgusted. “Do you not own a mirror? Or have a puddle you can look in?” I sneered. “Go take a good long look and tell me what part of you is worthy of Landon Prescott.” I rolled my eyes again. I couldn’t fathom where Audrey got the audacity to say something so shameless. It was as baffling as how, out of all the people in the world, her skin could be so thick. 6 She seemed genuinely shocked that I could be so crude. Her face turned crimson, her lips trembling. Just as she was about to explode, her eyes darted toward the doorway, and a triumphant smirk instantly appeared on her face. “You don’t believe me? Should we test it? See who Landon really cares about?” Without even looking up, I ripped open a bag of chips and held a few out in my palm. “Be my guest. Let the show begin.” Audrey took my casualness as a bluff. She took a step back, raised her hand, and slapped herself across the face. Hard. Just from the sound, I knew she’d put her all into it. Crunch, crunch. I popped a few more chips into my mouth. When she paused, I gestured with my eyes for her to continue. A flicker of pure rage crossed her face, but like a seasoned actress, she quickly regained her composure. She straightened her back, tears welling in her eyes, defiantly holding them back. “Nina,” she choked out, “I told you already, there’s nothing between me and Landon. Why are you doing this to me?” Audrey was naturally pale, and the right side of her face was already an angry red. It was a sight that would make anyone’s heart ache. A pretty convincing performance. I should have known a place like Blackwood Academy would be this great. Not only do you get to grope hot guys for free, but you also get free money and a free show. If I’d known, I would have begged my mom on my hands and knees to send me here sooner. I was filled with regret. I shook my head, lamenting all the money I could have been making. But in Audrey’s eyes, my gesture looked like a sign of surrender. From an angle where no one else could see, she shot me a smug, triumphant little smile. It was my cue to join the scene. I cracked my knuckles, ready to show them what real acting talent looked like. “It’s because you’re always trying to seduce him!” I screeched, flipping my hair back with a haughty gesture, channeling my inner villain. “He would never even look at someone like you otherwise!” I pointed a finger at her. “Watch and learn. I’m the only one who deserves Landon. What are you? Nothing.” Whispers erupted around us as the other students took in my masterful performance. I shot a challenging look back at Audrey, then turned, and my eyes met Landon’s in the doorway. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much of the “show” he’d seen. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Landon!” I exclaimed, my eyes lighting up with genuine surprise. “What are you doing here?” The moment Audrey saw him, she kicked her performance into high gear. “Landon, I’m not some toy you can play with! You need to control your little pet. She can’t just walk all over me!” But Landon ignored both of us. His expression was unnervingly calm as he strode toward us. Suddenly, my stomach dropped. I’d walked right into that witch’s trap.

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For eighteen years, my husband, Michael, never once contacted the one that got away. He learned to cook for me, his hands, once only familiar with spreadsheets, becoming adept with a chef’s knife. He attended every one of our son’s parent-teacher conferences. He meticulously planned our annual family vacations, from Tuscan villas to ski lodges in Aspen. We built a life, a seemingly happy one, for eighteen years. But on the evening of our son’s eighteenth birthday, I turned to Michael and said, “We need to get a divorce.” He was standing in the doorway of Leo’s room, the echo of birthday laughter still hanging in the air. He looked at me, completely floored. I added, my voice as calm as a frozen lake, “You promised me when Leo was born. You promised we’d get divorced when he turned eighteen.” 1 A slow, disbelieving smile spread across Michael’s face. “Olivia, that was a joke. How could you possibly take that seriously?” In that moment, the gentle, dependable man before me blurred, merging with the ambitious, bright-eyed man I’d met two decades ago. Our marriage had been a merger, a strategic alliance between two powerful New York families. Before he’d even sat down across from me at our first stilted ‘date,’ he was in love with someone else: his college sweetheart, Isabelle. Isabelle was a scholarship kid, a brilliant artist with no pedigree. Michael’s parents would never accept her. They paid for her to study abroad, effectively shipping her out of their son’s life. I gave him a choice back then. “You have two options,” I told him, our hands resting on a cold, marble tabletop. “One, you fly to her, you fight for her, and I find someone else. Or two, you marry me, and you never speak to Isabelle again.” He chose me. He chose his duty to his family. After the wedding, he was a good husband. Kind, attentive. I fell pregnant quickly, and for a while, I let myself believe that I could have it all—the business advantages of our union and a real, growing love. So when I went into labor prematurely, my first instinct was to call him. He didn’t answer. Hours later, after Leo was born, he finally called back. His voice was strained, but he was honest. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. Isabelle… she was in a car accident.” He had chosen her. In the moment of crisis, his heart had defaulted to her. He stammered on the other end of the line, unsure of what to say next. In that instant, I felt myself curl inward, like a threatened animal, pulling every last thread of my affection back from him. All the love I had been nurturing for him withered on the vine. But then I looked at our son, so small and fragile in the hospital bassinet, and a strange calm washed over me. “Michael,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Can you promise me something? That we’ll wait until Leo turns eighteen. Then, we can get a divorce.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle. “For these next eighteen years, I need you to play a role. In front of our son, I need you to be a good father and a good husband.” A long silence, then a choked, “Okay.” I never forbade him from contacting Isabelle again. But it seemed my proposition had shocked him back into his role. He became a model father, a devoted husband, and as far as I knew, never reached out to her. He recommitted to the promise he made me. I knew he did it out of a sense of responsibility, a duty to me and to Leo. But I also knew he never let her go. I saw it in the way he would trace the outline of a worn-out scrunchie she’d given him in college, which he kept hidden in his desk drawer. I knew it from the private investigator he paid every month to send him candid photos of her life in London—Isabelle at a gallery opening, Isabelle laughing in a park. He wasn’t a bad man. He was trying desperately not to hurt anyone. But in the quiet darkness of his own heart, his love for her grew wild and unchecked, like ivy overtaking a ruin. Now, eighteen years had passed. Michael’s parents were gone. My son was a man, ready to forge his own path. And I had finally, completely, excised my feelings for my husband. It was time to let him go find his real love. 2 I thought the hardest part would be telling our son. I never imagined the first wall of resistance would be Michael himself. “It’s okay,” I said softly, trying to soothe the panic in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me. I let go of all that eighteen years ago.” He stared at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, as if he were truly seeing my resolve for the first time. “And you don’t have to worry about Leo. I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain everything.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You’re free, Michael.” My voice was steady. “So, our agreement from eighteen years ago? It’s time to honor it.” He let out a long, slow breath, a sigh of resignation. “You’re right. I’ve done you a great wrong, Olivia.” His tone was heavy with a practiced sort of guilt. “Whatever you and Leo need in the future, I’ll always be there to provide it.” Then, a nervous energy seized him. His hand, almost trembling, reached for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed a number that had been buried for nearly two decades. That night, for the first time in our marriage, we slept in separate rooms. For eighteen years, despite the emotional chasm between us, we had maintained a physical relationship. We met each other’s needs. It always left me with a faint, bitter taste of guilt, as if I were borrowing another woman’s man. But Michael never seemed to mind. As the years went on, he almost seemed to enjoy it. I pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter anymore. Tonight, that connection was severed for good. The next morning, I found Leo in the kitchen, fresh off a video call with his admissions advisor at Harvard. I told him his father and I were getting a divorce. Before I could even launch into the carefully constructed, amicable story I’d prepared, he cut me off. “Mom, you don’t have to spin a story for me. I know. I’ve known for a long time.” He looked at me, his eyes full of a wisdom that broke my heart. “I know you don’t love Dad. And I know he’s the one who wronged you.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m going to be here for you, Mom. I’ll take care of you.” A wave of sharp, dense pain washed over me. He knew. My son knew everything. I had failed. I hadn’t played my part well enough, and he had been forced to quietly carry the weight of our fractured truth for years. Still, his knowledge simplified things. Michael and I filed the initial divorce petition online. The plan was set: we would fly to Cambridge to move Leo into his dorm, which would also give Michael a chance to see Isabelle, who lived just outside of Boston. He could decide if he wanted to bring her back to New York or stay with her there. After the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period, we would sign the final papers. The moment our plane landed at Logan, Michael was gone, a man on a mission. To my surprise, Leo insisted on going with him. “Mom, I just want to see her. I want to see what this woman who’s lived in Dad’s head for my entire life actually looks like.” A warning bell sounded in my mind. I could hear the resentment simmering beneath his words. “Leo, don’t be impulsive. Whatever happened back then, your father has paid his dues to us for the last eighteen years.” He didn’t listen. He left with his father. And as the city lights began to glitter outside my hotel window, Leo still hadn’t come back. 3 When I finally called, the background was a cacophony of music and laughter. It sounded like a party. “Mom, I’m not coming back tonight,” Leo said, his voice bright and a little distant. “Why not?” He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket for Isabelle. She’s… she’s really great, Mom.” He rushed on, the words tumbling out. “It wasn’t her fault, you know? What happened back then. She’s been all alone here for so long. It’s been really hard for her.” He paused, then added, as if reciting something I’d told him, “Like you said, Mom, no one owes anyone anything anymore. But don’t worry. I still love you.” In just a few hours, his entire perspective had shifted. And he was right, of course. No one was to blame. But his words made the eighteen years I had fought for, the charade I had orchestrated for his sake, feel like a pathetic joke. What if I had just divorced Michael back then? Left Leo with him? Would they have been a happier family of three? The thought was a physical blow. I had poured so much of my life into that boy. I swallowed my pride and begged Michael to stay so Leo wouldn’t be the kid with a broken home, so he wouldn’t be whispered about at school. I wanted him to have the world, to be forged by the combined power of our two families. I wanted him to be a titan. After the divorce, he would be all I had left. I had already started planning for his future—the type of woman he should marry, how I would help raise my grandchildren, continuing the dynasty. I couldn’t lose him. I could detach from Michael—it took me a year to fall for him and eighteen years to fall out of love—but my son was different. He was my entire world. “Leo,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. “I made your favorite brown butter chocolate chip cookies. I’ll wait up for you, no matter how late it is.” It was well past midnight when he finally returned. Seeing me awake on the sofa, he rushed over and gently guided me toward the bedroom. “The cookies were amazing, Mom. Seriously. Now get some sleep, you look exhausted.” I felt a wave of relief. It was just his compassion, his big heart. He felt sorry for Isabelle. I could accept that. It was a selfish thought, but as long as my son still loved me, that was enough. I closed my eyes, but just as I was drifting off, I heard it—a soft, muffled chuckle from the other side of the room. The sound of him looking at his phone, trying to suppress his laughter. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see it. I couldn’t face the fact that Isabelle had already, in a matter of hours, utterly captivated him. When Michael and I took Leo to campus to officially register for his classes, Isabelle came along. It was the first time I’d ever seen her in person. She was far more vibrant than in the photographs, radiating a kind of youthful energy that felt rare for a woman our age. She was gracious when she saw me, keeping a respectful distance and giving me space to have a final moment with my son. But Leo’s eyes kept darting over to her, his attention divided. Finally, he asked, “Isabelle, is there anything you want to say to me?” Only then did she step forward. She ran a hand through his hair, her smile warm and encouraging. “Just don’t stress too much. If you don’t feel like studying, go get a good meal. Being healthy and happy is the most important thing!” She was a proponent of ‘happiness first’ education. No wonder Leo was so taken with her. She wore a floral sundress, her sneakers smudged with dirt and stray petals. I remembered hearing that years ago, Michael had secretly arranged for a garden to be built for her small house outside the city. It suited her perfectly—that wild, untamed, romantic persona. Leo nodded, looking utterly charmed, then waved goodbye to us. As we walked away, I turned to Michael and Isabelle. “So, what’s the plan? Are you staying here, or are you both coming back to New York?” It was Michael who answered, but his eyes were on Isabelle. “We’ll stay here for these next four years, to be close to Leo. After that… we’ll see what he wants to do.” 4 Just like that. In a few short days, the three of them had planned their future, a future that neatly excluded me. But the understanding had always been that Leo would be with me. Michael drove Isabelle home first, then returned to the hotel with me. He settled into an armchair, adopting the posture of a man about to have a very serious, very reasonable conversation. “Olivia, since Leo chose a school here, I think it’s clear he’s drawn to the more liberal atmosphere on the East Coast. You can still come visit him whenever you want, of course.” I thought of the look on Leo’s face—the adoration for Isabelle, the casual dismissal of me. A profound weariness settled into my bones. Maybe my fight had been meaningless all along. I was silent for a long moment. Then I looked up at him. “Will you hate me for it? For the last eighteen years?” I asked quietly. “Do you think Leo will hate me?” A flicker of understanding crossed his face. “No. Of course not. None of this is your fault. It’s all on me.” It was his default setting: take the blame, smooth things over. So meaningless. I gave up. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I respect Leo’s wishes. I hope the two of you take good care of him.” Michael managed a small, relieved smile. “You say that as if you’re never going to see him again.” “I just don’t think Boston is for me,” I said, the words feeling casual, conversational. “I prefer a quieter life.” Michael, who had spent the last few days chasing a ghost of his youth, looked at me with a complex expression. Was it nostalgia? Regret? I couldn’t tell. I turned and began packing my suitcase. “Don’t forget,” I said over my shoulder, “you need to be back in New York in about three weeks to sign the final divorce papers.” He nodded. He was still standing there as I zipped my bag. “So,” he asked, his voice hesitant. “This whole time, these eighteen years… were you just acting?” I gave him a look that bordered on a sneer. “Weren’t you?” He flinched, then quickly changed the subject. “Do you think… do you think I was any good at it? At being a husband?” He seemed deeply uncomfortable, wiping a bead of sweat from his palm with a handkerchief. He must be worried about his performance with Isabelle, practicing for his new life. I walked over and patted his shoulder, like an old friend offering a bit of hollow comfort. “Don’t worry. You’ll be great for Isabelle.” I leaned in a little closer. “Especially in bed.” I didn’t care anymore. But as I walked away, Michael just stood there, rooted to the spot, a look of profound loss on his face. After I returned to New York, Michael’s social media became surprisingly active. Photos of art exhibits, picnics in the park, scenic drives along the coast. In every single picture, Isabelle was conspicuously absent. He was probably trying to be considerate, given that we weren’t officially divorced yet. But it was just like the last eighteen years. Her presence was a ghost that haunted the edges of our lives, an invisible pressure that left me no room to breathe. There were times, fleeting moments, when I was fooled by his performance, when I thought, maybe I should just give up. Forget the pact. Pretend none of it happened. We could have another eighteen years. But then I would remember the woman I was in that hospital room, fragile and utterly alone, and I knew I couldn’t betray her. Now, I was grateful for my resolve. I was letting Michael go. And it wasn’t too late to let my son go, either. Michael would occasionally text me photos of Leo, making small talk. I replied at first, then I just stopped. I threw myself back into my work, burying myself in strategy meetings and financial reports. And just like that, as I was in the middle of a heated boardroom negotiation, the thirty-day cooling-off period ended. 5 Michael flew back to New York with Leo. When our son saw me, there was a new, desperate dependence in his eyes. But when I casually asked how long he was staying, he answered without a second’s thought. “Just for tonight. I have to fly back.” So soon? So eager to get back to Isabelle? Michael, ever the diplomat, jumped in. “His coursework is really demanding.” I looked closer at Leo. He was pale, his energy completely drained, as if he’d been hollowed out. Are Harvard classes really that grueling? I was too tired to press the issue. We all went to the mediator’s office. The lawyer slid the final divorce decree across the mahogany table. Without hesitation, I signed my name. Michael glanced at me, his own pen hovering over the paper. He was hesitating. I looked at my watch. “Can we speed this up? I have a two o’clock meeting.” Leo chimed in, his voice insistent. “Dad, just sign it. Isabelle’s waiting for us to have dinner with her tonight.” Hearing his words, I felt nothing. A complete and total calm. As if stung, Michael snatched the pen and scribbled his signature, then threw it down on the table with a clatter. “There. Are you happy now?” His voice, usually so smooth and controlled, had a low, guttural edge I’d never heard before. The question itself was childish. I raised an eyebrow. “Michael, I haven’t forced you to do a single thing.” He rubbed his nose, looking embarrassed. He turned to our son. “Leo, let’s go.” But Leo didn’t respond. I turned and saw my son’s face was ashen. His body was trembling, seized by violent convulsions. Then, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the floor. “Leo!” Michael and I cried out in unison. The lawyer, a former paramedic, rushed around the table and knelt beside him. He took one look at Leo’s dilated pupils and clammy skin. “Oh, God,” he said, his voice grim. “This isn’t a seizure. He’s in withdrawal.” Michael’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Withdrawal? From what? How could he get his hands on… wait. The brownies he ate yesterday… Isabelle gave them to him…” Michael’s voice trailed off into horrified silence.

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Ten years. That’s how long I served my time in the gray, the space between lives. I scrubbed my karmic slate clean and bought myself a second chance, but I didn’t come back empty-handed. The universe, in its infinite and brutal wisdom, gave me a gift: a power that makes the lies of my biased parents come true. At the dinner table, my adoptive mother slid the only steak onto my brother’s plate. “A growing boy needs his protein or he’ll get stupid,” she’d said. “A girl can make do with bread and scraps.” In that instant, my brother’s eyes glazed over. He’s been babbling like a toddler ever since. When I was eighteen, they started a vicious rumor to scrape together cash for my brother. My adoptive father swore an oath to the whole town. “I saw it with my own two eyes! Old Man Hemlock dragging my daughter into the cornfields. I’d have to be blind to mistake my own kid!” The next second, my father’s world went black. He hasn’t seen the light of day since. Later, when the Quinns—the obscenely wealthy family who were my real parents—finally found me, my adoptive mother pulled my new mother aside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Be careful what you say around this one. Don’t ever, ever lie to her.” My birth mother, Eleanor, didn’t understand. Not yet. She would. Back at the Quinn estate, she wrapped an arm around the weeping girl they’d raised as their own, a girl named Natalie, and smiled at me. “Natalie has always been so delicate. The room with the morning sun… it’s better for her health if she keeps it.” 1 My father, Richard Quinn, nodded instantly. His gaze softened as he looked at the fragile, perfect Natalie. “She’s right. Natalie’s constitution is weak; she needs the sun. The third-floor suite with the terrace is hers. You can take the room on the second floor.” I looked at Natalie. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her skin as flawless as porcelain. She looked about as “delicate” as a diamond. Then I thought of my own reflection: hair like straw from years of malnutrition, skin sallow and stretched thin over my bones. I tilted my head, my voice flat. “What about her is weak?” The question seemed to throw Eleanor. She stammered, searching for an answer. “Well… she’s just…” Natalie’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She sagged against Eleanor like a wilted flower. “Mom, does she hate me? I… I can give her the room. I don’t mind… I should be the one to leave anyway. Yes, you should just let me go!” She made a show of wiping her eyes and turning toward the door. “Natalie, don’t be ridiculous!” Eleanor pulled her back, cradling her protectively before turning to glower at me. “Zoe, we aren’t playing favorites. The fact is, Natalie is fragile. She has to be looked after carefully.” That’s when my brother, Leo, who had been sizing me up with a critical stare, finally spoke. “Why are you asking so many questions? You might share my blood, but Natalie is the only sister I’ll ever claim. You’re the older one now, so you need to learn to give way to her.” A cold smile touched my lips, one they couldn’t see. In my last life, I was ground down to nothing by that cruel couple who raised me. I did the hardest chores, ate the worst food, and finally froze to death on the street one winter when I was fifteen. I used to wonder why. I thought it was just because I was unlovable. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t theirs at all. But looking at this new family, I realized that even if I had survived long enough to be found, my life wouldn’t have been much better. But the powers that be gave me a second chance. And they included a little party favor. This time, to hell with family. Anyone who owes me a debt will pay it. In full. I asked again, my voice deceptively soft. “Are you sure? Is she really that weak?” My little gift would be the judge of that. I was practically vibrating with anticipation, eager to see how it worked on the Quinns. My father waved a dismissive hand. “That’s enough. Don’t be so difficult. Are you saying we’re lying to you?” Eleanor nodded, her voice edged with urgency. “It’s true, Zoe. Natalie’s health is a serious matter. Her doctor said if she’s not cared for properly, she could… she could collapse, even cough up blood.” She hadn’t even finished the sentence. Splat. The girl in her arms, Natalie, gave a violent shudder. A spray of crimson erupted from her lips, painting the pristine white rug. The silence in the grand living room was absolute, broken only by the drip of blood onto the marble floor. Then, Natalie’s eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the ground, her face paling to a ghostly white before our eyes. “Natalie!” “My baby!” The three of them scrambled, their panic a chaotic symphony around her limp body. I remained where I stood, a silent, satisfied smile playing on my lips. See? Lies have a way of coming true. They rushed Natalie to the hospital. The moment their car was gone, I told the housekeeper to prepare the third-floor suite. I moved in that afternoon. A few days of peace passed. That weekend, Natalie, apparently recovered, invited me on a shopping trip. As we were about to get in the car to go home, she clutched her stomach, feigning a sudden pain. She told me to wait while she and the driver went to a nearby pharmacy. The second she was out of sight, a couple of creeps materialized, rubbing their hands together as they closed in on me. I almost laughed. You could have had a peaceful life, Natalie. Instead, you chose to play with fire. Fine. I’d let her feel the burn. I flexed my knuckles and met them head-on. A few sharp, well-placed strikes, and the thugs were groaning on the pavement. When I got home, I put on the performance of a lifetime. “Mom, Dad!” I cried, forcing tears. “Some men tried to attack me! If I didn’t know how to defend myself, God knows what would have happened! We have to call the police!” Just as I finished, Natalie burst in. “Don’t call the police!” Her eyes darted to me, a flash of pure hatred in them when she saw I was unharmed. She quickly masked it. “Sister, let’s not rush into things. Calling the police could be bad for the family’s reputation…” My father’s brow furrowed. “Natalie has a point. This isn’t a game.” Leo looked me up and down, his contempt undisguised. “Zoe, take a look in the mirror. You’re a mess. What kind of creep would be desperate enough to go after you?” Eleanor hesitated. “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding?” I stood my ground. “It was no misunderstanding. I want justice. Why else would they come straight for me? I was standing right next to Natalie’s car.” I let my gaze drift to Natalie. “If they weren’t after me, then maybe…” Leo jumped in immediately. “That car is always for Natalie. They must have mistaken you for her. Who else would they be after? It’s not like anyone would want to get near you,” he sneered. “And call the police? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re wasting their time.” Eleanor hugged Natalie, nodding in agreement. “He’s right, it must have been a simple case of mistaken identity. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” I pretended to protest. “But what if they really were after me?” Richard waved his hand impatiently. “Stop making trouble, Zoe! It’s obvious, isn’t it? Those men were after Natalie. You just had the bad luck to be in the way. Consider it taking one for the team—for your sister.” I suppressed a surge of manic glee. “Mom, do you really think so too?” “Of course,” she said firmly. “They were clearly after Natalie. Since you’re not hurt, and the Quinn family’s reputation is at stake, it’s best to let this go.” I drew out my next words, my tone shifting completely. “Ooooh. So the creeps were after Natalie.” I turned, whistling a cheerful tune as I went upstairs, leaving the three of them staring after me, a flicker of confusion on their faces. That evening, Natalie came downstairs dressed to kill. “Mom, Dad, Leo, I have a party tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.” Eleanor beamed, turning Natalie around by the hands. “Just look at you! My beautiful girl. You’re going to break so many hearts tonight!” From the second-floor landing, I watched the happy family scene. Perfect. I wondered if they’d still be smiling by the end of the night. At dinner, my mood was unusually bright. I ate three bowls of rice. Just as I was about to head out for a walk, I heard my father’s voice roar from the living room, laced with a tremor of fear. “What?! Natalie… attacked by thugs?! Where?! When did this happen?!” I turned to see Richard clutching the phone, his face ashen. Eleanor had already fainted on the sofa. Once again, the Quinns scrambled off to the hospital. This time, I followed at a leisurely pace. In the hospital room, Natalie’s face was swathed in bandages. The skin that was visible was a patchwork of angry purple and blue bruises. Her eyes were hollow, vacant. Lifeless. Eleanor was clinging to her, her sobs echoing in the sterile room. Richard, his face like thunder, was barking orders into his phone, telling his men to find the attackers and deal with them—quietly. I leaned against the doorframe. “Well, well. You don’t think these are the same guys who almost got me by mistake, do you? They work fast. Found their real target in no time.” Leo spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe! Do you have any humanity at all? Natalie is lying there like that, and you’re making jokes?” Natalie’s head snapped toward me, her eyes filled with a poison so potent I could almost feel it. Richard took a deep breath, looking at his battered daughter. “Natalie has been through a terrible ordeal. We have to make it up to her. I’m transferring ten percent of my shares in Quinn Corp to her name. As a comfort, and for her future security.” Eleanor and Leo nodded in solemn agreement, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I let out a soft laugh. I’d been wondering how to get my hands on the Quinn family fortune, and here my dear father was, serving it up on a silver platter. I put on a wounded expression. “Dad, Mom… have you forgotten something? Your actual daughter comes home, and you’ve given me nothing.” Leo pointed a trembling finger at me. “Zoe, don’t push your luck! Do you have to grab everything that’s Natalie’s?” My parents’ faces hardened. I wiped away a non-existent tear. “So that’s how it is. I suffered for eighteen years out in the world, thinking that when I came home, I’d finally be loved. But I see now my place is still lower than an adopted girl’s.” Eleanor’s expression softened for a moment, but Natalie, ever the actress, started crying again. “Mom, Dad, I think she’s right. I’m just the adopted daughter. I don’t deserve the shares. You should give them to her. Once I’m better, I’ll move out. I won’t take up her space anymore.” Her performance sent Richard and Eleanor into a fresh wave of pity. Richard’s brow furrowed, his gaze on me filled with disapproval. “Zoe, look what you’ve done to her. I’ve told you, you are our daughter, but so is Natalie. It’s just ten percent of the shares. Why must you fight over everything? Can’t you just yield to her for once?” Just as Eleanor was about to scold me, I heard a couple of nurses whispering nearby. “Wow, the classic long-lost daughter story. You have to feel for the real one. Eighteen years of hell, and she comes home to be treated worse than the imposter.” “And the parents are clueless. The fake one has been living her life for years. They should be showering the real daughter with compensation, not pushing her aside.” The Quinns heard them. Their faces flushed with shame. Eleanor’s tone shifted. She took my hand. “Zoe, we know you’ve suffered. But Natalie was just attacked. We have to compensate her. Don’t worry, we won’t favor one of you over the other.” I nodded slowly. “Oh. So ‘not favoring one over the other’ means I get ten percent too?” Leo exploded. “Zoe! Have you no shame? Still thinking about money at a time like this! You’re just some hick from the countryside. How can you even compare to Natalie? Ten percent? You don’t deserve a thing!” The nurses shot him looks of disgust. “What is wrong with that brother? Defending the fake one over his own flesh and blood. Is he an idiot?” Leo opened his mouth to retort, but Richard stopped him. My father cared deeply about appearances. His face was a mask of strained composure. He cleared his throat. “Zoe, you are our daughter. Rest assured, we would never be biased. But you’re still young, inexperienced. Shares are not a toy. You are my flesh and blood. Naturally, half of this company will be yours one day.” It was a beautiful, empty promise. But it was exactly what I needed to hear. I widened my eyes, looking at my mother. “Mom, is that true? Will half of the company really be mine?” Feeling the nurses’ eyes on her, she nodded quickly. “Of course, dear. Why would we lie to you? I carried you for ten months. Of course half of everything we have belongs to you!” A satisfied smile spread across my face. I turned and walked out of the room. “Thanks, Mom and Dad!” Behind me, I heard Leo scoff. “Idiot…” I raised an eyebrow. Soon enough, you’ll see who the real idiot is. The day Natalie was discharged from the hospital, my father took a phone call. His face went white. “No… that’s impossible… how could it…” Just moments before, through a series of untraceable but completely legal and binding maneuvers, the fifty percent of Quinn Corp stock held in his name—including shares he held in trust—had been instantaneously transferred to me. The paperwork was flawless. The transfer was effective immediately. Just like that, I became the absolute majority shareholder of Quinn Corp, holding fifty percent of the company. My word was now law. In the living room, a vein pulsed on my father’s forehead. He roared, his voice low and furious. “Impossible! This has to be a clerical error! Zoe, you’re coming with me to the office right now to transfer it back!” I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Why would I do that?” Leo lunged toward me. “Why? Because it’s not yours! This is the Quinn family’s company! Transfer it back, and maybe we’ll still let you eat at our table!” I met his gaze. “You need to understand the new reality, Leo. From now on, you’ll be begging me to let you eat at my table. And I’d watch your tone. With fifty percent of the stock, I can call a board meeting tomorrow and have all of you thrown out on the street.” The threat landed. Their faces went rigid with fury, but they didn’t dare say another word. Now that I had the company, it was time to get rid of the parasite who had stolen my life. The next day, Richard tried again, his approach softer. “Zoe, you can’t hold fifty percent of the shares alone. It should be split evenly between you three children. No matter what, you have to give some to your brother and to Natalie.” I nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Leo and I are your biological children. The shares should be split between us. But Natalie? She’s just an adopted daughter. Ten percent is more than generous.” I paused, then added casually, “Of course, if Natalie were your biological daughter too, then it would make sense for the three of us to share equally. But she’s not. What a shame.” Richard started to speak, then stopped, a strange look crossing his face. He forced a smile and left without another word. Watching his retreating back, I smirked. The fish has taken the bait. A week later, an emergency shareholders’ meeting was called at Quinn Corp. Richard stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat. “Everyone, there is a family matter I must clarify today regarding the recent shift in stock. It was all, in fact, a misunderstanding. Zoe, the time has come for the truth. Natalie… is your biological sister. I kept it from you because I didn’t want to upset you when you had just returned home.” A murmur went through the room. I sat among the shareholders and started to applaud softly. “Bravo.” Seeing my calm reaction, Richard pressed on. “Now that you know you are all three my biological children, you must be willing to part with some of those shares, right? To divide them fairly? If you don’t believe me, I have a DNA test right here from a reputable lab.” I ignored the report he offered. My voice was solemn. “Dad, are you certain? Is Natalie your biological daughter?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he slapped his chest. “I swear on it. Natalie is my daughter, Richard Quinn’s flesh and blood!” I fought to contain my joy. “That’s wonderful news! But just to be fair to everyone here, I request we conduct another test. Right now.” “Absurd!” Leo objected instantly. Panic flickered across the faces of my parents and Natalie. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared? If it’s the truth, what is there to fear?” The other shareholders began to look at them with suspicion. Trapped, Richard had no choice but to agree. The results came back quickly. In front of the entire board, the sealed envelope was opened. Richard’s fists were clenched. Leo looked like a cornered animal. Natalie hid behind Eleanor, unable to look up. The lab technician’s voice was clear and professional. “The results confirm that Richard Quinn is the biological father of Natalie Quinn.” The Quinns froze, then exchanged shocked glances. “How is that possible…” they whispered. While they were reeling, I took another sealed envelope from the technician. “So Dad wasn’t lying. Natalie really is my sister.” Richard, though confused, breathed a sigh of relief. “See? I told you I wouldn’t lie. Natalie is my daughter.” Eleanor snatched the report. Her eyes scanned to the bottom line confirming the paternal link. She swayed on her feet, about to confront her husband, when I held up the second envelope with a bright smile. “Don’t get too excited. There’s one more test result for Natalie.” Another one? The room filled with confused murmurs. I tore open the envelope and held the final page up for everyone to see. As the conclusion on the report came into focus, the blood drained from every Quinn family member’s face. Their eyes widened in horror. The entire boardroom fell into a dead, chilling silence.

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