Author: Momo Chan

Chapter 1 I am an immortal vampire. Six centuries ago, to conceal my existence among mortals, I bestowed my fortune in gold upon my servant, elevating him to the wealthiest merchant in the realm. In exchange, he and his bloodline swore an eternal covenant: to serve me without question and to deliver my tribute of wealth each month. Yet six hundred years later, his twelfth-generation descendant broke the oath. Flanked by his fiancée, he stood before me and tore the contract to shreds. “Ms. Vance, Julian is the chief executive of a multi-billion-dollar enterprise. He works around the clock,” Chloe Montgomery said, her voice dripping with disdain. “While you do nothing but vacation and shop. What makes you think you’re entitled to sixty percent of this company’s net profits?” Julian Sterling looked at me and let out a weary sigh. “Times have changed, Vivian,” he said smoothly. “In the modern world, capital belongs to those who generate value.” I nodded slowly, setting down my untouched glass of wine. Times had indeed changed. It seemed my gold was never coming back. In that case, I would simply take back the land beneath Sterling Tower. “So the Sterling family intends to unilaterally breach our covenant?” I withdrew a linen napkin from the table and meticulously dabbed at a faint droplet of red wine on my fingertip. Chloe scoffed at my reaction. She tossed her styled blonde curls over her shoulder and looked down at me from behind the gala’s VIP table. “Get one thing straight, Ms. Vance. This isn’t a breach of contract,” she said, tapping her French-manicured nails against the mahogany. “This is corporate restructuring. We are simply excising deadweight and eliminating useless sunk costs.” With a flick of her wrist, she slapped a freshly printed legal agreement onto the tablecloth in front of me. “Frankly, I have no idea how you managed to leach off this firm for so long. You hold no executive title. You generate zero revenue. Why on earth did Julian’s father wire sixty percent of our monthly dividend yield directly into your private trust? Because of some archaic family superstition? It’s absurd.” The moment the words left her mouth, several senior vice presidents seated around the table leaned in, murmuring in agreement. I knew exactly what puzzled them. Six centuries had passed; my true nature had long faded into myth. None of them knew of the original transaction, nor did they realize that every existential crisis Sterling Enterprises had faced over the decades had been quietly erased by my hand. To them, I was merely Vivian Vance—a shadowy socialite bound to the family by a centuries-old tradition that dictated unconditional deference to my name. “She’s right,” one executive whispered. “We kill ourselves sixty hours a week, and she pulls nine figures while lounging in the Hamptons.” “Julian just closed that five-billion-dollar cross-border AI partnership,” another chimed in. “He’s the sole architect of this empire.” I ignored the background noise and cast my gaze over the new document. Under the distribution clause, my sixty-percent profit entitlement had been slashed to one-tenth of one percent. Below that, an added stipulation demanded that I irrevocably surrender all proprietary executive privileges and hidden voting rights tied to Sterling Enterprises. I lifted my chin, locking eyes with Julian, who had remained silent while swirling an amber scotch in his crystal tumbler. “Is this your doing?” I asked. Julian finally looked up. His eyes held the cold, condescending pity unique to young men blinded by early success. “Chloe’s delivery may be blunt, Vivian, but the core premise is sound,” he said, setting his glass down with an arrogant sense of finality. “To close that five-billion-dollar deal, my team and I worked ourselves ragged for a month straight. Meanwhile, you spend your afternoons tending orchids in the penthouse conservatory and sipping tea.” Julian leaned back into his leather chair, crossing one tailored leg over the other. “I am not my father. I don’t answer to ghost stories or medieval loyalty pledges. Times have changed. Only those who produce results get a seat at the table.” I looked at his youthful, ambitious face. For a fleeting second, another face overlapped with his—raw, blistered with frostbite, weeping in the bitter snows of a winter six hundred years ago. In the courtyard of an ancient stone estate, a starving beggar named Barnaby Sterling had fallen to his knees, clutching my velvet pouch of gold coins to his chest. My Lady, thank you for this mercy, he had sobbed. You took a wretch doomed to freeze in the mud and made him a master of coin. In return, I and every son born of my line shall serve you without condition, laying our wealth at your feet until the end of days. I had never needed money; I merely required a human identity to walk unnoticed among mortal society. Barnaby needed bread and power; I needed camouflage. It had been an agreeable arrangement. Throughout the centuries, I opened doors, smoothed over regulatory ruin, and funneled sovereign connections into their lap, ensuring the Sterling empire flourished with unnatural ease. Yet six hundred years later, his bloodline genuinely believed they had built this empire with their bare hands. Especially this crowning jewel of theirs—the five-billion-dollar AI enterprise deal. “Are you deaf?” Chloe snapped, rapping her knuckles against the polished table. “Julian was generous enough to leave you a fraction of a percent. That’s still a couple million a year—plenty for a woman with no marketable skills to live comfortably in early retirement. Sign the paperwork, and let’s end this with some dignity.” I picked up the Montblanc pen from the table, spun it lazily between my fingers, and let it drop with a sharp clatter. “And if I refuse?” Chloe froze, caught off guard by my flat indifference. Her practiced corporate smile vanished entirely. “Vivian, are you out of your mind?” Her voice rose an octave, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Do you honestly think you have leverage? With one call from Julian, our finance department will freeze every single transfer to your account by sunrise.” Watching her flush with frantic venom was almost tedious. “Then freeze them,” I said mildly. Fools. The wealth I had granted Barnaby Sterling was merely my surplus liquid coin. My actual foundations—the sovereign land deeds, centuries of real estate, antique vaults, and diversified trusts—yielded returns beyond their comprehension. The allowance Sterling Enterprises wired me every month was little more than pocket change. I rose from the table, done indulging an insolent socialite. “I will not sign,” I said, meeting Julian’s eyes. “Since you are so thoroughly convinced that five-billion-dollar triumph belongs entirely to your genius, let us see if it survives without me.” I turned and walked toward the grand doors of the ballroom. Behind me, Chloe’s shrill laughter echoed across the hall. “Who does she think she is? Don’t tell me she’s taking credit for the AI merger! A decorative parasite who spends her life tanning on the roof wouldn’t know the first thing about venture capital!” Chapter 2 The following morning, I arrived at the ground-floor lobby of Sterling Tower precisely at nine. After six centuries, routine was second nature. Empires rose and collapsed, yet I still enjoyed watching the morning sun break over Manhattan. The crown jewel of Sterling Tower—the penthouse terrace overlooking Central Park—had always offered the finest light. I walked toward the private executive elevator and swiped my encrypted keycard. The reader flashed red. Two sharp beeps chimed through the brass enclosure: Access Denied. I raised an eyebrow. Nearby, a public elevator opened, and several junior analysts stepped out. Recognizing me, they ducked their heads and began whispering behind their lanyards. “Isn’t that Ms. Vance from the penthouse suite?” “Heard Julian cut her off completely last night.” “They pulled her executive clearance, and she still showed up? Shameless.” Ignoring them, I walked over to the reception desk. The young receptionist blanched the moment our eyes met, shifting her gaze away guiltily. “Ms. Vance… Ms. Montgomery ordered your private elevator clearance revoked first thing this morning.” I nodded gently. “And the public elevators?” “Those… those are still open to the public floors, ma’am.” “Thank you.” I stepped into an open service elevator and rode it straight to the top. The doors slid open on the fiftieth floor to the sound of crashing porcelain and frantic scraping. Several facilities workers were hauling my potted winter orchids out into the hallway. Near the entrance, my favorite seventeenth-century antique tea set sat tossed into an open cardboard box—its hand-carved porcelain lid chipped at the rim. Chloe Montgomery stood in the center of my former private office, barking orders. “Toss all this antique garbage into the compactor. The place smells like a musty museum. Replace it with an imported Italian leather sectional and bring in an ebony executive desk by noon.” She turned around and spotted me standing by the threshold. Her lips instantly twisted into an exaggerated, mocking pout. “My goodness, Vivian! What are you still doing here?” She clicked across the marble floor in her Christian Louboutins, her eyes gleaming with malice. “I do apologize for the mess. Julian mentioned that my previous office was entirely too modest for the Chief Strategy Officer. Seeing as your penthouse suite was sitting empty doing nothing, I took the initiative to requisition it.” I looked down at the chipped porcelain lid on the floor. It had been crafted by a master artisan in Europe over three hundred years ago. It held little financial consequence to me, but I had grown fond of using it. “Pained by your little trinkets?” Chloe followed my gaze, dripping with theatrical pity. “Just obsolete junk, really. If you’re genuinely that attached to it, I’ll Venmo you twenty bucks so you can take it down to a thrift store.” Just then, Julian stepped out of the private corridor accompanied by three senior associates. Seeing the standoff, he offered a mild scowl. “What’s going on here?” Chloe’s arrogance instantly melted into vulnerable distress as she glided to his side. “Julian, I was only trying to prepare a proper workspace for our European partners, but Ms. Vance seems upset. She doesn’t even handle corporate business—leaving this entire floor to her is an absolute waste of firm resources.” Julian patted her hand reassuringly, then looked at me, his jaw set in cold annoyance. “It’s just an office, Vivian,” he said, his tone clipped. “Chloe is spearheading our international expansion next year. She requires an appropriate venue to entertain sovereign wealth funds.” He paused, his expression hardening. “As for you, if you aren’t comfortable hot-desking on the trading floor, there’s a vacant storage room by the second-floor stairwell. Have facilities clear out the file boxes, and you can sit there.” Behind him, two associates barely choked back their laughter. Banishing a woman who had drawn sixty percent of the firm’s dividends to a windowless basement utility closet was a deliberate, calculated humiliation. I looked straight at Julian. There was no remorse in his eyes—only the impatient hunger of a predator eager to shed an obsolete burden. “You want me in a second-floor utility closet?” I asked, my voice calm. Unsettled by my stillness, Julian squared his shoulders. “This is purely business, Vivian. Sterling Enterprises does not carry deadweight. If you feel slighted, you are free to tender your formal resignation. Naturally, out of respect for our shared past, I’ll instruct payroll to cut you a standard severance check.” I nodded slowly. “Very well.” Without another word, I stepped over the shattered porcelain at my feet and walked back toward the elevator bank. Behind me, Chloe’s triumphant laughter echoed through the marble hallway. “At least she knows when she’s beaten.” Chapter 3 I bypassed the second-floor storage closet entirely and walked out into the crisp autumn air. The morning sun was brilliant, but my appetite for basking in it had vanished. I spent the morning at a quiet private lounge nearby. Around noon, my phone rang. It was Richard Sterling. Julian’s father. A man who possessed just enough competence to manage an inheritance, but lacked the spine to rule it. The moment I answered, his cautious, strained voice came through the receiver. “Ms. Vance… is this a convenient time to speak?” “Go ahead,” I said, sipping my Earl Grey. Richard sighed heavily, his voice laden with timid hesitation. “Julian and Chloe… the children acted rashly. I heard about what happened this morning. It’s completely unacceptable!” His condemnation was loud, but entirely hollow. “However, Ms. Vance, you know I’ve stepped back from daily operations. Julian runs the board now. The boy was educated abroad—he looks at nothing but quarterly yields and EBITDA. He has little patience for… our family’s ancient customs.” I rested against my chair, watching the traffic crawl down Fifth Avenue. “Your point, Richard?” He choked on his words for a brief second before continuing. “What I mean is, the current executive committee was handpicked by Julian. They harbor significant resentment over the sheer volume of dividends allocated to you each month. Ms. Vance, perhaps we can find an amicable compromise?” He was finally circling toward his real objective. “If you would just concede a step. Let us lower your dividend distribution to ten percent, and I will personally arrange an executive suite for you on another floor. A mutual compromise to preserve family harmony. What do you say?” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Richard Sterling, are you attempting to negotiate terms with me?” The line went dead silent. “Twenty years ago, when your reckless leveraged buyout brought Sterling Enterprises to the brink of federal liquidation, it was my capital that insulated your board from bankruptcy,” I said softly, the weight of centuries pressing through the receiver. “You know better than anyone what sits in my vaults. Now that the balance sheet is flush and the company has found new momentum, you believe you can discard me?” Panic crept into Richard’s voice. “No, no, Ms. Vance! That was never my intention! I was only… trying to shield you from the board—” “Enough,” I cut him off. “In all my centuries, I have despised compromise. What is mine remains mine to the cent. Since your son believes I contribute nothing to this firm, let us see how well he fares on his own.” I ended the call without waiting for a reply. When I returned to the Sterling family estate in Westchester that afternoon, I found my personal belongings boxed up and piled haphazardly on the front driveway. Inside, Chloe was lounging on the velvet sofa, admiring her fresh manicure. She didn’t bother looking up as the front door opened. “Oh, Vivian, so sorry about the mess,” she said breezily, blowing on her glossy red nails. “Julian and I are hosting our engagement gala next month, and we’re renovating the estate from top to bottom. Your vintage clutter was taking up far too much square footage, so I had the groundskeepers pack it up.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t fret. Julian leased a charming one-bedroom apartment for you out in Queens. Quiet neighborhood. Perfect for someone transitioning into retirement.” I stared at the cardboard boxes stacked by the entrance. Packed haphazardly inside were first-edition manuscripts, illuminated medieval texts, and classical oil paintings I had acquired over the centuries. Several rare canvases had been crudely folded to fit into the cardboard containers. “Who authorized you to touch my possessions?” I walked over to the sofa and looked down at her. My gaze was cold enough to make her instinctively flinch backward into the cushions. But within seconds, she remembered whose house she was in and snapped to her feet. “I authorized it!” she sneered, puffing her chest. “This estate belongs to the Sterling trust. You’ve squatted here rent-free for decades. Asking you to vacate is entirely within our legal rights. Don’t flatter yourself, Vivian.” She thrust a manicured finger within inches of my nose. “All you know how to do is posture. Scream all you want—by nightfall, you’re off this property!” I looked at her face, twisted by petty greed and unearned arrogance. I felt no rage, only a profound weariness. Human stupidity truly was an incurable, hereditary disease. I took half a step back, brushing her hand away. “You don’t need to throw me out. I’m leaving.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my private estate manager. Within eight minutes, two midnight-black Maybachs glided silently through the estate gates, stopping before the front steps. Four private security operatives in charcoal suits stepped out, methodically loading my boxes into the trunks with white-glove precision. Chloe watched the multi-million-dollar motorcade, her sneer faltering for a split second before curdling into bitter spite. “Renting high-end town cars with Julian’s dividend checks… how pathetic.” I didn’t dignify her venom with a response. At the car door, I paused and cast a final look back at her. “Remember every word you spoke today, Chloe,” I said calmly. “I will collect on this debt, with compound interest.” Chapter 4 Three days later. Sterling Enterprises convened an extraordinary general meeting of shareholders. As the largest registered individual beneficiary on file, I received formal notification. When I pushed open the double doors of the boardroom, the room fell dead silent. Every eye turned toward me—glares laced with curiosity, mockery, and naked schadenfreude. The long boardroom table was packed with senior executives and institutional representatives. At the head of the table sat Julian Sterling. Chloe sat directly to his right in her capacity as Chief Strategy Officer. Scanning the room, I noticed that my customary chair at the head of the table had been occupied by an unfamiliar new vice president. “Apologies, Ms. Vance. Seating is exceptionally tight today,” Chloe said with a saccharine smile, pointing toward a far corner near the service exit. A single red plastic folding chair sat alone on the carpet. “You rarely participate in proxy votes anyway,” she added smoothly. “Feel free to observe from over there.” A ripple of muted chuckles echoed down the mahogany table. Several department heads exchanged amused glances. She really showed up after being stripped of her credentials. Desperate. Probably here to stage a scene. A scene? Julian could blacklist her from the tristate area with a single phone call. I absorbed their whispers without expression. Walking past the rows of tailored suits, I took a seat on the folding chair. “Proceed,” I said quietly. Disappointed that I hadn’t erupted into an undignified tantrum, Chloe clicked her tongue and signaled the corporate secretary to begin. The initial agenda consisted of mundane operational updates and quarterly earnings projections. Then came the final item. Julian adjusted his silk tie and cleared his throat, commanding the room. “Gentlemen, the final order of business today is our most critical strategic initiative: the complete recapitalization of our equity structure, alongside the formal revocation of Vivian Vance’s permanent veto authority.” He tossed a thick legal docket onto the center of the table. “A modern corporation cannot remain shackled to legacy burdens. Over the past three decades, Ms. Vance has contributed precisely zero operational value to this balance sheet. I move to formally terminate her special director privileges and permanently cap her profit participation at one-tenth of one percent of net common dividends.” Julian looked around the room. “The floor is open for a vote.” Silence reigned for half a second before Chloe raised her hand high. “I vote in favor of the Chief Executive’s motion,” she declared loudly. “Sterling Enterprises belongs to its builders, not to retired parasites.” With her lead, every executive and shareholder along the table raised their hands in rapid succession. Unanimous approval. Not a single soul looked in my direction. In their minds, I was already erased. Julian reviewed the tallied votes, a smug, triumphant smirk curling the edge of his mouth. He turned toward my corner, fixing me with the gaze of a conqueror looking down on a captive. “The resolution carries, Vivian,” he said coldly. “As of this moment, your connection to the Sterling family is reduced to a non-voting fraction of a percent. Pack whatever remains in your drawers and remove yourself from our premises.” The executives held their breath, waiting for me to slink out like a kicked stray. I rose slowly from the plastic chair, smoothing the lapel of my tailored coat. “Stripping my veto authority?” I asked, my voice soft yet carrying effortlessly across the cavernous room. “Very well.” “Terminating my profit distribution?” I paused, meeting his gaze. “That is acceptable as well.” Chloe let out a sharp scoff. “At least she understands her place. Now get out.” Ignoring her entirely, I reached into my leather tote and drew out an ancient, dark walnut box. Chapter 5 I unclasped the brass lock and lifted the lid. Inside lay a single sheet of vellum, yellowed with age, its edges brittle and dark. Holding the parchment, I walked deliberately toward the center of the boardroom. “Since you consider me an idle parasite and wish to sever all historic ties,” I said, my heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor, “then we have some long-overdue accounts to settle.” I set the ancient vellum flat before Julian. “You may revoke my board seat. But you will also vacate this building.”

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1 I have a hereditary fat metabolism disorder. Overeat slightly, and my weight and blood sugar spiral out of control. After diagnosis, my best friend Wendy quit sweets and fried foods with me so I could look perfect for my wedding. My fiancé Hank was deeply moved. Three days before the wedding, Hank said, “We’re at the finish line. I’m taking Wendy out for a cheat meal tonight. What are you craving, Wendy?” My fork of plain chicken breast froze mid-air. He asked her, not me. Wendy squealed, hugging my arm. “Sushi! The expensive kind!” Hank chuckled. “You got it, little glutton.” He turned to me. “Tracy, your dress is a size smaller. I’ll take you for spicy hotpot after the wedding. I need to compensate Wendy first for suffering through this diet with you.” I lowered my head. The dry chicken tasted like cardboard. He gave Wendy all the credit and rewards, while I got all the discipline and sacrifice. Throughout my diet, he never encouraged me once. He only pitied her. Wendy grabbed Hank’s hand, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s run there so we can eat even more! Catch us, Tracy!” I stayed put until they disappeared down the street. My eyes drifted to the snowboard shop on the corner. For months, I’d talked about wanting to go snowboarding. But I wanted hotpot right now. And I didn’t want to wait until the honeymoon to snowboard either. … I was picking up my third snowboard when Hank finally called me. When I answered, it was Wendy’s voice coming through the speaker. “Tracy, we already started eating! What’s taking you so long?” Before I could even respond, she flipped the camera around. The screen showed Hank, meticulously peeling a shrimp with absolute patience. “Don’t worry, Tracy! Your fiancé is taking amazing care of me!” Hank looked down with a soft smile, handing her the peeled shrimp with practiced ease. We had been together for seven years. He had never peeled a shrimp for me. I carried the snowboard toward the checkout counter. “I’m not coming. You guys enjoy yourselves.” The line went dead silent for a second. Wendy flipped the camera back to herself. “What’s wrong, Tracy? Are you mad?” She chewed loudly as she spoke. I looked away from the screen and handed the board to the cashier. “Hi, I’ll take this one, please.” Wendy choked slightly on her food. The camera shook violently before the phone was handed back to Hank. “Tracy?” I waited until the cashier started ringing up the board before looking back at the screen. Hank lowered his voice into a hushed, reprimanding tone. “Stop throwing a tantrum at Wendy. She completely lost her appetite because of you. “If you’re not coming, just go home early. We’ll talk tonight. “I promised you I’d never let you go to sleep angry.” My fingers paused. I thought, maybe I could give him one last chance. “Alright. Buy me that snowsuit I’ve been asking for, and we’ll talk.” I left the shop’s shipping address with the cashier and hailed a cab to the university district. When I stepped out, snow had started falling from the dark sky. I pushed the door of the hotpot shop open. “Auntie Martha, the usual, please.” Auntie Martha walked out of the kitchen with a warm, wrinkled smile. “Tracy! What a surprise. Where’s Hank today?” I looked away. “He’s busy.” Auntie Martha didn’t notice my tone and started expertly tossing my favorite vegetables into the boiling broth. “I heard that after your old boss ran off, you two started your own design firm! So young and successful. I’m so proud of you both.” I forced a smile and pulled a wedding invitation out of my purse. Auntie Martha froze for a second before wiping her hands on her apron, her face breaking into a huge, delighted grin. “Oh my goodness! Congratulations! I will absolutely be there. I need to get you two a massive red envelope!” I quickly waved my hands. “Just bring yourself, Auntie. You helped us so much back then. Hank and I are incredibly grateful.” In college, Hank and I survived purely on student loans and part-time jobs. At the end of every month, when we were completely broke, we would come here and order the cheapest vegetarian combo. Over time, Auntie Martha memorized our faces. Eventually, we started finding extra slices of meat hidden at the bottom of our bowls. Just as I finished eating and stood up to leave, the front door swung open. I came face to face with Hank. Behind him was Wendy, draped in a brand-new, luxurious wool coat. The moment she walked in, her eyes grew red and teary. “Tracy, if you didn’t want sushi, why didn’t you just say so?” She looked around the tiny, rundown shop with blatant disgust. “Why would you come to a place like this? It’s so unsanitary.” Auntie Martha, who had just started walking over to greet them, froze dead in her tracks, completely humiliated. My face instantly hardened. Hank’s jaw tightened. Seeing Wendy open her mouth to complain again, he quickly grabbed her arm. I took a deep breath, turned to Auntie Martha, and apologized profusely, begging her not to take the insult to heart. Then, I grabbed Wendy by the arm and dragged her outside. She immediately started shrieking. “Let go of me, Tracy! This coat is brand new! It’s handmade! You’re ruining it!” I forcefully shoved her away. Before I could even open my mouth, Hank cut me off. “Enough, Tracy. Wendy isn’t wrong.” My lungs completely stopped working. “What did you just say?” Hank sighed and stepped between us, deliberately shielding her from me. “I mean, we have a different status now. Coming back to a dump like this is degrading.” The cold winter air fell into an absolute, suffocating silence. I slowly looked up and met his eyes. I couldn’t recognize the man looking back at me anymore. I slowly shook my head. “A dump like this? Hank, did you forget how you survived those years?” Hank’s brow furrowed in irritation. “I haven’t forgotten. But people need to move on and leave the past behind, don’t they?” I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Wendy suddenly let out a delicate sneeze. Hank instantly spun around, unscrewing the thermos he had been holding the entire time. “Here, drink some hot water quickly.” When he turned back to me, his tone had shifted to pure impatience. “Tracy, stop being so dramatic, okay?” I pointed a shaking finger at my own chest. “I’m being dramatic?” “Aren’t you? Wendy and I went home, and you weren’t there. Your phone was off. We were losing our minds with worry. “Wendy has been freezing out here for an hour trying to find you, and this is how you treat her?” I opened my mouth, but it felt like a soaked sponge had been shoved down my throat. I couldn’t utter a single syllable. Hank and I did owe Wendy. When we first started our firm, nobody wanted to hire two fresh graduates. We were on the verge of bankruptcy. Wendy convinced her wealthy father to pull some strings and get us into a massive bidding war. That was the only reason we survived. Ever since that day, Hank treated Wendy like royalty. He catered to her every whim. But whenever she left, he would bury his face in my neck, groaning in exhaustion. “Tracy, networking is so exhausting.” He used to raise his hand and swear to me. “I promise, I’m just buttering up the client! I’m doing this all for the company!” I used to laugh at how dramatic he was. But when exactly did Hank turn this “networking” into a genuine obsession? Maybe it was the first time he practically begged to drive her home. Maybe it was during my business trips, when they started going out for private dinners, night after night. When I finally caught them, he looked at me with that tired, condescending expression. “The only reason we have this lifestyle is because of her. I am just fulfilling my duty as a businessman to keep the client happy. Stop being so paranoid.” Suddenly, a freezing gust of wind ripped down the street, and my body shivered uncontrollably. Hank’s face instantly changed. He rushed forward, grabbing my hands, letting out a sharp gasp. “Why are your hands so cold?” He frantically breathed hot air into his palms, rubbing my hands vigorously, trying to transfer his body heat to me. Deep down in my chest, a pathetic, stupid sliver of warmth flared back to life. “Hank.” I forced a tight smile. “Did you buy the snowsuit I wanted?” Hank’s hands stopped moving. “Tracy,” he said, glancing back at Wendy for a split second. “You don’t actually need that snowsuit right now, do you?” I froze. “What?” Wendy immediately rushed forward and linked her arm through mine. “Come on, Tracy! You’re not going snowboarding tomorrow, right? “After we finished our sushi, we walked past this designer coat boutique. I made Hank go in with me.” She smiled, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “He kept saying everything looked perfect on me. He gave absolutely zero constructive feedback!” Hank looked up at the sky, laughing helplessly. “That’s because you were the model. Everything looks good on you.” He turned back to me, the fond smile still lingering on his lips. Before he could speak, I violently ripped my hands out of his grip. “So,” I stared dead into his eyes. “Something I’ve been begging for was cast aside for her impulsive shopping trip. Again. Right?” Hank’s brow snapped together in instant frustration. Wendy looked confused for a second before her face hardened with offense. “Excuse me? What did I even do?” Hank’s voice immediately turned harsh and protective, exactly like a boyfriend defending his girl from an attack. “Tracy, I don’t understand you. “Why are you throwing a fit right now? Even if I bought it, you wouldn’t use it until we go on our honeymoon, right?” Wendy pouted her lips, nodding in aggressive agreement. Hank kept going. “If you keep acting like this, I’m just going to take Wendy snowboarding instead and leave you at home.” I looked at him, pronouncing every single word with absolute clarity. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t need you to take me.” Hank blinked, caught off guard. “What does that mean?” I took a breath. “It means the wedding is off.” The second those words left my mouth, both of their faces morphed into pure shock. Wendy jumped backward. “Tracy, are you out of your mind? You’re ruining your wedding over a coat?!” Hank just stared deeply into my eyes. “You’re doing this over a cheat meal? Or is it because of the stupid snowsuit?” I slowly shook my head. “I just suddenly realized that you already have someone you genuinely want to spend your life with. Why should I force myself into the picture?” Hank’s face turned as black as thunder. Wendy suddenly let out a dramatic sob, her eyes turning bright red. “This is all my fault! Fine, I’ll leave!” She turned around and sprinted blindly into the freezing snowstorm. Hank instantly lunged forward to chase her. He took two steps, then violently whipped his head back to look at me. “Tracy,” his voice was hoarse and furious. “When we had absolutely nothing, Wendy was the only one who threw us a lifeline. “I coddle her, I spoil her, I agree with her because it is basic human networking! Why can’t you ever understand that?!” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and bolted after her into the blizzard. Once again, I was left standing entirely alone on the street. A snowflake landed on my lip. It was strange. Why did it taste like salt? I walked into a sports store, bought the exact snowsuit I wanted, and hailed a cab home. When I stepped out of the car, I checked my phone. Zero missed calls. The only notification was a text from the snowboard shop employee, confirming that my board had been delivered to my front door. But when I reached my porch, the board was gone. I was about to call building security when I accidentally opened my Instagram feed. Wendy had just posted a new photo: “There’s no sadness a little snow can’t fix!” The photo was of the exact snowboard I had spent weeks researching and selecting. The background was my own living room. A sickening mix of confusion and anger washed over me. My hands shook as I unlocked the front door. The entryway lights were blazing. Wendy was sitting on my couch, caressing the snowboard as if it were a priceless artifact. Hank was standing next to her, looking down at his phone, typing notes. The second he saw me, his expression dissolved into pure panic. He practically teleported across the room. Before I could even speak, he clamped a heavy hand over my mouth and physically shoved me back out the front door into the freezing hallway. I violently ripped his hand off my face. “Hank, you better give me a damn good explanation for why she has my snowboard.” Hank dug his fingers into my shoulders, his eyes darting frantically toward the door, aggressively shushing me. “Keep your voice down! Don’t let Wendy hear you! “She has been spoiled her whole life. She can’t handle being criticized. She was crying so hard, so I just… told her you bought the board specifically for her as an apology.” My eyes widened in absolute disbelief. “Me? Apologize to her?” Suddenly, the front door swung open. Wendy launched herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck. “Tracy, I forgive you! We’re still besties!” Out of the corner of my eye, Hank was frantically signaling me to play along. I slowly, deliberately peeled her arms off my shoulders. Then, I pulled out my phone, typed “911” into the keypad, and held the glowing screen right in front of their faces. I spoke slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Taking things without permission is called theft.” Wendy froze instantly. All the blood drained from Hank’s face. He grabbed my wrist with a vice-like grip and dragged me into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut behind us. His eyes were completely bloodshot. “Do you really have to humiliate her like this? “It’s just a piece of plastic! Are you insane?” I stared at him for a long time. Suddenly, all the tension left my muscles. I just felt entirely, overwhelmingly exhausted. “You’re right. It’s not worth it.” “Let’s break up, Hank.” A raw, guttural roar ripped out of Hank’s throat. “No!” I flinched, startled by the sheer violence in his voice. He realized he had lost control and immediately lowered his tone into a harsh, desperate whisper. “If you dump me right now, do you have any idea how embarrassed Wendy will be? “Tracy, you are an adult! Can you stop throwing irrational tantrums like a child?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I’m throwing a tantrum?” Hank took a step closer, towering over me. “Are you telling me I’m the villain here? “I am breaking my back trying to keep your best friend happy! I spend more time managing her emotions than I do yours! And I’m doing all of it for the company! I’m doing it so I can give you a better life!” The room fell dead silent. I heard my own voice whisper, hollow and broken. “But I never asked you to sacrifice yourself like that for me.” Tears flooded my vision. I dropped to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself. Hank let out a long, heavy sigh. He gently slipped my phone out of my hand and typed a quick apology message to Wendy on my behalf. After he finished, his voice became soft and gentle again. “Tracy, just take some time to really think about this. “It’s getting late. I’m going to drive Wendy home.” Just as his hand touched the doorknob, I called out to him. “Hank. Are you really doing all of this to give me a better life? Or did you just construct an elaborate excuse so you could justify spending all your time with her without feeling guilty?” The air in the room stood still for a terrifying second. Then, Hank let out a light, completely unabashed laugh. “Does it really matter? You’re the one I’m marrying in the end. Isn’t that enough?” He looked down at the floor, sighing softly. “It’s just… the more time I spend with Wendy, the more I realize how heavy my life is with you. When I look at you, I just get reminded of those miserable, poverty-stricken years. “Carrying the weight of this company and our future is exhausting, Tracy. You have to let me find my own happiness somewhere.” With that, he opened the door and walked out. I sat slumped on the hardwood floor, staring blindly at the wall. A few hours later, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Hank. “Wendy is having a panic attack and can’t sleep. I’m going to stay at her place tonight. Don’t wait up.” I stared at the glowing text message for a very long time. The final, microscopic ember of hope in my chest permanently died. With frozen fingers, I opened a travel app and bought a one-way ticket to a ski resort out West. My flight left at dawn. Hank, I am never waiting for you again. Early the next morning, someone started violently pounding on my front door. When I opened it, Hank was standing there, his face completely twisted with rage. Wendy was standing right behind him, her eyes swollen, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. “Tracy, what the hell is wrong with you?” I looked up, completely lost. Hank aggressively shoved his phone screen directly into my face. That’s when I saw it. Our company’s internal forum was completely blowing up. An anonymous account was mass-posting vicious rumors, accusing Hank and Wendy of having an illicit, sleazy affair. His voice dropped into a lethal whisper. “Tracy, if you want to break up, fine. But why do you have to be so incredibly vindictive? Why are you trying to destroy our reputations?” My entire body flinched. I froze in the doorway. “I… I didn’t do that.” Wendy choked on a sob and stepped forward, playing the ultimate victim. “Tracy, I know you’ve always been jealous that I was the one who saved the company, but you can’t fake a real emotional connection! “How could you use such a disgusting, dirty trick against me… If this leaks to the industry, my life is ruined!” She looked like she was about to collapse from the sheer injustice of it all. Hank stared at me like I was a complete monster. “Tracy, you are going to go online and post a public retraction right now!” My throat tightened painfully. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms I almost drew blood. “What exactly do you want me to do?” Hank was momentarily stunned by how eerily calm I sounded. But Wendy’s eyes immediately lit up. She quickly unzipped her designer purse and pulled out two crisp sheets of paper. The first was a formal letter of apology and a full confession to the rumors. The second was a termination notice. She looked at me with those big, tear-filled eyes. “Tracy, we have to kill this rumor before it spreads. I drafted an apology letter on my way over. All you have to do is sign it.” My voice felt like sandpaper. “And the termination notice?” Wendy instantly stopped crying and glanced nervously at Hank. He lowered his voice, trying to sound reasonable. “That was my decision. Just to avoid any more internal drama, I need you to stay away from the office for a while. “Once this whole mess blows over, I’ll officially rehire you.” I looked down at the paper. The official company seal—my company’s seal—was stamped in red ink at the bottom. I let out a dry, hollow laugh and signed my name on both pages. Hank let out a massive sigh of relief, as if a huge burden had just been lifted off his shoulders. He took the papers, grabbed Wendy’s arm, and the two of them hurried back toward the office to do damage control. I leaned against the doorframe, taking one final, lingering look at the apartment we had shared for years. Then, I grabbed my snowboard, walked out, and never looked back.

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1 Ever since my eye surgery, I have been able to see the emotional auras radiating from people. When someone deeply cares about another person, a warm orange glow surrounds them. I saw it when my neighbor returned from a business trip, his entire porch bathed in a passionate, glowing tangerine. I saw it when the old man down the street bought roasted chestnuts for his wife, a faint, tender warmth enveloping his frail shoulders. But my husband, Declan, always emitted a pale, sterile gray. Throughout the months following my surgery, his aura never changed. When he sat by my hospital bed and fed me soup, he was gray. When he fastened a diamond necklace around my neck for our anniversary, he was gray. Even in the dead of night, when our bodies were tangled together and his fingers interlocked with mine, that lifeless ash color remained. I used to convince myself that he was just a stoic man, someone who buried his love deep beneath a calm surface. That was until yesterday, at the welcome home party for my best friend, Sophie. The banquet hall suddenly lost power. Terrified of the dark, Sophie let out a piercing scream from the middle of the crowd. Declan lunged forward without a second thought. He slammed right into me, knocking me hard to the floor, just so he could pull Sophie into his arms. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” In the pitch black of that hall, an explosive, blinding orange light erupted from his body. It was the first time I had ever seen his aura shine so brightly. It looked like it was burning. … “Summer, are you hurt?” The emergency generators kicked in. The lights flickered back on. Every single guest saw Declan half kneeling on the carpet, holding Sophie tightly against his chest. And there I was, crumpled beside a long table two meters away. The skin on my elbow was sliced open, blood dripping steadily down my forearm. My knees had slammed into the unforgiving marble floor, throbbing with a sickening numbness. Declan finally looked away from Sophie and let his gaze land on me. That blinding orange halo around him still had not faded. In seven years, it was the absolute first time I had seen that color on him. It was scorching hot. But it was not for me. Sophie gently pulled out of his embrace and smoothed her hair. “I’m fine, Declan.” She turned to look at me, her tone casually familiar. “You should check on Summer. It looks like she took a bad fall.” Declan stood up and walked toward me. I gripped the edge of the table and slowly forced myself to stand. I did not cry. I did not make a scene. I did not even ask him why he shoved his own wife out of the way. I simply looked at the fading orange light around his shoulders, turned my back on him, and walked out of the hall. “Summer.” Declan caught up to me at the hotel entrance, grabbing my wrist. He frowned at the blood running down my arm. “The power outage was completely unexpected. You know how terrified Sophie is of the dark.” His voice was perfectly level, offering a justification that he clearly believed I should accept without question. He did not bother explaining who he cared about more. He just used the words “you know” to force me back into the box of the understanding, low maintenance wife. I stared at his aura. It had settled back into that familiar, dead gray. “So when you knocked me over, did you know it was me?” Declan froze for a fraction of a second. “It was chaos in there. I couldn’t see anything.” He let go of my wrist and reached into his pocket for his keys. “Summer, the three of us have been friends for years. Let’s not make this ugly over an accident.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and got into the passenger seat without a word. He insisted on taking me to a nearby urgent care. The sharp sting of iodine on my torn skin made me flinch. As the doctor was cleaning the wound, Declan’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately. “Declan, I think I left my car keys on one of the tables. Is there any way you could come back?” Sophie’s voice drifted through the speaker, just loud enough for me to hear. Declan looked at me. My arm was still actively bleeding. The gauze wasn’t even taped down yet. “Finish getting patched up,” he said, tossing his credit card onto the small clinical table. “I’ll be right back.” The clinic door swung open and shut. I watched him walk away into the night. I did not ask him to stay. Half an hour later, the doctor finished wrapping my arm. The clinic door opened again. Sophie walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a pharmacy bag. “Summer, please don’t be mad at Declan. He just panicked,” she said, offering me the coffee with an open, guiltless smile. “You know I got stuck in an elevator as a kid. The dark really messes with my head.” I didn’t take the cup. “He definitely panicked.” Sophie smiled, taking a seat next to me. “We’ve all been tight for years. Let’s not let things get weird just because I moved back.” She was not fighting me. She was not acting malicious. She simply placed herself right in the middle of our marriage, assuming she belonged in the “we” just as much as I did. It was late into the night when Declan finally came home after dropping her off. I had already showered and was sitting quietly on the living room sofa. He tossed a small pharmacy bag onto the coffee table. “I got you some scar cream. Stop giving me the cold shoulder.” He took off his jacket, sounding utterly exhausted. “Sophie just got back to the States. Her welcome party turned into a disaster, and she feels terrible about it.” I looked at the suffocating gray light surrounding him. “Declan,” I said softly. “If Sophie was the one bleeding on the floor tonight, would you still tell her to stop giving you the cold shoulder?” His brow furrowed instantly, annoyance flashing across his face. “But that didn’t happen, did it?” He turned and walked toward the master bathroom. “Go to sleep. Stop overthinking things.” The sound of the shower started running. I picked up my phone and opened an email I had received two weeks ago. The subject line read: Acceptance Confirmation for the London Art Restoration Project. My finger hovered over the screen. Without a single ounce of hesitation, I hit confirm. The next morning, I walked into the kitchen. Declan had already made breakfast. He pushed a bowl of sweet vanilla oatmeal toward me. “You lost blood last night. Eat something warm,” he said, taking his seat with a gentle tone. I stared at the steaming bowl and didn’t touch my spoon. I hated sweet oatmeal. The smell of the vanilla made me nauseous. The person who loved vanilla oatmeal was Sophie. I preferred a savory breakfast skillet. We had been married for three years, and he still had no idea what I liked to eat. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked. “It’s too hot,” I lied, pushing the bowl away. My phone buzzed on the table. Sophie had sent a message to our group chat. “Thanks again for last night, Declan. How is Summer’s arm? Do you guys need me to drop off some painkillers?” I glanced at the screen. It was the old group chat from college that had been dead for three years. The name was still “The Original Trio.” Declan picked up his phone and typed back rapidly. “No need. You’re still jet lagged. Get some rest.” I watched his fingers move across the screen. My bandages hadn’t even been changed yet, but his first priority was making sure she caught up on her sleep. “Let’s eat out tonight.” Declan put his phone down. “Sophie isn’t used to the city anymore. We’ll grab dinner, just the three of us. Make up for the meal we missed last night.” I looked up at him. “Do you know what today is?” Today was my birthday. Declan paused. Not a single ripple of emotion crossed his face. “We can celebrate your birthday another day.” He took a sip of his black coffee. “Sophie’s welcome back dinner is a one time thing.” I sat in silence, watching that pale, dead gray aura envelop him like a stone that could never be warmed. “Okay,” I nodded, standing up from the table. That afternoon, on my way to the restaurant, I opened the group chat. I changed the name from “The Original Trio” to “Declan and His Friend.” The chat went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Sophie sent a laughing emoji. “Wow Summer, that sounds so formal. We used to be a lot closer than that.” A second later, a private message from Declan popped up on my screen. “Why would you change the group name?” “Sophie just got back. Why are you purposely making things awkward for her?” I typed a single reply. “I’m just making the relationship status accurate.” He didn’t reply. Dinner was at an upscale French bistro. Sophie wore a stunning red dress and sat right next to Declan. When the waiter handed out the wine list, Sophie smiled and looked at me. “Declan used to drink everyone under the table. Do you keep him on a tight leash now, Summer?” I picked up my water glass and took a sip. “He has stomach ulcers. He doesn’t drink hard liquor anymore.” Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Really?” She turned to Declan. “Back in college, you took shots with me until three in the morning and still made it to your morning lecture.” Declan didn’t correct her. He just sliced his steak, a very faint, fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We were young back then.” Right as those words left his lips, a soft, unmistakable layer of orange light shimmered around him. It was faint, but it was incredibly real. I watched that light, and the very last shred of hope in my heart quietly died. Halfway through the meal, I stood up. “I have some restoration files to sort through. I’m heading home.” Declan frowned. “Finish your food. I’ll drive you.” “No need.” I grabbed my purse and walked out without looking back. As I reached the parking lot, I heard footsteps behind me. “Summer.” Sophie was leaning against a parked car, her voice utterly calm. “I know you hate that I’m back.” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, holding it between her fingers. “But Declan and I knew each other long before you came along. There is a lot of history between us, and you can’t just erase that just because you’re uncomfortable.” I looked at her. “And?” Sophie let out a soft laugh and blew a ring of smoke. “And if you can’t handle it, you should have spoken up sooner. Don’t play the silent martyr and make everyone else miserable.” I stared at her unapologetic face and didn’t bother arguing. When I got home, I opened my laptop. I pulled up the email from the London restoration center and began filling out my visa application. Over the next few days, I quietly started gathering my documents and packing my portfolio. The floor of my home office was covered in specialized tools and historical reference books. When Declan pushed the door open, I was sealing some ancient manuscripts my grandfather had left me into moisture proof bags. His eyes swept over the open suitcase on the floor. He frowned. “Are you going on a business trip?” I zipped the bag shut. “Something like that.” He walked closer, looking like he wanted to ask more, but his phone started ringing in his pocket. His tone softened the second he answered. “You found the venue? Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “Sophie wants to host a small photography exhibition, but there’s a problem with the gallery space.” He looked at me. “I’m going to go help her sort it out. We’ll talk about your trip when I get back.” I didn’t even look up. “Okay.” The moment the front door clicked shut, I shoved the final stack of paperwork into my luggage. He didn’t even have five minutes to hear where I was going. That afternoon, I went to the bank to print out six months of bank statements for my visa application. When the teller handed me the receipt, I froze, staring at the final balance. More than half of the money in our joint savings account the fund we had been building for our trip to Iceland was gone. The transfer note read: Deposit for Sophie’s Gallery Venue. Two years ago, when my vision finally stabilized after the surgery, I told Declan I wanted to see the Northern Lights. He had held my hands, his voice thick with sincerity. “As soon as you’re fully healed, I will take you.” We saved that money for two years. Now, my Northern Lights had been traded in for Sophie’s spotlight. I folded the bank statement, put it in my bag, and hailed a cab to the gallery. The exhibition hall was a mess of scaffolding and workers setting up partitions. I walked inside and immediately noticed the centerpiece in the main glass display. It was an antique film camera. My grandfather’s camera. Next to it, an elegant little placard read: The early inspiration for Sophie’s artistic journey. I stood in front of the glass, my fingers turning icy cold. “Summer? What are you doing here?” Declan walked over with a clipboard, looking completely unbothered. “Sophie is just borrowing it for a few days.” He pointed at the camera. “Your grandfather kept it in great condition. It fits the vintage theme of the exhibition perfectly.” I turned my head to look at him. “Did you even think to ask me?” Declan went silent for a moment, rolling up the blueprints in his hand. “Do we really need to draw such harsh lines between what’s yours and what’s mine?” His tone held a hint of reprimand, as if I were being entirely unreasonable. Sophie climbed down from a nearby ladder, dusting off her hands. “Summer, perfect timing!” She walked over, her smile bright and easy. “I was just about to text you. Your grandpa’s camera has such a beautiful aesthetic. It’s exactly what this display needed.” I stared right through her. “That belongs to me.” Sophie blinked, then her smile grew wider. “Of course it does. I’m not keeping it.” She glanced at Declan. “Declan said you wouldn’t mind, so I went ahead and used it.” Declan stepped forward, physically placing himself between me and Sophie. “Summer, it is just a camera. You’ll get it back when the show is over.” He dropped his voice, leaning in. “This exhibition is a huge deal for Sophie’s return. Do not embarrass her right now.” I looked at the suffocating, dead ash gray radiating from his body. “Declan,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” His face drained of color, his eyes turning dark and sharp. “Over a camera?” He looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Leave Sophie out of this. It wasn’t easy for her to move back here and start over. We have all been friends for years. There is no need to nuke our marriage just because you’re feeling sensitive.” I didn’t argue. I reached past him, slid open the unlocked glass door of the display cabinet, and took my grandfather’s camera. Then I turned around and walked out. It was raining lightly on the opening day of Sophie’s exhibition. I had zero intention of going, but I realized I was missing a crucial document for my visa. Declan had absentmindedly stuffed it into his briefcase two days ago. I had no choice but to go find him. When I walked into the lobby, Declan was standing near the guest book. He looked surprised to see me, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch my shoulder. I stepped sideways, avoiding him completely. His hand froze in midair, then dropped back to his side. “Since you’re here, do you want to walk through the gallery together?” His aura was still that sickening, pale gray. I shook my head and started looking for his briefcase. But my eyes were drawn to a massive projector screen near the entrance. The title read: Reunion The Ten Years We Walked Together. I froze in my tracks. The video showed a sprawling lavender field in Provence. Sophie was running ahead, looking over her shoulder and laughing at the camera. Declan was walking beside her, carrying her heavy equipment bag. The golden hour sun stretched their shadows together across the grass. The next clip was by the Seine River. Twilight. They were leaning against the stone bridge. Sophie rested her head on his shoulder, watching the sunset. Declan leaned down and whispered something. She laughed, swatting his chest playfully, and he smiled back. The next shot was outside a small street cafe. Sophie was shivering, blowing on her hands. Declan took off his trench coat the one I bought for his birthday last year and draped it over her shoulders. In the bottom right corner, there were date stamps. October 15th, 17th, 20th. I remembered those days vividly. I had been stuck in bed with a brutal fever. “The fifteenth,” I said, my voice completely flat. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a business trip in Chicago?” Declan went dead silent. “Sophie was stuck overseas by herself. She didn’t speak the language well. I just flew out to help her.” His aura remained a lifeless gray. The lights in the gallery dimmed, signaling the start of the opening ceremony. Sophie stood on the small stage in a flowing white dress, smiling softly into the microphone. “Before we begin, I want to invite someone very special up here.” Her eyes cut through the crowd and landed straight on my husband. “Declan, come stand with me.” Declan walked up the steps. The spotlight hit them both. And then, I saw it. The moment he stood next to her, the gray aura around him fractured. A vibrant, warm orange light bled through the cracks, growing brighter by the second. He didn’t even have to do anything. Just standing next to her made him light up. Sophie tilted her head to look at him, then turned back to the audience, her voice dripping with affection. “This exhibition would not exist without this man.” “From choosing the theme, to booking the venue, to hauling equipment around he was there for every single step.” “When a torrential downpour ruined our shooting schedule in Paris, he walked the streets with me for hours just to find new locations.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “When I broke down crying at four in the morning, I made one phone call, and he was at my door in twenty minutes.” “Without Declan, there would be no Reunion today.” The applause was deafening. The orange light around him flared even brighter. A reporter in the front row raised his hand. “Sophie, care to clarify your relationship with Declan? If you told us you two were married, we’d believe it.” The crowd cheered and whistled. Declan shifted his weight and raised the microphone. “We are actually just” Sophie suddenly leaned into his side and whispered something. It looked a lot like: Declan, please, just this once. The media is here, I need the hype. Summer won’t mind. She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling with a sweet smile. Declan stopped talking. He didn’t nod, but he didn’t finish his sentence, either. Sophie turned to the crowd, flashing a radiant smile. “Since everyone is so curious… Declan is definitely much more than just a friend to me!” The room erupted. Camera flashes turned the hall blinding white. Sophie turned to him, reaching her hand out until her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand. He looked down at it. One second. Two seconds. He didn’t pull away. She slid her fingers through his, interlocking them completely. The warm orange light surrounding him exploded into a raging fire, so bright it practically flooded the room. The crowd went wild. “They are perfect for each other!” “Is this the official hard launch?” I stood in the back of the room, looking up at the two beautiful, glowing auras blending perfectly together on stage. They really were a perfect match. My phone buzzed in my pocket. “Miss Bennett, your car to the airport is waiting outside.” I turned around, slipped through the crowd, found his briefcase on a side table, and pulled out my visa document. The blistering orange light continued to shine behind me, but none of it had anything to do with me anymore. Walking out of the gallery, the rain was coming down harder than before. “Let’s go,” I told the driver. As the car merged onto the highway, I leaned my head against the cool glass, watching the raindrops slide down like tears. My phone screen lit up. It was a text from Declan: “Where did you go?” I stared at it for a few seconds, then powered off my phone. The airport was quiet. I printed my boarding pass, checked my luggage, and walked through security. The intercom echoed overhead. “Flight 482 to London is now boarding.” I stood up, grabbed my carry-on, and walked toward the gate. Goodbye, Declan.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “620863”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Every time my husband beats me on his livestream, I have to secretly touch up my fake bruises on the floor. If I am even a second too slow, the cuts and gashes heal right in front of the camera. Honestly, this godforsaken healing factor is a nightmare. But during today’s stream, a highly annoying comment floated across the screen. “Bro, stop hitting her. Your wife isn’t human. She is a Reaper Butterfly. Once the pupa breaks, it feeds on human flesh!” I fluttered my invisible, innocent wings. Oh my. Looks like someone finally figured it out. Too bad it is already way too late. 1 Just because I said “thank you” to the delivery guy, my husband, Dexter, grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the room in front of thousands of viewers. “You shameless sl*t! Are you that desperate for male attention? If you do not talk to another man for a single day, do you just lose your mind?” Instead of getting angry, I kept apologizing to him. I even dropped to my knees, hugging his leg, swearing I would never do it again. The viewers were absolutely furious, flooding the chat to curse out our completely twisted dynamic. “Does this woman have some kind of abuse kink? She is gorgeous. Why the hell is she staying with this worthless piece of trash just to get beaten every day?” “Any OG fans here? Is this a scripted bit? Because that hit looked way too real.” “Everyone just mind your own business. The neighbors called the cops on them multiple times. Last time, she was beaten so badly she ended up in the ICU. But she literally told the cops it was a private marital issue. Stop wasting your pity on her!” Dexter watched the superchats and digital gifts flooding the screen. The money made him manic. “Keep the gifts coming, boys! I am going to show you what a real man looks like!” “A good wife is molded by discipline! Women are wired to submit. The harder you hit her, the more she begs you to stay!” Dexter’s entire channel revolved around him abusing and “training” me. Every time my face was swollen and bruised, he raked in a massive wave of donations from toxic viewers. To keep the hype going, Dexter pinned me to the floor and rained heavy punches down on me. He did not stop until I lay there, my eyes rolling back into my head. But before I could carefully act out my recovery and crawl back up, I realized the severe lacerations from his knuckles were already closing. Speechless. This absurd healing factor was going to blow my cover. I discreetly reached into my pocket, smearing a fresh layer of FX makeup and fake blood over my face. When the camera finally caught me again, my eyes were blackened, my cheeks were swollen, and terrifying gashes lined my jaw. I looked absolutely pathetic. Coupled with my continued gentle, subservient behavior, I looked like the perfect, broken maid. This made a bunch of jealous male viewers completely lose their minds. They kept spamming the chat, demanding to know how Dexter managed to bag a woman like me. Dexter was visibly out of breath. He panted heavily before smirking at the camera. “My wife is just naturally built for this. The more I discipline her, the better she behaves. If I skip a day, she practically begs for it!” The comment section was completely polarized. Half the people were violently criticizing him, and the other half were praising his “alpha” control over his household. Suddenly, a bizarre comment popped up out of nowhere. A user named CryptidWatcher typed a message in bold red text. “Your wife is not a human being. Only a Reaper Butterfly possesses a skin suit that flawless.” 2 “You playing fantasy RPGs in the chat, bro? If my wife is a killer butterfly, then I am the God of War!” Being mocked by the entire chat did not deter CryptidWatcher at all. He started dropping biological lore. “The Reaper Butterfly, also known as the Tiger-Banded Flesh-Eater, is infamous for its terrifying carnivorous nature. In 1966, a boy collecting insect specimens accidentally stumbled into a swarm of them. He was picked completely clean down to his skeleton in minutes. That is why they are called Reaper Butterflies.” He probably thought he was helping, but his warning only drew more insults. “Even if you are jealous that his wife is hot, you do not have to make up schizo conspiracy theories! Has she not suffered enough?” “Exactly! How the hell does a butterfly turn into a person? Wake up, buddy, this is not a sci-fi movie!” Some viewers even accused CryptidWatcher of being a paid actor, claiming this was just a new script Dexter wrote for views. Dexter started to panic. He was terrified that this weirdo was going to ruin his cash flow. He reached for his mouse to ban the user. But then another message popped up. “Has your wife ever been pronounced dead by doctors, only to mysteriously come back to life?” “And ever since then, you have been having night terrors, right? The scales on a Reaper Butterfly carry a potent, hallucinogenic neurotoxin. The more you beat her, the more of that dust you inhale. Eventually, you will just become her food.” Reading those words, Dexter froze. He never used to dream. But ever since we got together, he was plagued by suffocating nightmares every single night. Sometimes, he could not even tell the difference between reality and his dreams. Three months ago, he got blackout drunk and hit me way too hard. He practically beat me to death. When they rushed me to the hospital, the doctors pronounced me dead on arrival. But an hour after the time of death, I crawled right out of the morgue. The story of the dead woman coming back to life had dominated the local news for a week. Most importantly, he suddenly realized I never seemed to sweat. Even in the dead of summer, my skin was always cool and dry. Cold sweat began to bead on Dexter’s forehead. The more he thought about it, the more terrified he became. He shot a highly unnatural, paranoid glance in my direction. “So what do I do?” Dexter typed back quietly on his phone. “If you do not believe me, sneak in on her while she is taking a shower. I guarantee you she never lets a single drop of water touch her skin. If I am wrong, I will gift you ten superchats right now!” The live chat exploded again. “Are you that down bad, dude? You are trying to trick this guy into streaming his wife in the shower?” “Streamer, you are not actually going to force your wife to bathe on camera to prove a point, right?” “Yo, do it! If you stream her in the bathroom, I will drop a thousand bucks right now!” The endless stream of donations and hype made Dexter’s eyes light up. Right at this moment, his concurrent viewer count broke one million. His subscriber count was skyrocketing. Sure, most of them were cursing him and the CryptidWatcher guy out, but traffic was traffic. Dexter’s eyes shifted. He made a split-second decision. “Keep the donations coming, boys! Tonight, we are going myth-busting. We are going to see if this CryptidWatcher is full of crap!” 3 Whether his wife was human or not, shouldn’t a husband know best? In Dexter’s mind, he had already labeled this user as a troll. The guy just saw that beating women generated traffic and wanted to create a viral gimmick to piggyback off the clout. Dexter figured he might as well play along and scam the guy out of his ten superchats first. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the hallway, throwing me onto the bathroom tiles. He slammed the door shut, locking us inside, and gave the camera a contemptuous smirk. “Look at this. Have you ever seen a man-eating butterfly look this pathetic?” The chat was spamming laughing emojis. They started a countdown, waiting for Dexter to force me under the water. I looked up at my battered, bruised reflection in the mirror. Ever since Dexter became a millionaire streamer off the back of domestic abuse, I made sure to encourage him. Every time he hit me, I would cry and tell him to hit me harder. With every impact, invisible scales fluttering with a pearlescent glow fell from my body. He inhaled every single speck of it into his lungs. The more he breathed in, the closer he got to becoming my personal puppet. I was squatting on the floor, pretending to scrub the tiles, just like normal. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my scalp. Dexter was dragging me toward the tub. His phone screen was completely covered in notifications. Digital cars, yachts, and diamond rings were flashing endlessly, as if money meant nothing. He was completely blinded by the viral fame. He grabbed my wrists and shoved me hard against the cold porcelain. “Hurry up! Take a shower for the camera!” 4 My knee slammed into the edge of the cabinet. I curled into a tight ball, acting as though I was in agonizing pain. The viewers were starting to feel sick. The chat flooded with people begging Dexter to stop. This killer butterfly thing was obvious bullshit! Dexter ignored them. He aggressively grabbed the showerhead, turned the cold water on full blast, and sprayed me from head to toe. The icy water plastered my hair to my face and soaked right through my clothes. I looked utterly helpless and broken. My species absolutely despises water. When moisture clings to our bodies, it feels thick and suffocating. In the wild, if a butterfly falls into a puddle, the heavy water droplets weigh down its fragile wings, stripping away its ability to fly. Once we lose our mobility, it basically means a death sentence. I grabbed the hem of Dexter’s shirt, crying helplessly, begging him to stop being angry. But even after ten minutes of being drenched in cold water, my body did not change at all. I did not lose control of my mind. I just stayed exactly as I was a weeping, terrified woman. Seeing my fragile, shivering frame, the audience completely turned on CryptidWatcher. They spammed the chat with death threats aimed at him. It took a long time before CryptidWatcher finally sent another message. “I understand now. The Reaper Butterfly did not shapeshift into your wife. It is parasitically attached to your wife’s nervous system. That is why the body does not react to water.” I looked directly at the camera lens and offered a sweet, innocent, terrified smile. Well, well. Who knew there was actually someone left in this world who understood the parasitic secrets of the Reaper Butterfly? 5 My kind has one highly specialized ability. We can sever our consciousness from our physical form and parasitize a host. It is a shame that recognizing it will not save him. “Get out of here, you scammer! First you say my wife is a bug that hates water. I just proved you wrong. She is a living, breathing human being.” “Now you are starting rumors that she is infected with a parasite? You are just trying to get out of paying up!” Dexter was genuinely furious. This CryptidWatcher guy had not sent the ten superchats he promised! “Streamer, listen to me. The day the butterfly breaks out of its cocoon is the day you die. Run. Run right now!” CryptidWatcher added dozens of exclamation points at the end of his message. It looked incredibly eerie on the screen. Dexter glared at the text. Furious, he instantly banned CryptidWatcher from the channel, cursing him out for being a psycho. A sinister, dark glint flashed in Dexter’s eyes. It was chilling to watch. The viewers were still riled up. They felt scammed by the lack of a supernatural reveal and started threatening to unfollow the channel. Seeing his numbers drop, Dexter panicked. He immediately grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the bathroom wall. His massive fists crashed down onto my body. I trembled like a leaf in the wind, helplessly wrapping my arms around my head. My screams and desperate begging filled the room. Instantly, the viewer engagement spiked again. The digital gifts resumed their endless flow. About ten minutes later, Dexter stood over me, panting heavily. He looked at the screen with absolute satisfaction. “Alright boys, that is enough discipline for today. Do not want some white knight calling the cops again. If you are new here, hit that follow button so you do not miss the next stream!” The chat went wild. “Honestly curious. Are you not worried you are going to accidentally beat her to death one day?” Dexter let out a cruel sneer and spat on the floor next to me. “My wife is cheap trash. She is practically immortal. Do not worry about it. If she dies, I will take the charge! Just drop a follow for your boy Dexter!” Watching his follower count surge by another hundred thousand, Dexter smugly ended the stream. He grabbed his jacket and walked out the front door to go drinking, completely unbothered. Once his footsteps faded away, I stretched my stiffened limbs. I reached up and casually snapped several dislocated bones back into place. The cracking sound echoed through the empty house. I adjusted my slightly fractured jaw. This man really did hit hard. It was a shame that this level of pain felt like an absolute tickle to me. Dexter was right about one thing. I really could not be beaten to death. Because the person he actually killed was already gone. 6 I am the very last Reaper Butterfly in this world. Three months ago, I watched with my own eyes as Dexter slowly, brutally murdered a gentle, kindhearted girl. I had been severely burned in a forest fire. That girl found me and saved me. She kept me in her room, carefully nursing me back to health. I still remember her smile. It was so pure. It was blindingly bright. Every beautiful word in the human language would not be enough to describe her. She called me Little Wing. She told me I was her precious treasure. It was a tragedy that such a perfect girl was trapped in a living hell. Her husband, Dexter, was not just a domestic abuser. He was a violent poacher. He made his living slaughtering endangered animals deep in the mountains. The moment he saw me, he recognized my rare, stunning wing patterns. He knew I would fetch a massive price from black-market specimen collectors. To stop him from selling me, the girl secretly opened the window and set me free. When Dexter realized his payday was gone, he lost his mind. Fueled by cheap liquor, he completely stripped away his own humanity. He slammed his fists into her fragile body over and over again. “You stupid b*tch! You ruined my money! I am going to kill you!” Stab after stab. Bright crimson blood poured from her body, soaking entirely through the living room rug. Such a beautiful, selfless girl, stabbed to death by her own husband all to protect a tiny, insignificant butterfly. In the very last second before she stopped breathing, I swooped down and pierced her skin with my parasitic stinger. But this kind of parasitism comes at a devastating cost. I had to sacrifice my original body. A Reaper Butterfly can live for three hundred years. Humans barely live to see a century. But for the sake of revenge, I was willing to sacrifice everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was her. My powerful regenerative abilities rapidly glued her shattered body back together. Her fading life force flared back into existence. People online always asked why I refused to leave Dexter after being beaten so mercilessly. I would never leave. This was a grand, meticulously planned feast, and I was just getting started.

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1 On the day of my wedding, I discovered my bridal makeup artist had been swapped with my bridesmaid’s. Lifting the heavy, beaded skirt of my wedding gown, I went looking for my groom, James. Instead, I found him leaning over a vanity chair, wrapping his arms possessively around my bridesmaid, Ivy. Ivy’s face was flawlessly painted with the exact bridal look the celebrity makeup artist had spent weeks designing exclusively for me. When she saw me, her voice dropped into a timid, trembling whisper. “Scarlett, please don’t be mad at James. I just thought it would be fun to try the bridal look. I will go wash it off right now. I am so sorry, I promise I won’t do it again…” James pressed a firm hand onto her shoulder, stepping in to take the heat. “Do not blame Ivy. I insisted on letting her experience a piece of the wedding.” He looked at me, his tone laced with absolute entitlement. “Scarlett, you already have me completely. Don’t be so petty about the ceremony details, okay?” I stared at them. Then, I nodded, unzipping the garment bag and tossing the custom wedding gown directly into his arms. “Since her bridal makeup is already done, she can have the dress, too. Let her have the whole ceremony. Make it perfect for her.” James’s eyes softened, mistaking my numbness for grace. “Scarlett, I promise you, after today, my heart and my body belong entirely to you. Only you.” I didn’t answer him. I simply reached out and took the bridesmaid dress from the rack. James had no idea that earlier this morning, I had received a phone call from myself three years in the future. This toxic, suffocating wedding? I was officially checking out. … “Wait.” I turned to leave, but Ivy called out to me. Her eyes darted nervously before settling into a stubborn glare. “I am sorry, Scarlett, but that bridesmaid dress was custom tailored for my measurements. I really don’t want…” She trailed off, biting her lip and casting a pitiful, helpless look up at James. Without a second of hesitation, James closed the distance between us and snatched the dress right out of my hands. “I will have someone find you another outfit. Stop trying to take things from Ivy.” I slowly uncurled my empty fingers. My eyes stung, rimmed with a faint red as I forced myself to ask the question. “You think I am the one taking things from her?” “She is wearing my bridal makeup. She is about to walk down the aisle with my groom. What do you call that?” A flicker of guilt crossed James’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ivy quickly stepped between us, shielding him. “Scarlett, if you are angry, take it out on me! It is all my fault.” Tears welled up in her large, innocent eyes. “If I hadn’t loved him since we were kids, if I hadn’t taken our childhood marriage pact so seriously, if I hadn’t tried to end my own life over the pain of losing him… he wouldn’t pity me. He wouldn’t keep me around.” “It is all my fault! I shouldn’t have survived that day. Why didn’t I just die?” Ivy broke down into hysterical sobs, spiraling into a theatrical display of absolute despair. James instantly pulled her into a tight embrace, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead. “It is not your fault, Ivy. You did nothing wrong.” Ivy continued to hyperventilate until her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed against his chest, pretending to faint. James shot me a venomous glare. “Scarlett, if anything happens to Ivy, this wedding is permanently canceled!” My chest tightened. I was about to step forward and call out her pathetic acting, but my feet felt glued to the floor. “What are you standing there for? Go get a doctor!” James barked. “Forget it! Just stay out of my way.” He scooped Ivy up into his arms and shoved violently past me. I watched them rush down the hallway. As her head rested on James’s shoulder, Ivy opened her eyes, looked straight at me, and flashed a triumphant, mocking smile. My mind dragged me back to last night. James and I were supposed to do the final walkthrough of the banquet hall. Ivy had tagged along. She completely overturned the catering menu I had spent months curating. She even demanded the venue’s signature champagne roses be replaced with her favorite pink peonies. The event manager looked at me awkwardly, unsure whose orders to follow. James just waved his hand dismissively. “Do whatever Ivy wants.” By the time the walkthrough finished, it was nearly midnight. Ivy whispered that she was scared to take a cab alone. James instantly offered to drive her home. As for me, his fiancé? James didn’t even blink. “The venue is only a few blocks from our new penthouse. You can just walk back, Scarlett.” On that walk home, I was cornered in a dark alley by three aggressive thugs. Terrified, I dialed James’s number. Ivy answered the phone. “Scarlett? James is in the middle of changing his clothes.” “He promised to spend his final night as a bachelor with me,” she whispered into the receiver. “Oh, and as a thank you, I arranged a little bachelorette surprise for you in that alley. Have fun.” After that, James’s phone was turned off. Facing the advancing men, I fought like a feral animal. I kicked, I bit, I gouged with my nails. I barely managed to break through their circle and run for my life. During the struggle, my right arm was severely fractured. But because I didn’t want James to worry, and because I was so desperate to preserve our “perfect” wedding, I refused to get a cast. In reality, every passing second was a blinding, agonizing physical torment. When James shoved past me just now with Ivy in his arms, his shoulder slammed directly into my fractured arm. The pain was so intense my muscles spasmed. Involuntary tears spilled over my lashes, hot and bitter. Using my good left hand, I pulled out my phone and dialed the patriarch of the Sinclair family. “Arthur,” I said, keeping my voice dead level. “The expansion project in the volatile Eastern European sector. I will take it.” The line went dead silent for a long moment before the old man replied. “Are you absolutely sure about this, Scarlett?” “If you take this post, you and James will be living on opposite sides of the world. You will not be permitted to return for at least five years.” Tears continued to fall, blurring my vision. In my mind, I pictured James running back to me, grabbing my shoulders, and begging me to stay. But I blinked the tears away. James did eventually come back into the room, but the words out of his mouth were pure ice. “This is the only way you can atone for what you did to her.” “I am sure,” I told Arthur Sinclair over the phone. “I won’t regret it.” I ended the call and looked at James with absolute calm. “What does Ivy want now?” James’s brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What is with that attitude, Scarlett?” “Ivy could have been happy today, but you had to trigger her! You almost caused her to have a psychological breakdown!” “She just wanted you to participate in a little game to warm up the crowd. Stop acting like she is making unreasonable demands!” I lost all remaining energy to defend myself. I stared at him for a few seconds. “Fine.” James froze, clearly caught off guard by my sudden compliance. The violent irritation in his eyes slowly melted into a patronizing tenderness. He reached out to touch my cheek. “Scarlett…” I turned my head, dodging his hand completely. “We are running out of time. I need to find a bridesmaid dress.” His voice grew thick and awkward. “You don’t need to.” “Ivy already prepared an outfit for you. If… if you don’t like it, just tell me, and I will have my assistant buy something else.” I treated his second sentence like white noise. Ever since Ivy attempted suicide over him, she had become his absolute priority. If Ivy and I ever clashed, the solution was always the same. I was expected to step back and satisfy her. I used to fight it. I used to scream and demand answers. James would just look at me with exhausted, judgmental eyes, treating me like a sinner on trial. “Scarlett, you owe her.” “If you hadn’t tempted me, if you hadn’t made me fall in love with you, I would have married Ivy. She was my destiny first.” So, it was my fault for being loved? I never understood his twisted logic, but the invisible ropes of guilt had always kept me bound. I always bowed my head to her. Yet, every time I yielded, James would shower me with overwhelming compensation. I was an orphan with only a high school diploma. James spent a fortune on elite private tutors and pulled strings to get me into a prestigious Ivy League business program. The moment I graduated, he convinced his grandfather to let me enter the Sinclair Group. He groomed me to be the heir. I still remembered the day I secured my first massive corporate acquisition. He lifted me off the ground, his eyes shining with pride. “Keep climbing, Scarlett. Once you are the CEO, I can just sit back and let my brilliant wife take care of me.” James genuinely wanted me to be more powerful than him. He meticulously paved the road, giving me the corporate throne that was supposed to be his by bloodright. I was deeply moved. I truly believed he was pushing me to the top because he loved me beyond reason. To repay his devotion, I sacrificed my youth and health, pouring every ounce of my soul into the company. James played the perfect supportive partner. But the reality was, every single act of kindness he showed me always had Ivy’s shadow lurking right behind it. I once asked him how long the three of us were going to stay trapped in this twisted dynamic. He kissed my hair and whispered gently into my ear. “Just wait until we are married. Once the rings are on, Ivy will finally let go.” I believed him. I waited. But today, on the very day of my wedding, I finally realized the only person who needed to let go was me. … “This is the dress Ivy prepared for me?” I stared at the garment. It was held together by two razor-thin straps, with a plunging, heavily exposed back. The fabric was a gaudy, cheap metallic gold. It looked like something a nightclub dancer would wear to a cheap gig. My expression turned ice cold. The young assistant holding the hanger kept her head bowed, terrified to look me in the eye. “Y-yes. Mr. Sinclair approved it.” “Understood.” I swallowed the surging waves of rage and disgust. Hooking my pinky finger under one of the flimsy straps, I walked into the fitting room. The wedding reception was massive. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s elite. Over twenty media outlets had been invited to livestream the event. I knew exactly what would happen when I walked out in a trashy, revealing dress. I would be ripped apart by the press. If I were still the old Scarlett, the woman desperate to marry James, I would have refused to wear it. I would have marched up to Ivy and demanded an explanation. And James, swayed by a few fake tears, would have humiliated me in front of everyone to protect her. There was no point anymore. I was done playing their game. I put on the gold dress. The hem barely covered my upper thighs, threatening to expose me with every step. The thin straps dug into my skin, feeling like they would snap under the slightest pressure. My face remained an emotionless mask. Barefoot, I walked out onto the grand stage in the center of the ballroom. Ivy was standing there in my wedding gown. The bridal veil obscured her features, leaving only her smug, bright red lips visible. Seeing me, her smile widened. She grabbed James’s arm, pulling him toward the edge of the stage. “Look, Scarlett is coming out!” Then, Ivy let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh my god!” There were five other people on the stage with me. Five heavily muscled men wearing nothing but leather harnesses and tight shorts. They immediately surrounded me. After a few highly suggestive, aggressive dance moves, they started reaching out, attempting to tear the flimsy straps off my dress. James finally hit his breaking point. He lunged toward the stage. “Scarlett! That is enough!” Ivy wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, sobbing violently. “James, why is she doing this? She won’t even let me have a fake wedding? She…” Ivy began to hyperventilate, clutching her chest. James immediately held her, rubbing her back while shooting daggers at me. “Scarlett, get down here right now, and I will pretend this never happened! If you don’t…” “I will turn this fake wedding into a real one! I will marry Ivy today!” I didn’t respond. I was a little busy. Those five men were hired by Ivy specifically to strip me bare and destroy my dignity in front of the entire city. But hidden in the palm of my hand was a tiny, razor-sharp sewing blade. As they reached for me, I moved. Every time a hand came close, my blade found skin. Men are made of flesh and blood. They bleed. They feel pain. They feel fear. Seeing the absolute, feral lack of hesitation in my eyes, the five men panicked. Within seconds, they backed off and practically fled the stage. I wasn’t humiliated. Instead, I channeled the adrenaline of the fight into a sharp, commanding solo routine. The guests below couldn’t see the blood or the blade. They only saw a fierce, untouchable performance. The ballroom erupted into applause. Hearing the cheering, Ivy’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. She glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. James, however, was completely mesmerized. He unconsciously let go of Ivy, shrugged off his suit jacket, and walked onto the stage to drape it over my bare shoulders. “Scarlett, go back to the dressing room and put your bridal makeup back on.” “When it is time to exchange the rings, you will be the one on stage.” “You are the woman I am marrying. Ivy can play around, but she doesn’t get to take your place.” “Of course,” I smiled sweetly, acting as though his betrayal had never bothered me at all. He stared at me with intense reluctance as I walked off the stage, even taking a few steps to follow me. Panic flashed across Ivy’s face. She clutched her chest again, preparing for another fake medical emergency, but James had lost his patience. “I am not a doctor, Ivy. If you are really sick, go to the hospital.” “And give Scarlett her dress back.” … Humiliated and furious, Ivy stormed into my private dressing room. Before she could even open her mouth, I spoke. “Do you know why James loves me?” “Because you are a cheap wh*re!” Ivy spat bitterly. “He loves me because I am wild. I am a challenge he cannot fully conquer,” I said coldly. “But you? He doesn’t even have to lift a finger, and you are already crawling on your knees for him.” “You can never beat me, Ivy. Never.” “Smack!” I anticipated her raised hand and slapped her across the face before she could even strike. The impact left her completely stunned. It wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. I looked at her with pure disdain. “I only let you win in the past because I didn’t care enough to fight. But now…” Feeling the absolute icy resolve in the room, Ivy lost her mind, screaming hysterically. “No! That is impossible! He loves me! He will always have a place for me in his heart!” “Want to make a bet?” I asked softly. “What kind of bet?” A few minutes later. James walked into my dressing room. Seeing the figure sitting with her back to the door, the tension in his face vanished. A gentle, loving smile spread across his lips as he approached. “Scarlett, why haven’t you changed into your gown yet?” The woman turned around. It was Ivy. She looked up at him timidly. “James.” James’s face hardened instantly. “Where is Scarlett?” Ivy stood up and wrapped her arms around him, stopping him from turning around. Like a desperate stray cat, she pressed her body against his back, her hands trailing provocatively down his chest. “James, take me right here. Right now.” “Since I can’t have a real wedding with you, let me have the one thing only a real husband and wife can do.” “Scarlett…” Ivy whispered against his neck. “She refused to wear the dress after I touched it. She went to get a backup gown from the designers.” James forcefully grabbed her wrists, trying to pull her off. “I need to go find her!” Ivy trembled. “James!” She mimicked my exact tone of voice, striking a commanding, seductive pose. James stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head, his eyes slowly darkening with a twisted, obsessive lust. Ivy curled her finger, kicked the vanity stool out of the way, and sat up on the makeup counter. “Come here,” she ordered. James’s face was a mask of violent internal struggle. Ivy scoffed. “What are you so afraid of? Scarlett won’t be back for a while. Are you really telling me you don’t want a taste of me?” “Don’t worry. After today, I will never bother you again.” The woman sitting on the counter was no longer the pathetic, crying Ivy that James was used to. She was cold. She was arrogant. She was incredibly alluring. James slowly loosened his silk tie and stepped between her legs. “Ivy, if you become my woman, it is for life. You don’t get to leave until I give you permission.” “Watch me,” Ivy challenged, turning her head away. James grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him, and crashed his lips down onto hers. Ivy responded with frantic, desperate passion. They tangled together, completely lost to the world, tearing at each other’s clothes in the middle of the room. I stood silently behind the heavy velvet curtain of the fitting room, watching the entire scene unfold with dead, emotionless eyes. At the same time, I was broadcasting the live security feed directly to the massive projector screens in the main banquet hall. Just as Ivy locked her legs around him to stop him from pulling away for round two, I stepped out from behind the curtain and walked right past them. My social media account updated with a single post. Relationship status: Over. No going back. … It wasn’t until late that night that James finally found out I was leaving the country to take over the Eastern European sector. He drove like a madman back to our penthouse. I was standing by the door, suitcase in hand, when he burst through the entrance. “Scarlett, please, don’t leave!” His eyes were bloodshot, pleading with absolute desperation. His arrogance was completely shattered. “What happened with Ivy was a mistake! It was just lust! You are the only woman I actually love!” His phone started vibrating furiously in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID and immediately moved to decline it. “Answer it,” I said calmly. “You wouldn’t want to live with any regrets.” James declined the call anyway and powered the phone off entirely. “It is just her usual suicide threats. I am sick of it. Scarlett, listen to me, we can start over…” I looked down, pulled out my phone, and pulled up a photo. I turned the screen toward him. “Ivy just accepted a proposal from a college classmate who has been in love with her for ten years.” “What?” James snatched the phone from my hand, staring in utter disbelief at the picture of Ivy holding a massive bouquet of red roses, pressed intimately against another man. He shoved the phone back into my chest. “Wait for me,” he ordered frantically, sprinting out the door and speeding off into the night. I didn’t wait. I grabbed my suitcase and got into my waiting car. Sitting in the backseat, I opened my airline app and canceled the flight to Eastern Europe. I opened my photo gallery and permanently deleted the badly photoshopped image of Ivy I had just shown him. Finally, I popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in half, and tossed the pieces out the window into the dark streets. Goodbye, James. I am going to start a new life. And you can rot in the hell of your own regret.

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1 I was right in the middle of a high-level executive board meeting when I got the call. My husband, Garry, had fallen from the thirteenth floor while filming a stunt on set. I abandoned everything and rushed home in an absolute panic, only to find him and his entire entourage perfectly fine, drinking and singing karaoke in our living room. Garry shot me a sideways glance, his tone dripping with sheer annoyance. “I told you to come home last night, and you refused. What the hell are you doing here now?” “Why didn’t you just die outside?” Before I could even process his venom, that sickeningly familiar inner voice echoed in my head. Hmph. I knew my wife still loves me. The second she heard I was hurt, she came running back. Hurry up, babe. Come jump into my arms and act spoiled like you always do. Tell me you love me and that you can’t live without me. I looked down at the blood seeping through my sleeve, an injury from a minor car accident I got into because I was driving so fast to get to him. For the first time in ten years, I did not cater to the secret desires in his head. Instead, I slowly reached into my bag, pulled out a thick envelope, and placed it on the table. “Since you hate me that much, let’s get a divorce.” … Garry’s brow furrowed tightly. He stared at me like his brain hadn’t quite processed the words. Sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, his entourage immediately scrambled to do damage control. “Sister-in-law, you must be exhausted from work. You are just talking crazy.” “Yeah, Scarlett, Garry was just joking. Don’t take it seriously.” They probably assumed I was just throwing a tantrum to get Garry’s attention. I couldn’t blame them for thinking that. After all, for the ten years I had been with Garry, I had acted like his perfect, completely obedient marionette. If Garry told me to go east, I would never dare step west. Because I could hear his true inner voice, I always treated his violent outbursts and cruel words as a twisted form of affection. I broke my own back trying to be perfect for him. But today, I was done being a puppet on a string. “You are right. I am exhausted,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion as I looked directly at the man sitting in the center of the couch. “So, Garry, let’s get a divorce.” The moment Garry realized I wasn’t joking, the glass tumbler in his hand shattered under the sudden pressure of his grip. He let out a cold, mocking scoff. “Scarlett, do you really think you are that important?” “A divorce? I have been waiting for this day.” “If you hadn’t begged me to marry you back then, I wouldn’t have even looked at you!” His spoken words were vicious and biting. But beneath them, his inner voice was a pathetic, frantic prayer. What is wrong with my wife? Why does she suddenly want a divorce? Do you not love me anymore?! No, no, no! Please, babe, take it back! Tell me you don’t want to leave me! I want to be with you forever! This was the incredibly toxic duality I had lived with for ten years. Garry suffered from severe paranoid personality disorder. The less he cared about someone, the kinder and more patient he was to them. But to the person he supposedly loved? He held impossibly high expectations. The second I failed to meet whatever ridiculous standard he set in his head, he would express his dissatisfaction by screaming, throwing things, and being completely vile. When I first started hearing his inner voice, I was foolishly moved by it. I thought he was just a broken man who couldn’t express his love. From that point on, whenever we fought, Garry didn’t have to do a single thing to fix it. All I had to do was listen to his cheap, pathetic inner monologue, and I would instantly forgive him and coax myself back into his arms. Over the years, I tried desperately to teach him how to verbally express his affection. But he always pushed me away with deep annoyance, only to scream internally right after. Babe, babe, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to push you! Hurry up and hug me! Why aren’t you coming over?! Come kiss me right now so we can make up! When Garry’s assistant accidentally fell asleep during a massive promotional live stream, causing a catastrophic PR disaster, Garry didn’t say a single harsh word to her. He just smiled and gave her a month of paid leave. But when I didn’t hear him call my name from the other room, he handcuffed my wrist to the headboard and locked me in the bedroom for three days. When his assistant mixed up wardrobe shipments and cost him three million dollars in breach of contract fees, he patted her on the head and told her it was fine. But when my mother was diagnosed with a critical illness and I desperately needed thirty grand for her emergency surgery, he completely ignored my pleas all because I had forgotten to kiss him before leaving the house that morning. Because the surgery was delayed, my mother would never be able to get out of bed again. Garry, this time, I am no longer cleaning up the mess of your hypocrisy. Ignoring the judgmental stares of everyone in the room, I calmly pushed the divorce papers across the table. “Sign it. I will see you at the courthouse tomorrow at 10 AM.” Garry stared at my elegant, resolute signature on the document. The corner of his eye twitched violently. Why did she even prepare something like this? She is just trying to get my attention, right? That has to be it. Be a good girl, babe, stop throwing a fit. You know my heart belongs entirely to you. Just come hug me. You haven’t slept in the same bed as me for two days. I am going to kiss you to death tonight. The voices assaulted my mind from all directions, suffocating me. Right at that moment, his assistant, Chloe, peeked her head out from behind Garry’s shoulder. “Scarlett, his manager said a lot of crazy fans have been forging his signature lately.” “If you want Garry to sign anything, you need to sign a strict NDA first, and we have to record the entire process on video.” Garry clenched his fists, leaning back into the couch as he spoke with absolute ruthlessness. “Scarlett, if you walk out that door today, you are not taking a single thing that belongs to me.” “That includes the clothes on your back. Take them off.” Good girl, this is so insulting! Hurry up and refuse! I am giving you the perfect excuse to back down! If I didn’t just want you to come home, I wouldn’t have even let these losers in our house. I want to kick them all out. I just want to cuddle with my wife. I had known Garry for ten years. We dated for eight, and we had been married for six. He had an extreme, suffocating need for control. Where I worked, who I interacted with every day, the very clothes I wore everything had to be meticulously curated by him. If I didn’t let him control those things, it meant I didn’t love him. My entire closet consisted solely of clothes he had bought. Even my underwear. In the past, I actually thought this was his twisted way of proving his love. Now? It was just humiliating evidence that after ten years, I owned absolutely nothing of my own. Looking at Garry’s smug, triumphant expression, I slowly exhaled. “Fine. I will sign.” A flash of malicious victory crossed Chloe’s face as she quickly scrambled to prepare the NDA forms. Garry stared at me, completely unable to mask his absolute shock. I offered him a polite, hollow smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t take a single thing that belongs to you.” The room fell dead silent. Everyone exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared to speak. I walked into our massive walk-in closet, dug through the storage boxes in the back, and finally found the cheap puffer jacket and denim shorts I had bought for myself ten years ago. As I was changing, Garry’s frantic inner voice bled through the walls. What is she doing?! Is she actually divorcing me?! No! I don’t want a home without my wife! If she leaves, I’ll die! I’ll literally die! The softest corner of my heart trembled slightly, but I did not stop moving. When I pushed open the bedroom door, Garry was sitting on the edge of the bed, aggressively puffing on a cigarette. Seeing me, he instinctively crushed it out in the ashtray. When his eyes finally landed on my old, faded clothes, he completely lost his composure. His inner voice started blaring like a broken smoke alarm. Why did she actually change out of the clothes I bought her?! I promise I’ll never make a joke like this again! Babe, please don’t take it seriously! It is nearly a hundred degrees outside! If she wears a puffer jacket, she’s going to get heatstroke! I ignored the pathetic whining in his head. I dropped his expensive clothes onto the bed in front of him and turned toward the stairs. “Scarlett, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Garry’s voice was dark and menacing from behind me. I didn’t turn around. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear downstairs.” Just as I took my first step, Garry spoke again. “If you walk out today, tomorrow morning, I will hand your Generation II AI Robotics blueprints over to Maya and have her patent it under her name.” Despite the blistering summer heat outside, I felt like I had been plunged into arctic waters. Every drop of blood in my body ran cold. Babe, I’m sorry! I just don’t know what else to do! I can’t let you leave me! You care about this project more than anything. If I use it as leverage, you won’t leave, right? Right?! The Generation II Robotics project was a highly specialized emotional-support AI I had designed specifically for people with paranoid personality disorders like Garry. The core philosophy was simple: to let people like him know they weren’t alone in the world, and that there were people who loved them. The woman he mentioned Maya had blatantly stolen my prototype during a global robotics competition right after I graduated college. Before I could even gather the evidence to expose her, she filed a formal complaint with the judging panel, completely reversing the narrative and accusing me of plagiarizing her. During that horrific period, I fell into a deep, crippling depression and was medically diagnosed. And now, all of that trauma had become nothing more than leverage for Garry to control me. It was a shame. Because Garry, this time, I am not backing down. Garry cared about his pride more than his life. With his entire entourage watching, there was no way he could refuse to sign the divorce papers without looking weak. Sure enough, when I walked downstairs, the signed agreement was sitting on the coffee table. The moment the ink was dry, Garry had ordered everyone out of the house. Except for his precious assistant, Chloe. Under the cold, mechanical lens of a professional video camera, I signed the NDA. Chloe held the signed document, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed excitement. Garry sat in the darkest corner of the sectional sofa, completely silent. After living in this massive mansion for years, the only things I owned didn’t even fill half of a cheap canvas tote bag. As I grabbed my bag and reached for the front door, Garry’s inner voice echoed one last time. Babe, you don’t actually think you can escape me, do you? The next second, a suffocating, violent force crashed over me like a hurricane. His voice was the last thing ringing in my ears. Babe, you promised you would love me forever. Why are you running away so fast? Babe… I am a coward. But I love you. You cannot leave me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the master bedroom. And exactly as I expected, my wrist was heavily handcuffed to the steel frame of the bed. Chloe walked into the room, holding a steaming bowl of congee. “Oh, you’re awake, Scarlett. Drink this.” I stared at her with dead eyes and didn’t move. Without warning, she violently grabbed my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and shoved the edge of the bowl against my lips. Boiling hot congee spilled down my chin and seeped under my collar. I broke out in a cold sweat from the agonizing burn and forcefully shoved her away. Chloe lazily brushed off her clothes, flashing her usual punchable smirk. “Don’t give me that look, Scarlett. This was Garry’s explicit order. There is no need to make things difficult for me.” “He said if you refused to cooperate, I have full permission to use physical force to make you behave.” I swallowed the raging fury in my throat, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. “Get out. Tell Garry to come see me himself.” Hearing that, Chloe reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “Garry left on a business trip. He won’t be back for a week.” “I’ll be taking very good care of you while he’s gone.” I stared at the keys in her hand, my mind going completely blank for a second. Hanging from the ring was a small, woven tassel charm. Garry and I had made it together with our own hands. The night we finished it, he sat on the edge of the bed holding the keys, grinning like an absolute idiot for an hour. I made this with my wife. No one else is ever allowed to touch it. I really want to fire all the maids. I just want this house to be empty, so it’s only me and my wife. No one is allowed to even look at her. But now? Not only had he invited countless strangers into our private sanctuary, he had handed the keys to our home to another woman. Noticing my reaction, Chloe dangled the keys in front of my face like she was teasing a dog. “Surprised? I told Garry I liked this keychain, and he just gave it to me.” “Honestly, I don’t even need the keys. My fingerprint is already registered on every single digital lock in the house.” “But this charm is incredibly ugly.” She unhooked the woven tassel and casually tossed it out the open window. The small glass pendant attached to it slammed against the pavement outside, shattering into dozens of pieces. Just like Garry and me. I refused to look at her anymore. I turned my head and closed my eyes. Chloe leaned down, whispering directly into my ear like a venomous snake. “Scarlett, your mother is lying in a hospital bed wishing she was dead. How do you have the peace of mind to sleep?” My eyes snapped open. I instantly grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. “What did you just say?” “What happened to my mother?!” Chloe threw her hands up, feigning complete innocence. She pulled out her phone and showed me a call log a conversation she had with my mother’s attending physician thirty minutes ago. “They’ve issued three critical condition notices today. You really are a devoted daughter, aren’t you?” The moment I verified the information, I didn’t even put on my shoes. I bolted for the door and sprinted down the stairs. But when I reached the grand entrance, the heavy reinforced door was completely locked down. It wouldn’t budge. Chloe sauntered down the stairs at a leisurely pace. “It isn’t that I don’t want you to see your mother for the last time.” “Garry made it very clear. Until he gets back, you are not allowed to take a single step outside this house.” I ignored her completely. All I knew was that my mother didn’t have time to wait. My phone and all my electronics had already been confiscated. I had to figure this out myself. I knew the internal security schematics of this house. Garry had designed it himself. In the event of a lockdown, the doors would magnetically seal from the inside. They could only be bypassed by emergency personnel opening them from the outside. Which meant, all I needed was for someone on the outside to trigger the release mechanism. Realizing this, I slammed my fists against the heavy oak door, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Is anyone out there?! Help! Somebody help me!” Chloe sat at the kitchen island, calmly sipping a cup of tea. “Save your breath, Scarlett.” I glared at her with pure hatred. “Are you not afraid I will tell Garry about this?” Chloe looked at me like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Scarlett, do you actually still think you are the lady of this house?” “Tell Garry? So he can just humiliate you all over again?” “Don’t worry. I’ll be taking over your position as Mrs. Sinclair very soon.” “And you? You’ll be crawling on the floor like a stray dog, begging me to spare you and your pathetic mother.” I could hear my own voice trembling as I demanded to know why she was doing this. When she first moved to the city, she was completely broke. She couldn’t even afford to eat. I was the one who personally introduced her to Garry and got her her first high-paying job. “Do you have no conscience at all?” Her face instantly twisted with rage. “Why should I have a conscience?!” “We are both women! Why do you get to be born into a perfect life and marry a billionaire movie star?!” “And me? I have to work myself to the bone to pay for my brother’s tuition, buy him a house, and pay for his wedding!” “I’ve lived that life for twenty years! You can’t even handle it for two days?!” My body began to shake with mild tremors. I had arms and legs, yet I was completely imprisoned in this massive concrete cage. I couldn’t even make it to the hospital to look at my mother’s face one last time. Right at that moment, the electronic lock on the front door beeped. It clicked open. It was the cleaning lady who came every three days. The older woman gave me a polite nod. Seizing the only chance I had, I shoved past her and sprinted out the door. But I didn’t even make it across the front garden. Four private security guards materialized from all directions and tackled me to the grass. They bound my wrists with zip ties like I was a piece of trash and dragged me back inside, dumping me at Chloe’s feet. “Scarlett, Garry was very clear.” “If you refuse to behave, I have to punish you.” Without another word, she picked up a high-voltage stun baton from the floor, pressed the metal prongs directly against my chest, and pulled the trigger without an ounce of hesitation. The cleaning lady gasped, pulling out her phone to call Garry for instructions. Chloe offered a sweet, gentle smile. “Ma’am, Ms. Scarlett and Mr. Sinclair are officially divorced. She has no authority in this house anymore.” “Mr. Sinclair is on a business trip, and I am following his direct orders to keep her contained.” “Please, don’t make my job difficult, okay?” The electricity fried my nervous system. My vision blurred, and my mind started shutting down. Through sheer willpower, I managed to twitch my fingers, weakly begging the cleaning lady to call my uncle. But after a long moment of hesitation, the older woman quietly put her phone back in her pocket. Acting like nothing had happened, she picked up her supplies and started cleaning the living room. I weakly slammed my forehead against the marble floor, trying to use the physical pain to stay conscious. “Look at this, Scarlett. This might cheer you up.” Chloe squatted down next to me and held her phone in front of my face. It was playing a live security feed from the hospital. My mother was covered in tubes. Thick white foam was bubbling from her mouth as she desperately tried to make a sound to alert the nurses. But the hallway was empty. No one noticed. She kept throwing her head back, suffocating, fighting wildly for a single breath, letting out horrific, gurgling whimpers. And then, in absolute, agonizing despair, she stopped moving. I broke down into a hysterical, guttural scream. I violently thrashed against the zip ties, lunging upward, ready to bite Chloe’s throat out and die with her. But before I could even touch her, the guards pinned me back down. This time, Chloe jammed the stun baton directly into my stomach. A massive surge of electricity tore through my entire body. In the final seconds before I completely blacked out, I felt a warm, thick liquid sliding down the inside of my thighs. The unborn child I didn’t even know I was carrying was erased from existence in a matter of seconds. And Garry? He was standing in the garden right outside the window, holding a box of blueberry mousse cake.

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1 I suffer from severe social phobia. Yet on our wedding day, my fiancé Bill was busy washing his female friend Roxie’s underwear. Standing near the crowded venue, heart hammering, I called him, begging him to hurry. His voice was irritated. “Roxie’s always careless. I’ve washed her laundry since we were kids. It takes five minutes, Lynda. Can’t you just wait? Do you really think nobody else would ever marry you?” I choked back tears. “Today is our wedding. Can’t you prioritize me once?” Roxie cut in, fake-sweet. “Oh, come on, Lynda. Don’t be dramatic. This is the last time. Once you’re hitched, I won’t bother him. Stop making things hard.” The line went dead. I called Bill’s mother, Aunt Eleanor, abroad. “He’s still doing her laundry. Could you talk to him? The ceremony’s about to start.” She snorted. “What’s the big deal? He gave her baths as a kid. They grew up together. Just wait.” Dizzy, panic clawing my chest, my brother Marcus pulled me into a firm embrace. “Lynda,” he whispered, rubbing my back. “What if Gary marries you instead? If Bill loves playing maid so much, I’ll get you a man who knows how to treat his bride.” I stared in shock. Gary, Bill’s older cousin, the man who’d raised him, whose gentle smile melted any heart. He was the only person besides Bill who didn’t trigger my phobia. Marcus saw my dazed nod and pulled out his phone. “Gary. I’m giving you the chance to marry my sister. Get here right now.” … The wedding went on as scheduled. Gary held my hand throughout the ceremony, his firm grip grounding my frayed nerves. Bill’s parents accepted the sudden turn of events without batting an eye, even offering us their warmest blessings. As soon as the ceremony ended, I noticed dozens of missed calls from Bill on my phone. I dialed his number back. I wanted to tell him not to bother coming. The moment the call connected, he barked into the receiver before I could speak. “I called you a million times and you ignored me! Now you finally remember I exist?” “Realized nobody else wants you, didn’t you? You couldn’t even give me five minutes.” “Roxie and I were already driving over, but you had to throw a tantrum over a few minutes.” “Fine. Cool off on your own. The wedding is postponed.” I was already sitting in the backseat of the bridal car, hot tears spilling onto my dress. Gary reached over and gently patted my head, soothing me the way one comforts a fragile child. Under his quiet reassurance, Bill’s harsh words lost their sting. Our motorcade continued toward the family estate. Halfway there, a red convertible sped up beside us. Bill was at the wheel, with Roxie lounging in the passenger seat. Recognizing Gary’s custom car at the lead, Bill executed a flashy maneuver and cut us off. He stepped out, slouched against our car door, and tapped on the window with a smirk. It was as if he was saying, Hey big brother, what are you up to? How could you get married without telling me? He grinned lazily, making it clear he wouldn’t leave until we acknowledged him. I sat in the back, trembling under my veil. Gary turned around from the front passenger seat, his eyes soft and reassuring. “Don’t be scared. I’ll handle him.” I nodded. Gary rolled down the window, his expression cold as ice. “What are you doing, Bill?” “Come on, Gary, that’s not fair,” Bill laughed. “How could you hide your wedding from your own brother?” Roxie squeezed herself into view, giggling. “Yeah, Gary! We just wanted to share the joy.” She thrust her hand through the window, poking her tongue out playfully. “Where’s our toll money? Give us a wedding blessing envelope!” Gary frowned. Bill chuckled and chimed in. “It’s tradition to demand toll money when blocking the wedding car, brother. Giving it ensures a happy marriage.” Gary patted his pockets, only to realize he wasn’t carrying cash. “I don’t have cash on me,” he said calmly. “I’ll give it to you when we get back.” Bill acted like a brat. “No way! You can’t pass without paying.” Roxie suggested, “Gary, there are so many people around. Borrow some from someone else. Or ask your bride!” Seeing Gary put on the spot, I hurriedly reached into my purse, pulled out six hundred dollars, and handed it to him. Bill leaned his head inside the window to grab it, catching a glimpse of me. “Wow, your bride is stunning, brother.” Gary immediately pushed Bill’s head back out. From Bill’s casual tone, I knew he hadn’t recognized me through the veil. He was just tossing out generic compliments. “Tsk, haven’t even had the wedding night yet and you’re already so protective,” Bill teased. Gary ignored the banter, handing over the six hundred dollars. “Take it and get out of here.” Bill took the cash but shook his head with a smirk. “Wait, this is from you. The bride hasn’t given her share yet.” Before Gary could snap, I pulled another six hundred dollars from my bag and handed it through the window. Bill grinned as he took it. “Thanks! Wish you and my brother a long and happy life together. May you have a baby soon!” “Here’s to a long, loving marriage!” Hearing those words felt like a cruel joke. Fate truly had a twisted sense of humor. With the ridiculous road prank over, our car started moving again. A moment later, I saw that Bill had posted a video on his story, raising a glass to congratulate his brother’s wedding. His friends left comments beneath it: Wait, isn’t today your wedding day? Why are you filming congratulations for your older brother instead? Don’t tell me your socially anxious bride got stolen by your brother like in some trashy soap opera? Bill replied: Shut up. My brother’s wife is way out of Lynda’s league. By the way, my wedding is postponed. I’ll let you guys know when we reschedule. Having a socially anxious girlfriend has its perks, though. She doesn’t cry or throw scenes. Before I got out of the car at the estate, Gary had already instructed the butler to clear the area. Not a single maid or servant was in sight when I stepped out, which instantly eased the knot of tension in my chest. Gary held my hand tightly and led me upstairs to his master suite. Because of the rushed arrangements, the room hadn’t been decorated for a wedding. I sat on the edge of the bed, my body rigid as my mind raced with anxious thoughts about what usually happens on a wedding night. The most intimate contact I had ever comfortably tolerated was a simple embrace. Gary noticed my paleness and panic. He offered a tender smile, gently pinching my cheek. “Lynda, you can sleep here tonight. I’ll take the guest room.” A massive weight lifted off my chest, though a faint pang of guilt crept in. When the room fell quiet, I began exploring my new surroundings. The decor was minimalist, dominated by muted greys and whites, impeccably tidy. Suddenly, a display case caught my eye. Inside sat a glittering gemstone necklace. I stepped closer and froze. It was my first piece of jewelry design, auctioned off when I was eighteen through my brother. I had never asked who bought it back then. I never dreamed it had been Gary. While I was staring at it, noisy chatter echoed from the hallway outside. “Gary, how could you get married without telling anyone? Who’s the bride? Let me see her!” “Yeah, Gary, this is way too sudden! We want to see her!” It was Bill and Roxie. I heard the door handle jiggle, but the door stayed locked. Gary was blocking them in the hallway. “Your sister-in-law is already asleep,” Gary said firmly. “Don’t cause a scene.” “Come on, brother, don’t lie to me. You’re not even asleep yet!” Bill laughed. “Besides, we haven’t crashed the wedding suite yet.” “I need to see if this new bride of yours is an angel from heaven to melt a cold stone like you.” “She doesn’t like meeting strangers,” Gary’s voice turned stern. “Leave her alone.” Roxie scoffed in the hallway. “Gosh, she sounds just like that high-maintenance Lynda. Is social anxiety contagious or something?” Bill chimed in with a mock groan. “Brother, you really shouldn’t marry a girl like that. You have no idea how much of a headache Lynda has been since we started dating.” “Silence,” Gary cut him off coldly. “Go back to your room. If you step out of line again, I will cut off every single card under your name.” “Whoa, okay, okay! Fine, I won’t look. I’ll see her eventually anyway.” “We were just joking, Gary, don’t get mad!” A door slammed down the hall. Only then did I realize Bill’s room was right next to Gary’s. A moment later, two soft knocks sounded at my door. Gary’s warm voice drifted through. “Lynda? Are you awake?” Instead of answering, I walked over and pulled the door open. Worry lingered in his eyes. I forced a reassuring smile to let him know I was fine. “Gary… can you… stay with me tonight?” I tugged at my hemline, looking down, sweat prickling my palms. Silence stretched for three seconds before a low, melodic chuckle broke above me. “Of course, Lynda. But… stop calling me like I’m just your elder brother.” The lingering sweetness in his tone sent a rush of heat straight to my cheeks. With the lights turned off, the room plunged into pitch darkness. Surprisingly, I felt a deep sense of security. I no longer feared his proximity. He wrapped his arms around me, drawing me close to his chest. In the silence, the steady thump of a heartbeat resonated between us, so close I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine. Just as drowsiness began to pull me under, faint voices drifted through the wall. Roxie’s playful whisper vibrated through the shared partition. “Bill… if you had rushed to the venue today, tonight would have been your wedding night.” “Aren’t you worried your rich little girlfriend might run off with someone else?” Bill answered with absolute confidence. “Please. That girl has severe social phobia. She’s stuck with me for life.” “For some strange reason, I’m the only person she isn’t terrified of. She barely even sees her own brother.” “Love conquers all, I guess. Her symptoms have been getting so much better lately.” “I can guarantee nobody else could ever marry her. She’s hooked on me forever.” Gary suddenly murmured softly in my ear, “I’m sorry.” “When the house was renovated, the designer used a shared decorative wall between these two suites to keep the layout symmetrical. It’s not as thick as a solid wall. When it’s quiet at night, every whisper carries over.” I shook my head in the dark, mouthing, It’s fine. The conversation next door continued, taking a disturbing turn. “Bill… do you… want to try what a wedding night feels like?” “Even if I wanted to, Lynda can’t even handle kissing.” “Oh, come on! Since you’ve washed my underwear for so many years, I don’t mind letting you get a little perk.” “Are you… serious?” “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a normal physical need. You’re twenty-three and still a virgin. Aren’t you embarrassed to tell anyone?” “Besides, haven’t you heard that women care a lot about experience? If you don’t practice beforehand, I’m afraid you won’t even find the right spot on your actual wedding night!” “Well… if you say so. But just this once. And don’t you dare tell Lynda.” My face burned with shame, while my heart felt as if a thousand needles were piercing it. Bill never knew why I wasn’t afraid of him, but I remembered every detail. During the scorching summer when I was fifteen, a young boy had walked into my home behind a twenty-four-year-old Gary. His glib, bright eyes had looked around with such goofy curiosity that I couldn’t help laughing from the second-floor landing. My laughter drew their attention, but by the time he looked up, I had already scampered back into my room. After that day, he learned about my crippling social anxiety. From then on, whenever he visited my house, he wore a cartoon fox mask. Magically, because of that mask, I didn’t hide from him. My brother was overjoyed that I didn’t fear Bill. Since we were close in age, he encouraged Bill to visit often. Bill never complained. He came over frequently, always wearing that silly fox mask. Eventually, I gathered the courage to go outdoors with him for the very first time. My brother was so thrilled that he bought Bill a pair of limited-edition sneakers as a reward. Later, even when his friends mocked me as a freak during our outings, Bill never abandoned me. He even got into fights for my sake when someone called me a monster. He had used a simple mask to bridge the distance between us, stealing my young heart in the process. Yet after his childhood friend, Roxie, transferred to our school, I was no longer his priority. Restless sounds echoed through the wall from the adjacent room. Gary gently reached over, covering my ears with his hands. “Hang in there,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “This will never happen again.” I gripped his sleeve tightly. The clean, soothing scent of his cologne filled my senses, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist. The next morning, I still couldn’t bring myself to go downstairs for breakfast. Gary thoughtfully had the staff bring a tray up to the room. My brother called to check on me. “How are you holding up, Lynda?” I smiled into the receiver. “Everything is wonderful.” He spoke for only a few minutes before hanging up. I knew he was afraid he would break down in tears if we talked any longer. Our parents died in an accident when I was three. Marcus was only thirteen at the time. Still a child himself, he stepped up to raise me. He studied during the day, fed me dinner at night, and by seventeen, he was already learning to manage the family business alongside our grandfather. In the middle of those overwhelming years, his fragile little sister developed a severe psychological disorder. I contracted a phobia of people so intense that I couldn’t even look at the brother who had raised me. All these years, he must have suffered so much. After breakfast, Gary didn’t leave for the office. Instead, he mysteriously asked me to go somewhere with him. Bill was nowhere to be seen, and the servants deliberately stayed out of sight as we walked out. Wearing a mask and a baseball cap, I followed Gary into his private car. He had given his driver the day off, taking the wheel himself. Sitting in the passenger seat, I felt a deep sense of peace I hadn’t experienced in years. After a thirty-minute drive, the car pulled up in front of a secluded, beautiful estate. Gary held my hand as we walked through the gates, introducing the grounds to me. “Lynda, I spent five years building this estate. I designed every single detail myself. Most importantly, no one will ever disturb you here.” He stopped, his striking dark eyes looking down at me, his voice smooth and mesmerizing. “Do you like it, Lynda? This is my gift to you.” I nodded eagerly. It was absolute perfection. Gary saw the joy in my eyes and pulled me upstairs to the second-floor master suite. Standing outside the heavy wooden door, he gave me a mysterious smile. “Close your eyes, Lynda. I have a surprise for you.” I dutifully closed my eyes, my heart thumping with anticipation. With a soft, heavy creak, the door swung open. “Open them,” Gary whispered gently. I opened my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat. Before me stood a room I knew intimately. The familiar furniture, the exact layout, my childhood bed, every single detail. “How… how did you…” I stammered, looking up at him in utter shock. Gary smiled softly, pulling me into the room. “I recreated the room you lived in for twenty years. Do you mind?” I shook my head vigorously. “I love it.” Suddenly, a dog barked from the courtyard below.

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1 Stewart swore a woman’s love was measured by how fast she texted back. At dinner, his girl wired him a hundred bucks within three seconds. I sat there until the plates were cleared for Annie’s brief “In a meeting.” In a downpour, he texted about forgetting his umbrella and a sedan arrived ten minutes later. I stood in the freezing rain for an hour before she told me to call an Uber. He’d clap my shoulder, shaking his head. “Someone could steal your girl right under your nose.” I always defended her. “She’s just swamped with work.” I thought I had my best bro covering my back. That illusion shattered at my bachelor party. Our drinks were spiked and we were being dragged toward a VIP suite. Stewart held up his phone, eyes frantic. “If she doesn’t show tonight, you call off the wedding. Deal?” I fired off an SOS to Annie. Ten minutes later, the door slammed open. She ran right past me and dropped to her knees, pulling Stewart into a tight embrace. “I got you, baby. I’m so sorry I’m late.” I froze in the shadows as she helped my best friend out the door. The mystery girl who’d been at his beck and call for five years was my fiancée, Annie. … A heavy hand clamped over my mouth, suffocating my screams. It wasn’t until the nightmare was over that Annie finally got Stewart settled into the empty private booth next door. Muffled pants and soft moans drifted through the crack of their unlatched door. Dragging my battered, exhausted body into the hallway, I stopped dead in my tracks. A platinum credit card slid across the floor, stopping at my bruised feet. From the dark booth, Annie’s voice dripped with a sultry heat I rarely heard. “Hey, waiter. Bring a box of ultra-thins in here. And make it quick.” Numbness washed over me. I slowly bent down, picked up the card, and limped my way to the bar to buy the condoms. I pushed the door open and dropped the small box onto the glass table. “Here is what you asked for.” The two figures tangled on the leather sofa went completely rigid. The moment Annie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and recognized my face, the heavy lust in her gaze fractured into pure panic. “Roger… What are you doing here?” “I texted you.” My voice sounded dead, completely devoid of life, as my eyes traced the messy tangle of their half-dressed bodies. Annie finally snapped out of her daze. She shoved Stewart away and scrambled to pull her blouse up, her hands shaking violently. Taking advantage of the chaos, I snatched her phone from her coat pocket and typed in my birthday. The screen unlocked. The first thing I saw was Stewart’s chat, pinned to the very top. Right below it was my profile picture, muted, with a little gray bell crossed out. Ninety-nine unread messages glared back at me, mocking my devotion. She wasn’t too busy to reply. She just couldn’t be bothered to look. Staring at the undeniable proof of her favoritism, I swallowed the bitter lump of grievances that had been building in my throat for years. Annie grabbed my wrist. Her voice trembled with a rare, desperate fear. “Roger, please. I can explain.” I did not say a word. I just stared unblinking at her collarbone. Annie was a notorious germaphobe. In the bedroom, she was always cold, calculated, and strictly in control. She absolutely forbade me from leaving any marks on her skin. Once, I accidentally left a faint bruise on her neck, and she locked me out of her apartment for three months. Yet right now, her chest and neck were painted with a chaotic mess of dark, angry hickeys. Seeing my unnatural silence, Annie’s panic deepened. She rambled, desperate to justify it. “Roger, someone slipped Stewart a drug. This was just an accident. It means nothing.” Stewart took his time sitting up. He casually draped his own dress shirt over Annie’s shoulders right in front of me, wrapping an arm around her waist. He looked at me and smirked. “Well, since you’ve seen it all, there’s no point pretending anymore.” He tilted his head. “Let’s reintroduce ourselves. Roger, meet Annie. My girlfriend.” Annie snapped at him, her voice cracking. “Shut your mouth!” Stewart ignored her. He picked up the box of condoms I brought, glanced at it, and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Man, she really hasn’t slept with you much, has she? You bought a size way too small. Trying to strangle me to death?” “Stewart, I told you to shut up!” Annie’s eyes were bloodshot. She slammed her hand over his mouth. Stewart let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing the back of her hand. “Don’t be so mean, babe. You sounded a lot sweeter when you were gripping my hair five minutes ago.” “Get out!” Annie lost it, shoving him violently out the door. She spun around and grabbed both of my hands. “Roger, you have to believe me. I just lost my mind for a second, it was the drugs…” Her words died in her throat. The neon light from the hallway spilled over me, finally illuminating the torn fabric and the dried blood staining my clothes. Annie’s pupils shrank. Raw horror flooded her eyes. “Roger, my god. Why are you bleeding? What happened?” I flinched away from her touch. My tone was utterly hollow. “I slipped and fell.” “Sit right here. Do not move. I am going to find a first aid kit.” Tears welled in her eyes as she carefully guided me to the sofa before sprinting out of the room. I don’t know how much time passed. The adrenaline faded, and the physical agony of the assault finally caught up to me, hitting in brutal waves. When she still hadn’t returned, I curled up on the leather cushions, feverish and disoriented. My trembling fingers accidentally hit redial on Annie’s number. She picked up on the first ring. Her voice floated through the speaker, soft, gentle, and dripping with affection. But it wasn’t meant for me. “I was too excited just now. I scratched you. Be a good boy and sit still, let me put this ointment on you.” Stewart’s deep, lazy voice responded. “Why are you bothering with me? Your fiancé is still waiting for you in that room.” Annie let out a dismissive little scoff. “Roger has a good temper. Waiting is what he does best. He’s not exactly a spoiled brat like you.” Bile rose in my throat. I hit the end button so hard my thumb ached. The screen faded to black. Looking at the disgusting mess around me, I forced a smile that felt worse than crying. She was right. I was excellent at waiting for her. But a rotten love could never be salvaged. I was done waiting for an echo that would never come. I picked up my phone, dialed three numbers, and spoke with terrifying calm. “Hello, 911? I need to report an assault.” The harsh fluorescent lights of the police precinct beat down on me, chilling me to the bone. The detective tapped his pen against the metal desk. “This is a severe case, son. Where is your family? You need someone here.” I opened my mouth, about to tell him I didn’t have any family left. Before I could speak, the precinct doors swung open. Stewart strolled in, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the tile. “I’m his best friend. I was at the scene too. You can ask me anything you need to know.” The detective looked at my bruised, bloodied state, then glanced at Stewart’s pristine, unwrinkled clothes. “If you were at the scene, how did you walk away without a scratch?” Stewart looked at me, a cryptic, cruel smile playing on his lips. “Because my girlfriend got there right on time and pulled me out.” The precinct fell dead silent for a second. When the detective looked back at me, his eyes were heavy with a sickening amount of pity. The draft in the lobby was freezing. Stewart took off his expensive jacket and draped it over my shivering shoulders, playing the role of the perfect, caring best friend as he ran around signing paperwork for me. A passing female officer handed me a paper cup of hot water, smiling softly. “You’ve got a really good friend there.” I gripped the paper cup, watching Stewart through the rising steam. I remembered when we were in college. I caught a terrible flu, and he stayed awake for two days straight, running back and forth to the pharmacy just to keep my fever down. When things were at their worst and my tuition wiped out my food budget, he would silently slide half his lunch onto my plate every single day. We had sworn an oath to be each other’s anchor for life. How did we end up in this twisted, rotten hell? Stewart finished the paperwork and walked back, naturally reaching out to adjust the jacket slipping off my shoulders. I stared dead into his eyes. My voice came out like gravel. “Why did you do it?” His hands paused. A flicker of genuine disappointment crossed his face, like a father scolding a foolish son. “Because you love her too much, Roger. You love her so much you’ve lost your damn mind.” He leaned in closer. “I warned you years ago. A woman like Annie, surrounded by rich guys and dripping with ambition, is way out of your league. You’re too pure for her. You could never control her.” “As your best friend, you think I was just going to watch you walk into a fire? I just wanted to test her for you. How was I supposed to know she’d open her legs the second I gave her a little attention?” Stewart always said Annie had wandering eyes. Annie always said Stewart was toxic and told me to keep my distance. Every time they were in the same room, the tension was unbearable. And like an absolute idiot, I spent years playing the peacemaker, begging Annie to be nice to him, begging Stewart to accept the love of my life. Stewart clearly remembered those days too. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Remember the day you introduced us at that dinner? I slid my foot under the table and brushed it against her leg. You know what happened? She reacted instantly.” “That same night, after she dropped you off at home, she drove straight to my condo. You never told me your fiancée was so talented in bed, man.” That night had been my birthday. My stomach violently heaved. Stewart watched my face drain of color and continued, his voice painfully casual. “Oh, and you know why it always took her hours to text you back? It’s because she was busy riding me. Blame her for being so thirsty. If she wasn’t, maybe you would’ve gotten a text back sooner.” “Stop talking.” I clamped my hands over my ears, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. It all made sense now. The way Annie’s complaints about him morphed from “Your friend is so annoying” to “Is Stewart coming out with us tonight?” The times I caught the faint, lingering scent of his signature cologne on her clothes. The memories crashed into me like a tidal wave. Every little clue, every red flag I had blindly ignored, was now screaming in my face, mocking my stupidity. Right on cue, Annie’s name lit up my phone screen. Stewart leaned into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Wanna bet? Even if you tell her right now that you were assaulted, all I have to do is send her one text, and she will hang up on you and come running to me. Deal?” Silence hung heavy in the air. Clinging to the very last shred of hope I had left in this world, I swiped to answer. “Annie, I was assaul—” Before I could finish the word, Stewart tapped his screen, sending a single, solitary period to her chat. Ding. The notification echoed clearly through my speaker. The next second, the line went dead. She hung up on me without a moment of hesitation. The dial tone pierced through my chest like a jagged knife. Then, Stewart’s phone rang. He flashed me a triumphant, wicked grin, slowly swiping to answer and putting it on speaker. Annie’s voice flooded the quiet lobby, vibrating with absolute ecstasy. “Stewart… I’m pregnant.” Thirty minutes later, Annie practically sprinted into the precinct, throwing herself into Stewart’s arms. Her face was flushed with overwhelming, uncontainable joy. It took her a solid minute to realize I was sitting right there. A flash of guilt crossed her face, and she nervously walked over to grab my hand. “Roger… you heard it too. I’m having Stewart’s baby.” She swallowed hard. “He is the father of my child. Under those circumstances at the club, how could you expect me not to save him first?” Just as the words left her mouth, two officers walked past us, chatting in low voices. “Did you hear about the guy from the downtown club? Drugged and jumped by a group of predators in the VIP room. Detectives just brought him in…” Annie’s face drained of color. She instinctively pulled Stewart closer to her, shooting me a defensive glare. “Do you hear that? If I hadn’t gotten there in time, Stewart would have been the one going through that hell! You’re a man, Roger. You should be able to understand why I had to make that choice.” Watching her guard him like he was made of glass, a cold, hollow laugh clawed its way up my throat. I looked at her with dead eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Annie. What if I told you that the guy who got dragged into that room… was me?” The air in the precinct seemed to freeze. Annie stared at me for a split second before her brow furrowed into a deep, irritated scowl. “Enough, Roger!” She let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I know my pregnancy is a hard pill for you to swallow. But making up a sickening lie like that just to get back at me? You’re being completely irrational!” Seeing her bare her teeth at me to defend another man broke whatever was left of my spirit. I couldn’t breathe. I spun around and bolted out the double doors into the freezing night. My mind was a chaotic storm of memories. My parents died when I was young. Stewart had been the only family I had left in this world. Back in college, when a group of thugs cornered me in an alley, Stewart was the one who grabbed a brick and stood in front of me, taking a heavy blow to the head without taking a single step back. I had held his bleeding body that night, crying until I couldn’t breathe, while he just laughed and patted my cheek. “Nobody touches my brother unless they walk over my dead body.” But today, the man who once offered his life for mine was the exact same man who knocked up my fiancée. A fierce gust of wind hit my face. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had wandered to the very edge of an eight-story parking garage roof. “Roger!” Stewart’s panicked voice cracked through the wind. He rushed forward and yanked me back from the ledge, his eyes red and frantic. “Are you insane?! Throwing your life away over a piece of trash woman who can’t keep her legs shut?” I just looked at him. My chest felt like it was caving in. I couldn’t form a single word. Stewart pulled out a cigarette, his hands shaking as he lit it. He took a massive drag, then locked eyes with me, his tone dead serious. “Listen to me. If you don’t want this baby, I’ll make Annie get rid of it. I’ll make sure she never has another kid with me ever again.” He grabbed my shoulders. “I promised you years ago. No one gets to make you suffer. Not even me.” When I didn’t respond, Stewart tossed the cigarette away. Without a moment of hesitation, he bent down, picked up a rusted steel pipe from the construction debris, and smashed it brutally against his own left arm. A sickening crack echoed through the night. Stewart’s face went chalk-white as he collapsed straight to his knees. “Stewart!” The heavy roof access door flew open. Annie rushed out, her eyes immediately locking onto Stewart kneeling in agony, and the bloody steel pipe resting near my boots. Her eyes turned murderous. She lunged at me, delivering a brutal, full-force kick to my side. “How dare you touch him, Roger!” I was already weak. The impact sent me flying backward, slamming hard against the concrete. A jagged piece of exposed rebar tore straight through the back of my right calf. She didn’t ask a single question. She didn’t hesitate. She instantly assumed I was the monster and didn’t care if she killed me in the process. The pain was so blinding that I could taste iron in my mouth. Using every last drop of energy I had, I looked up at her. “The wedding is off, Annie.” I gasped for air. “We’re done.” Annie was already kneeling, carefully pulling Stewart’s head into her lap. She shot me a look of pure venom. “Stop using a breakup to manipulate me, Roger. I don’t have time for your childish tantrums!” “This time… I mean it…” Before I could finish, Stewart’s eyes rolled back, and he passed out from the pain. Annie panicked, hauling him over her shoulder and dragging him toward the stairwell, rushing like her life depended on it. She never looked back at me. Not once. I lay curled on the frozen concrete like a dying animal, a terrifying puddle of dark red pooling beneath my leg. I stared blankly at the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room. Annie sat by my bed, her face painted with heavy guilt as she gripped my freezing hand. “Roger… your leg. The doctors said there’s a surgery. We will fix this, I promise.” My eyes drifted past her to Stewart, who was standing by the window with red, teary eyes. I looked back at her. My voice was as light as ash. “Annie. This is the second time this leg has been ruined.” Annie froze completely. Three years ago, during a massive blizzard, Stewart forced me to play his instant reply game for the first time to test her. Ten minutes later, a Maybach pulled up to the curb and took Stewart home. I was left standing in that blizzard. I called Annie thirty times. Not a single one went through. I eventually collapsed in the negative-degree weather and lay in the snowbank all night. When I finally woke up, my right leg was so severely frostbitten they almost amputated it. And now, three years later, Annie had personally crippled that same leg to protect my best friend. The memory of that blizzard clearly hit them both. A crushing wave of remorse visibly washed over their faces. Stewart began hitting himself in the head, acting like a man possessed by grief. “It’s my fault, Roger! It’s all my fault! I’ll pay you back with my life, I swear to God I’ll make it right!” Annie’s face dropped. She immediately rushed over, wrapping her arms around him to stop his hands, kissing his tears away. “Stop it, baby. It’s not your fault, please stop.” Watching this tragic soap opera play out in front of me, I felt absolutely nothing. The well of my emotions had completely dried up. I reached down, ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand, and walked out of the room. When I got back to our apartment, I quietly started packing a duffel bag. I walked into the walk-in closet and pulled out a garment bag from the very back. Inside was a vintage-inspired, hand-tailored tuxedo I had spent countless sleepless nights designing and stitching together for our big day. I took it out, ready to throw it in the dumpster. The front door clicked open. Annie walked in. When she saw the tuxedo resting on the bed, the guilt in her eyes deepened into a desperate panic. “Roger, look. I know you’re terrified that me having Stewart’s baby will push you out of the picture.” She stepped closer. “I swear to you, my husband will always be you. I don’t care whose blood runs in the baby’s veins. You will be the only father it ever knows.” She reached out to hug me. I slightly shifted my shoulder, letting her grasp at empty air. Her hands hovered awkwardly before slowly falling to her sides. She took a deep breath, forcing a patient, coaxing tone, like she was humoring a stubborn child. “Okay, look. I promise you, we are getting married tomorrow exactly as planned. And the second the reception ends, I will fly you straight to Norway to see the Northern Lights. Just like you always wanted. Can you please stop being mad now?” The wedding. The Northern Lights. These were the promises I used to pray for in my sleep. But hearing them now, my heart didn’t skip a single beat. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. An automated text from the District Attorney’s office. [Mr. Gallagher, the three suspects in your felony assault case have been apprehended. The preliminary hearing is scheduled for 10:00 AM tomorrow at the Superior Courthouse. Please ensure your attendance.] [During interrogation, suspects indicated they may have been directed by a third party.] Before I could even process the text, a custom ringtone blared through the room. Annie snatched her phone instantly. She grabbed her coat and practically ran toward the door. “Stewart isn’t feeling well, his arm is throbbing. I have to get him to the clinic.” She paused in the doorway. “Get some sleep tonight. I’ll send the driver to pick you up bright and early for the ceremony tomorrow.” The door slammed shut. My words—”My court hearing is tomorrow morning”—died silently in my throat. I let out a dry, exhausted chuckle. I gathered the legal files into a manila folder and set them neatly on the entryway console table. … The next morning, a massive convoy of luxury wedding cars lined up outside my house. Annie stepped out, looking radiant in her designer bridal gown. She smiled warmly and punched my birthday into the smart lock. Passcode Incorrect. Her smile faltered. A sudden, irrational chill crawled up her spine. Stewart stood behind her, chuckling and hyping up the crowd of groomsmen. “Looks like the groom changed the passcode to test our dedication! You really think marrying our boy Roger is gonna be that easy?” Annie forced down the rising panic in her chest. She stepped back and gestured for the security team to force the door open. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes locked onto the entryway console. Her blood ran cold. Heavy footsteps sounded behind them. Two uniformed police officers walked up the driveway, looking directly at Stewart. “Mr. Stewart? You need to come with us.”

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1 My brain has a cruel glitch. It erases every moment I am hurt. School bullies called me a brainless freak, but I woke up the next morning with a clean slate. At my old job, client harassment and coworker cold shoulders dissolved into thin air by nightfall. Then Lucas and my childhood friend Frank entered my life. They kept a leather notebook of my daily life and sought specialists to treat me. “Julie, as long as we are around, no one will ever hurt you again.” Yet on my birthday, they brought Amber, the very girl who’d tormented me in school. “Julie, she was your best friend,” Lucas whispered. “You just don’t remember.” I stayed silent. Stepping out to the restroom, my phone accidentally called Lucas. Through the speaker, a friend’s voice rang out. “If Julie finds out you two only got close because of a bet with Amber, wouldn’t she lose her mind?” Laughter followed. Lucas stroked Amber’s hair, indifferent. “Who cares? She’ll forget by tomorrow anyway.” Frank tossed my cake figurine into the trash. “If not for Amber, who’d want to stay with an idiot?” My nails dug into my palms. They didn’t know that this time, I would not forget. … I stood frozen by the door for a long time until a passing waiter paused. “Miss, are you lost?” I snapped back to reality, shook my head, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. The room instantly fell silent the moment I stepped inside. Lucas subtly pulled away from Amber. Frank walked straight up to me. “Julie, what took you so long? Lucas and I were just about to go look for you.” I stared right into his eyes, truly unable to fathom how someone I grew up with could hide such a hideous second face. Frank reached out to feel my forehead, but I instinctively flinched away. “I am fine. Just got a little confused by the hallways.” Amber sat comfortably in my seat, showing no intention of getting up. I flashed my phone screen at Lucas. He saw the call timer showing fifteen minutes and a flash of panic crossed his face. “I must have pocket dialed you by mistake, Julie. You did not hear anything, did you?” The nervous probing in his voice was glaring. I lowered my gaze and shook my head. Lucas and Frank exchanged a quick glance, visible relief washing over them. I was never someone who enjoyed noisy crowds, and after hearing their dirty secret, I lost whatever little mood I had left. I sat in a dark corner, watching Lucas and Frank take turns singing love songs to Amber. I let out a bitter, silent smile. While no one was paying attention, I quietly slipped out. The moment I unlocked the front door at home, all my strength drained from my body. I collapsed onto the foyer floor, hugging my knees in the dark. By the time I forced myself to stand, my legs were completely numb. I walked into the study and pulled out the leather notebook from the drawer. Inside were all the daily logs Lucas and Frank kept about me. As I flipped through the pages, I realized several sheets had been torn out, mostly entries concerning Amber. I closed it quietly. The two men who swore to protect me had turned out to be the ones who cut me the deepest. Returning to my bedroom, I pulled out my own private journal. I had secretly learned to keep notes just like them. Word by word, I recorded everything that happened tonight so that I would not forget tomorrow. A few days ago, my specialist told me my brain was finally healing and my memory was stabilizing. I had asked him to keep it a secret, wanting to give Lucas and Frank a wonderful surprise today. At one in the morning, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ordinarily, if I went missing for more than five minutes, my phone would blow up with their panicked calls. But tonight, nobody noticed I was gone. Their hearts had never belonged to me in the first place. Downstairs, the front door clicked open. Giggly whispers and playful banter echoed into the hallway. Lucas walked in with his arm around Amber. Seeing me wide awake in bed, his movements stiffened for a second. “Julie, when did you get back? Were you not right behind us?” I squeezed my trembling hands under the blanket, my voice raspy. “I have been home for nearly three hours.” Lucas cleared his throat nervously. Frank stepped in behind them, setting down Amber’s heavy suitcases. “Julie, someone was hanging around Amber’s apartment building, so we brought her here for her safety. You two are best friends, so I know you would worry about her too. You do not mind, right?” I met Amber’s mocking, triumphant gaze, and for the first time in my life, I said no. “What if I do mind?” Lucas and Frank froze, completely caught off guard. “Julie, Amber helped you so much in the past. How can you be so heartless?” “Just pack your things and move to the guest room next door, Julie. Amber likes large windows, so we are giving her this room.” They finished each other’s sentences seamlessly, leaving me zero room to refuse. I fell silent for a long moment, then suddenly let out a soft laugh. Back in middle school, the girl gang led by Amber threw my backpack into the dumpster, tore my clothes, and forced bugs into my mouth. If that was her definition of helping me, I would rather die than accept it. While Lucas and Frank bustled around preparing the master bedroom for Amber, I gathered my belongings and walked out. “I once swore that if I ever stopped forgetting the pain, I would run so far away that no one could ever find me again,” I whispered to the empty corridor. I stared at the ceiling of the guest room, my mind flooded with memories of every sweet thing Lucas and Frank had ever done for me. But comparing those memories to the truth I heard tonight made me feel sick. Love really could be faked so flawlessly. Tossing and turning, I suddenly realized I had left behind the plush bunny doll I hugged every night. I sighed and walked back toward Amber’s room. I did not expect Frank to answer the door. Through the crack, I saw Lucas sitting beside the bed, gently cooing Amber to sleep. I felt a sudden pang of dizziness. Once upon a time, that spot belonged exclusively to me. “Julie, is something wrong?” Frank explained in a low voice. “Amber got a terrible fright tonight. Lucas and I were worried she might have a panic attack, so we stayed.” I nodded mindlessly. Then my eyes caught the plush bunny lying crumpled on the dirty floor. Frank followed my line of sight, quickly picking it up and dusting it off. “We were busy swapping the bedsheets just now and did not notice it fell.” He handed it to me, but my hands remained firmly at my side. This doll was something he and Lucas had spent weeks hand-sewing for me following an online tutorial. It was lumpy and uneven, but it meant the world to me. Half a month ago, during a severe rainstorm, the doll was lost during our evacuation. Lucas and Frank had ignored all safety warnings and rushed back into the mud to retrieve it for me. I still remembered how soaked and filthy they were when they returned, holding the doll with bright, triumphant smiles. “Julie, do not cry. We found it.” “Julie?” Frank called out, his voice laced with faint impatience as I stood dazed. I pulled myself out of the flood of memories, tore my eyes away from the toy, and spoke softly. “I do not want it anymore. Throw it in the trash.” Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked back to my room. Lucas carefully slipped his arm from beneath Amber’s head and hurried out right behind Frank. “Julie, this is your favorite thing in the world. Why are you throwing it away all of a sudden?” I kept my back to them, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from falling. “I liked it before. I do not like it now.” They opened their mouths to say more, but a soft whine from Amber inside the bedroom immediately stole their attention away. The next morning, when I walked downstairs, Amber was already up. Lucas and Frank were buzzing around the kitchen in aprons. “Julie, come over!” Amber walked over affectionately and pulled my arm as if nothing had ever happened. “Lucas and Frank made breakfast. Let us eat together.” The moment I saw the fried eggs served on the table, my entire body began to shake uncontrollably. In high school, Amber had cracked raw eggs over my head in front of the whole school. Even when my conscious mind used to forget the trauma, my nervous system kept the terrifying memory etched into its bones. In all the time I lived with Lucas and Frank, eggs had never once been allowed in the house. “Amber loves eggs, Julie,” Lucas said casually. “You can just eat something else.” My face turned ghostly pale. I could no longer hold it in, I ran into the bathroom and fell to my knees, throwing up violently over the toilet. Lucas stepped in behind me, holding a glass of water. “Are you okay, Julie? Guess Amber was right, you really do have some weird dramatic stress response to eggs.” I turned my head in sheer disbelief. They did it on purpose. They deliberately triggered my fear just to entertain Amber and watch me make a fool of myself. Lucas flinched slightly under the ice-cold hatred in my eyes. “Julie, it was just a small joke. You will forget all about it tomorrow anyway, do not be so petty.” I leaned heavily against the wall, pulled myself up, and pushed his hand away. Under the watchful eyes of all three, I forced my spine straight and walked back into my room. I pulled out my hidden notebook and wrote a new line: “In two weeks, I will receive the clinical memory-erasing serum. Then, I will disappear forever.” Before Lucas and Frank left for work, they placed a freshly cooked plate of oatmeal outside my door. “Julie, we are heading out. Eat when you feel better so your stomach does not hurt.” I curled up on my bed, wiping away tears. A moment later, the door handle clicked. Amber unlocked the door with a spare key, walked over, and ripped the blanket off me. “Julie, you are just as repulsive as you were years ago,” Amber sneered, her face twisting with malice. “Lucas and Frank only approached you because of a bet to see who could tame you first. I never expected them to actually catch feelings for you along the way.” She stepped closer, towering over me. “But a broken freak like you will never compare to me.” I sat up slowly. “Amber, you did not bully me back then because I was weak. You targeted me because my grades were better and the teachers loved me more. You were consumed by envy.” I looked straight into her furious eyes. “Just like now. Lucas and Frank were supposed to revolve entirely around you, but their hearts drifted toward me. You cannot accept that, so you resort to picking on me to feel superior again.” Even if part of me still feared her, I refused to cower anymore. Ironically, Lucas was the one who had taught me this. He used to hold my hands and say, Julie, bowing your head only invites cruelty. Never be afraid to bite back. Amber was stunned. She gritted her teeth, her voice dripping with venom. “Looks like spending time with them actually gave you some backbone.” She leaned in, whispering softly, “But tell me, Julie, do you really think that fancy doctor is trying to cure you? Have you not noticed your body getting weaker every single day?” My eyes widened. So that was why my memory kept slipping and my stamina was draining. Thank God I had secretly consulted an independent specialist weeks ago. Amber burst into a high-pitched laugh and skipped out of the room, humming a tune. That evening, Lucas and Frank returned home holding a set of concert tickets. “Julie, your favorite singer is in town for a tour. Let us grab dinner and go together.” I was still shaken by Amber’s revelation, and I instinctively pulled away when Lucas tried to touch my shoulder. “I am not feeling well today. You guys go without me.” Amber immediately grabbed my arm, shaking it playfully. “Oh come on, Julie! Staying cooped up at home is so boring. Just come along to clear your head!” I did not miss the sinister glimmer flashing across her eyes. “Settled then,” Lucas declared, completely ignoring my refusal. On the way out, Amber walked between the two men, leaving me trailing behind. She pulled open the passenger door of Lucas’s car and casually ripped down the custom resin crafts I had spent days assembling, tossing them onto the wet pavement. “What is all this tacky junk? It looks hideous. I will redesign your car interior next week.” I watched my hard work crush under her heel. My heart shattered right along with it, beyond all repair. Lucas and Frank merely smiled at her indulgence, not offering a single word of restraint. When we arrived at the arena, the crowd was suffocating. Fearing she might get lost, Lucas and Frank tightly clutched Amber’s hands on either side. Noticing I was left behind, Lucas showed a sudden burst of charity and extended his left hand back toward me. “Julie, hold on to me.” I stared at his outstretched palm for a few long seconds, then took two steps backward. “No thanks.” Lucas frowned, finding my behavior odd, but Amber called his name and pulled him away before he could press further. Inside the venue, their three seats were grouped together in the front row, while mine was placed several rows behind them. “Julie, the front section sold out before we could grab your ticket,” Frank said casually. “You do not mind sitting back here alone, right?” The concert started. It was an artist I had idolized for years, yet I could not bring myself to listen to a single note. From my angle, I had a perfect view of Lucas and Frank leaning over Amber, taking endless photos of her from every angle. “Yeah, hold that pose, Amber, you look stunning.” “Look over here, the lighting hits you perfectly.” Two teenage girls sitting beside me began to whisper. “Look at that girl up there, she is so lucky to have two handsome guys catering to her every whim.” “Right? The love in those guys’ eyes is practically overflowing. They look so good together.” I turned my face away, forcing my eyes shut. Halfway through the show, a loud crack echoed from the stadium ceiling. A heavy support beam snapped without warning. Panic ripped through the crowd as someone screamed, “Structural collapse! Run!” The crowd surged like a stampede. I was shoved to the concrete floor, my ankle twisting with a sharp pop. I screamed in agony, instinctively reaching toward the two men who had sworn to protect me. “Lucas! Frank! Help me! I cannot move my leg!” Lucas did not even turn around, his entire body wrapped protectively around Amber as he pushed through the frantic crowd. Frank paused for a fraction of a second, glanced back at my sprawled form on the floor, and then turned away, prioritizing Amber’s escape. I watched in total despair as they vanished into the storm of people, leaving me behind. Then, darkness consumed me. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed, my body wrapped in thick bandages. Every micro-movement sent blinding pain shooting through my nerves. I gasped softly. Lucas rushed to my bedside, his face a mask of frantic concern. “Julie! How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere else?” Frank rushed out to get the doctor. I stayed completely still, refusing to offer them a single glance or word. “Julie, I swear I did not see you back there,” Lucas stammered, his voice trembling. “Otherwise I would never have left you!” “Julie, Amber has a severe heart condition,” Frank added hastily as he re-entered. “If she gets shocked or trampled, it could kill her. That is why we panicked. Thank God you are okay.” I listened to their pathetic excuses, a bitter smile bleeding onto my lips as tears silently leaked into my hair. Throughout my hospital stay, Lucas and Frank stayed by my side around the clock, acting like devoted guardians. Fearing long-term complications, they insisted I stay hospitalized for an extra week. When we finally returned home, they treated me like fragile glass, making Amber fume with jealousy. My phone buzzed with a private text: The clinical memory serum is tested and ready. You may pick it up at your convenience. I read the message once and deleted it permanently. To celebrate my recovery, Lucas proposed throwing a grand dinner party at our house. Both he and Frank looked at me with eager, desperate eyes. Ever since the concert disaster, they had been walking on eggshells around me, weighing every single word before speaking. I accepted the invitation. After all, I needed an audience for the grand grand finale I prepared for them. On the night of the party, the room was packed with familiar faces from our social circle. Everyone in the room knew about the secret bet, and their eyes darted curiously between the four of us. As the night kicked off, Lucas and Frank pushed out a massive display of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine red roses. “Julie, do you like it?” I remained silent, reaching out to pick up the signature card tucked inside the bouquet. If the card had not been signed with Amber’s initials, I might have felt a flicker of emotion. “Let us play a game of truth or dare,” I suggested softly. “Whoever loses must reveal three secrets no one else knows.” Lucas and Frank eagerly agreed, desperate to please me. I won round after round, while others confessed harmless, silly secrets. On the fourth round, I rolled the lowest number. Amid the roaring cheers of the crowd, I looked at Lucas and Frank, offering them a sweet, breathtaking smile. “First secret: My condition is completely cured. I will no longer forget anything.” “Second secret: I know the real reason why you two approached me in the first place.” “Third secret: I know you have been lying to me every single day.” Lucas and Frank froze. Their hands shook violently, tipping over their wine glasses and splashing crimson liquid all over the floor. I lifted my glass and swallowed the clear, tasteless serum mixed inside it in one smooth gulp. Once this drink settled into my bloodstream, Lucas and Frank would be permanently erased from my mind forever. From this moment on, we would never meet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “620857”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On our wedding photoshoot day, my fiancé Gary brought his childhood best friend Mindy to pose in my place. I lacked poise, he said, and bad photos would ruin his reputation. Over the years, Mindy had stood in for me at high-profile events. Gary called it an innocent game, telling me not to take it to heart. Now he wanted her in our wedding portraits. Mindy stood before me in a gown identical to mine. Makeup, hair, diamond earrings, every detail matched. “What do you think, Rachel?” she teased. “I bet three days before anyone realizes I’m not you.” Gary wrapped an arm around her waist, smirking. “Joe just called her my future bride. That’s one down.” Mindy flashed her phone. “I’m standing in for your mother’s birthday gala too. If I win, you hang our portrait in the master bedroom. If I lose, I’ll get plastic surgery to look just like her.” Gary agreed without hesitation. He didn’t even ask me. Staring in the mirror at two identical brides, the truth clicked. That was why he’d insisted on altering my dress dimensions weeks ago. I reached back and unlaced the bodice. “She can keep the dress. It suits her better.” I grabbed my phone and canceled the hotel reservation for his mother’s party. A fake was a fake. No matter how convincing, there was only one real me. … “Rachel, are you seriously mad?” Gary caught sight of me unzipping the dress in the mirror. His smile wavered, and he hurried over, catching my hand. “Take your hands off me.” Instead of letting go, he stepped closer, whispering in that gentle, coaxing tone he used whenever he treated me like a child. “There are a dozen crew members waiting out there. Stop being so dramatic.” Mindy stood a few feet away, the lace train of her gown trailing across the floor. She remained silent, tilting her head slightly as she watched us. The exact angle, the precise tilt of her chin, was a carbon copy of my own habits. I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. The silk gown slid down my shoulders, revealing the white slip beneath. Gary’s face darkened. “Rachel!” “Let her wear it,” I said softly. “You did not have it tailored for my body anyway.” I folded the dress neatly and set it over the back of a chair. Mindy finally spoke, her voice trembling with delicate anxiety. “Rachel, I am so sorry. I should not have brought up that stupid bet.” She lowered her gaze, her lashes fluttering as her fingers nervously twisted the lace sleeves of the dress. “Gary, did I say something wrong? Is she upset with me?” Gary looked over at her, his expression softening instantly. “It is not your fault.” He patted her shoulder gently, then turned back to me with a sigh. “Rachel, Mindy was just trying to help. She attends those events for you because…” “Because I lack the class,” I finished his sentence for him. He paused for a fraction of a second. “That is not what I meant.” “That is exactly what you meant.” He drew in a sharp breath, pulling me into a quiet corner of the studio. His voice dropped, maintaining a patient, patronizing warmth. “Look at you, getting all worked up over nothing. It is just a game. Mindy and I have played this since we were kids, and you know that. When she went in your place to the company gala last time, you did not make a scene.” I did not make a scene then because the dress I had bought a week in advance was deemed inappropriate by him, replaced by a duplicate from Mindy’s closet. The time before that, at his father’s milestone birthday, he told me three days prior that I did not need to attend. Mindy had already put on my signature makeup and filled my seat. Photos were shared in the family group chat, receiving endless blessings, but the woman in those pictures was not me. From the first game to the ninth, from high school reunions to corporate dinners, Mindy slowly erased my presence from his social life. And every single time, Gary offered the exact same line with a bright smile: It is just a game. “Rachel?” He waved a hand in front of my face. I pulled out my phone and opened the group chat with over a hundred mutual friends. Mindy’s pinned announcement sat right at the top: Imposter Challenge Round Nine: The Wedding Portrait Edition. Target: 72 hours undetected. Underneath it was a long stream of cheering emojis and hypes from everyone. I typed a single line and sent it: Fair game. You two can take the photos. Hang them in the master bedroom or the living room. I do not care. The group chat went dead silent for a few seconds before exploding with notifications. Gary looked down at his screen, his eyes widening in shock. “Are you insane?” “You did not ask if I was insane when you agreed to her bet.” I grabbed my jacket from the chair and walked toward the exit. Gary took two steps toward me, but Mindy’s voice whimpered behind him, thick with tears. “Gary, my head hurts… I think my blood sugar is dropping…” His footsteps abruptly halted. I did not turn back. I heard him say softly behind me, “Sit down, Mindy. Take it easy.” Pushing open the glass doors of the studio, I stepped into a chilly drizzle. My phone vibrated. A text from Gary: Do not wander off. Wait for me. I will come find you as soon as I handle this. I did not reply. Opening a rideshare app, I typed in the address of our intended wedding home. Rain streaked down the car window, blurring the city lights into smeared ribbons of gold. Leaning against the headrest, my mind drifted back to three years ago when he proposed in the rain. He had knelt on the wet pavement, his suit completely soaked, smiling with absolute sincerity. He told me then: Rachel, you are the only woman I ever want to marry. My one and only. In the rearview mirror, the studio lights faded into the dark. When I arrived at the apartment, I unlocked the door with my thumbprint. A stack of legal documents lay on the coffee table in the living room. On top sat a sticky note written in Gary’s familiar handwriting: Mindy, please sign Thursday’s contract on Rachel’s behalf. Make sure they do not alter the clause on page three. I put the original copy in the safe. You know the code. Beneath the note was an equity transfer agreement. An agreement involving assets under my name. I turned to page three. The clause read: If Party B (Rachel) fails to attend the signing in person, Party A is granted full power of attorney. The name listed for Party A was Mindy. This was no game. This was an erasure. From my face, to my identity, to the last remaining assets registered under my name. I placed the document back exactly as it was, leaving every page untouched. Then I unlocked my phone and booked a one-way flight to Oceanside for three days later. Three days. That would be more than enough time. 2 “Rachel, don’t you think you crossed the line yesterday?” The next morning, Gary leaned against the bedroom doorframe, offering me a glass of warm milk. His tone was smooth, as if discussing the morning weather. I took the glass and set it on the nightstand without taking a sip. “Where exactly did I cross the line?” “That text in the group chat. Over a hundred people saw it. Telling everyone to hang Mindy’s wedding photos in our living room, what do you think people are going to say?” “Did you care what people would say when you took wedding photos with her?” He rubbed his temples and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Fine, I admit I did not think it through. But do not take it out on Mindy. She grew up without parents and has no close friends besides me. It is natural for her to lean on me.” I had listened to this exact lecture for three long years. Every time Mindy crossed an obvious line, Gary’s defense always circled back to the same origin: She is fragile, so give her a break. “Gary, she wore my makeup to represent me at your family dinners, attended your annual corporate galas in my place, and now poses in my wedding gown. What is next? Standing beside you at the registry office to sign our marriage license?” “Can you stop making it sound so dramatic?” A flash of irritation cracked through his calm facade, but he quickly reined it in, softening his voice. “Rachel, I know you are upset. Once the photos are printed, I will have her delete every single digital file. Okay?” “And that contract on the coffee table? Will you delete that too?” He froze. I looked straight into his eyes. “You asked Mindy to sign Thursday’s deal for me. You handed over the equity agreement and gave her the safe combination. Gary, what are you actually doing?” Silence stretched between us for several seconds. He stood up, walked over to the window, and spoke with his back turned to me. “That contract is no big deal. Didn’t you say you had a medical checkup on Thursday? I did not want to mess up your schedule, so I asked Mindy to help out. She is already familiar with their team anyway.” “Is their team familiar with her, or with me? Those equity shares belong to me.” “It makes no difference.” It makes no difference. When those words left his mouth, he did not even turn around to face me. The doorbell chimed. Gary went to answer it. Mindy stood in the doorway wearing an almond cardigan, holding an insulated food bag. “Rachel, I made some bird’s nest soup for you. I felt so terrible about yesterday that I couldn’t sleep all night. I knew I had to apologize to your face.” Her eyes were red, and the tip of her nose was flushed. She bowed slightly as she held out the container, her posture meek and blameless. “Mindy woke up early just to simmer this,” Gary said, shooting me a meaningful look. I did not reach for the bag. “Save the gifts, Mindy. Just return the contract sitting on the coffee table.” Her hand stiffened. Gary frowned. “Rachel…” “I said give me the contract. I will sign it myself on Thursday.” Mindy’s lips quivered slightly. She slowly pulled the container back against her chest, her voice barely audible. “Rachel, Gary helped me prepare for that meeting all day yesterday. I already coordinated with their point person. If we switch representatives now, it might ruin the deal.” “It is my contract. When I sign it and who I work with is none of your concern.” “Rachel…” Gary started to speak, but Mindy gently tugged at his sleeve. “Gary, stop. It is my fault. Rachel is right, I overstepped.” She turned around, her small frame looking fragile under the entryway light. After taking a couple of steps, she leaned heavily against the shoe cabinet, swaying slightly. “Mindy!” Gary rushed forward to support her. Mindy clutched her chest, her voice faint. “I am fine… I just didn’t sleep well last night, my heart is fluttering a bit…” Gary helped her onto the sofa and looked back at me. I knew that look all too well: Look what you did, you drove her to exhaustion again. I said nothing. “Rachel, we will talk about the contract later. Let Mindy catch her breath first.” He poured a glass of warm water from the kitchen and draped a throw blanket over her knees. Mindy leaned back against the armrest, her eyes closed, her eyelashes trembling softly. But underneath the blanket, her right thumb was discreetly tapping across her phone screen. A notification pinged twice. I could not see what she sent, but Gary’s phone lit up almost simultaneously on the table. He glanced at the screen, then immediately flipped the phone face down. “I am going out to pick up some medicine. Keep an eye on her,” he whispered to me as he grabbed his car keys. “Rachel, she is really unwell. Don’t push her too hard.” The front door clicked shut. Only Mindy and I were left in the living room. Her eyes remained closed. I walked over, picked up the phone resting face down on her lap, and saw the screen was unlocked. The messaging app was open to her chat with Gary. She had just sent a four-second voice note. I tapped play on the speaker. A quiet, trembling sob filled the air, sounding like a helpless, wounded animal. Underneath the audio message was a line of text: Gary, does Rachel hate me? Maybe I should never have come here. Gary’s reply came instantly: Do not overthink it. She is just venting her temper. I will be right back. I placed the phone back onto her lap. Mindy opened her eyes. Her gaze was cold, clear, and completely devoid of tears. “Rachel, you really shouldn’t go through my phone.” I turned around and walked back into the bedroom, without giving her another glance. I unzipped my suitcase. Passport, IDs, a change of clothes. My flight ticket for two days later sat quietly in my phone app. But before leaving, I needed to retrieve the original documents from the safe. 3 “Rachel, Gary said we should all have dinner together tonight.” The next afternoon, Mindy’s message popped up right on time, accompanied by a cute emoji. A moment later, Gary sent a text as well: Anhe Japanese Restaurant tonight at seven. Don’t be late. He chose the exact restaurant where we had our very first date. Three years ago, he tucked a single white rose underneath the menu inside that quiet booth, telling me it was the flower that suited me best: subtle, elegant, and unforgettable. I cherished that memory for three years. When I arrived at the restaurant, Gary was already seated by the window, with Mindy sitting across from him. She wore light makeup today, her hair draped over her shoulders in the exact style I wore every day. Even her blouse was identical to the one I had purchased the week before. “Rachel, you are here! Come sit,” Mindy said, sliding inward to leave space for me next to Gary. I did not take that seat. Instead, I pulled out a chair and sat directly beside her. Gary glanced at me, said nothing, and gestured for the waiter. “Rachel usually prefers salmon with less wasabi,” he instructed the waiter. Mindy piped up beside him. “Right, right! Rachel mentioned to me last time that she does not eat sea urchin.” I had never told her that. That was a photo I posted on my private social feed, showing a plate with sea urchin sushi left untouched. She was studying my private posts down to the smallest detail. When the dishes arrived, Gary placed a piece of fatty tuna on my plate. Mindy immediately served herself an identical piece, imitating my posture as she tilted her head toward Gary with a sweet smile. “Gary, look. Am I eating this just like Rachel does?” Gary chuckled softly. “You actually look pretty similar.” I set my chopsticks down. “Rachel, what is wrong?” he asked. “Nothing. I am just not hungry.” “Your appetite has been poor lately. Are you feeling unwell?” There was genuine concern in his voice, his tone warm and soft. That gentle tone made it nearly impossible to reconcile him with the cold man who left that equity contract on the coffee table yesterday. He had always been like this. He never withheld affection, but his warmth was diluted across two women. The remaining half offered to me was just enough to keep me from walking away. Mindy suddenly put down her chopsticks, pulled out her phone, and flipped the screen toward Gary. “Gary, look! The wedding portraits from yesterday came back. The photographer said the shots turned out incredible!” On the screen was a professionally edited photograph. Mindy was wearing my wedding gown, standing beside Gary in front of a floral wall. His hand rested lightly around her waist, his chin resting against the crown of her head. The composition was indistinguishable from any real wedding portrait. They looked exactly like a couple about to walk down the aisle. Gary took the phone and scanned it. “Turned out nicely.” “The photographer even said we have amazing chemistry,” Mindy said, turning toward me with an innocent smile. “Rachel, look. Doesn’t it look great?” I picked up my teacup, took a slow sip, and did not glance at the photo. “Does Rachel not like it?” Her voice dropped into a faint murmur. “I can ask the photographer to delete them…” “Don’t delete them,” Gary interrupted. “We already shot them anyway.” Mindy hesitated. “But Rachel looks unhappy…” “Rachel is always like this, don’t pay it any mind,” he said, throwing a brief glance my way. “When she gets moody, she just ignores people. She will get over it in a couple of days.” She will get over it in a couple of days. He said the exact same thing last time, and the time before that. Every time I expressed my hurt, his answer was always the same: She will get over it in a couple of days. It was as if all my emotions were nothing more than a passing breeze that would blow away on its own. “Gary, about Thursday’s contract signing…” I spoke up suddenly. His hand paused mid-air. “Didn’t I say we would discuss it later?” “Later is right now. I am signing that contract myself.” Mindy’s gaze flicked between Gary and me. “Maybe I should step away to the restroom…” “No need,” I looked straight at Gary. “I am only asking one thing. Are you going to give me the original copy inside the safe or not?” He set his chopsticks down and tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wooden table. “Rachel, that contract involves internal asset realignments within Atherton Corporation. Mindy worked on this with their team for three months. She handled every piece of communication. If you switch people now, the other party will not agree.” “Did you consult me before using equity under my name for your corporate realignment?” “If I consulted you, would you even understand it?” The moment those words slipped out of his mouth, he froze. Silence fell over the table. Mindy let out a timely, delicate sigh. “Gary, don’t talk to Rachel like that.” She turned to grasp my hand. Her palm was cold. “Rachel, Gary didn’t mean it like that. He has just been under a lot of pressure at work lately. If you want to sign the contract yourself, I will organize all the files and hand them over to you, okay?” Her words were sweet and selfless. But as she held my hand, her thumb rested directly against the pulse on my wrist, as if testing my heart rate. Gary softened his expression slightly. “I spoke too harshly just now. But Rachel, you really do not know the details of this project. If you go sign blindly and something goes wrong, who takes responsibility?” “I take responsibility. It is my equity.” He opened his mouth, but ended up saying nothing, picking up his glass to take a gulp of wine instead. The dinner ended in a heavy, awkward silence. On the drive back to the apartment, Gary kept his eyes on the road and remained completely silent. Once inside, he tossed his keys onto the console and headed straight for the study. Passing by me, he threw out a single sentence. “If you want to sign it, go ahead. I will text you the safe code tomorrow.” The study door shut firmly behind him. My phone screen flickered. A message from Mindy popped up: Rachel, the code Gary gave me is your anniversary date! He said only the most important person knows this code. Followed by a smiley face. I stared at that smiley face for three seconds. Then I opened my notes app and saved the string of numbers. 4 “Are you not going out today?” The next morning, Gary stepped out of the walk-in closet, buttoning his cuffs as he glanced over at me sitting by the window alcove. “No.” He gave a low murmur, leaning down to press a kiss against my forehead before leaving. His lips were dry and the gesture brief, like a mechanical habit. “It is Mindy’s birthday tonight. I promised to host a small party for her. Are you coming?” “No.” He paused for a beat. “Rachel…” “Go handle your business.” He stood there for two seconds before finally pulling the door open and leaving. I waited ten minutes, making sure his car had driven out of the complex. Then I stepped down from the window alcove and walked into his study. The safe was hidden inside a concealed compartment behind the bookshelf. Six digits. June seventeenth, the day Gary and I officially started dating. I pressed the numbers. A green light flashed, and the safe door popped open. Inside lay only three items: the original equity transfer agreement, a flash drive, and a stack of photographs bound by a paperclip. I picked up the agreement first. Mindy had indeed completed three months of prep work, but the designated beneficiary in every clause was still my name. She had not altered that yet. It was not time. I did not plug in the flash drive, slipping it straight into my jacket pocket instead. The photographs were snapshots from Gary and Mindy’s various stand-in games over the years. Round One: High school alumni reunion. She wore my signature makeup style, sitting right beside him. Round Three: My birthday party. Guests toasted her with birthday wishes while she blew out the candles in my place. Round Six: The engagement ceremony. I had thought I was simply thirty minutes late due to traffic, only to arrive and find out the entire ritual had already been completed by her. On the back of every photograph was Mindy’s handwriting: the date, her record, the number of people fooled, the duration of the deception, and Gary’s score for her performance. The highest score belonged to the engagement ceremony. A perfect score. Beside it, Gary had written four words in his distinct handwriting: Passes for the real. I placed the photos back inside and shut the safe. I reset the passcode to a sequence Mindy could never guess: my mother’s birthday. I folded the original equity contract and slipped it into the inner lining of my coat. Then I returned to the bedroom and zipped my suitcase shut. My flight was scheduled for four in the afternoon. Plenty of time. My phone rang. A voice message from Gary. I tapped it. His voice came through amidst a noisy background, sounding like a shopping mall. “Can you order Mindy’s birthday cake? She likes tiramisu flavor.” A fiancé asking his bride-to-be to order a birthday cake for his female best friend. I exited the chat, opened a bakery app, and ordered a customized tiramisu cake. In the special instructions box, I typed: Happy Birthday. Enjoy the show. Signed, Rachel. This was the very last thing I would ever do for him. Just past noon, I stood in the entryway with my luggage. I took one last look around the apartment I had lived in for eight months. On the living room gallery wall, a blank frame still waited for our wedding portraits. Now, that frame would hold Mindy’s face instead. I put on my shoes and unlocked the front door. A man was standing right outside in the hallway. He wore a tailored suit, holding two coffee cups in his hand. His sharp brows and defined features were deeper and far colder than Gary’s. “Miss Rachel?” He looked down at the suitcase by my feet, then raised his eyes with a calm that bordered on detachment. “Ben.” He offered one of the coffee cups to me. “Gary’s half-brother.” I did not reach for it. He did not pull his hand back either, simply stating in an even voice, “I am here to retrieve the original Atherton agreement. Authorized directly by corporate legal. It has nothing to do with your fiancé.” “The agreement is right here.” “I know.” He glanced at my luggage. “Which means my timing is just right.” The sensor lights in the hallway dimmed, then flickered back on. He tilted his head slightly, as if re-evaluating me. “Are you leaving?” “That is none of your business.” “Indeed, it is not.” He set the coffee cup on the shoe cabinet by the door, took a step back, and handed me a formal legal notice from his briefcase. “But the contract is my business. Gary has no authority to manipulate your equity for corporate transfers, because those original shares were gifted to your father by my late mother.” I scanned the legal notice. Official seal, signatures, dates. Everything was legitimate. “Are you saying Gary had no right to handle these shares from the start?” “He managed them for three months, and from what I can see, he made a complete mess of it.” Ben’s tone remained flat, as if discussing an impersonal matter. I pulled the original agreement from my coat pocket and handed it to him. He flipped through two pages, his brows knitting slightly. “He handed this to an outsider without even reading the clause on beneficiary rights?” “That outsider is currently helping him replace me, piece by piece.” Ben closed the document and looked at me. For the first time, a trace of warmth entered his gaze, though it was not pity. It felt more like a quiet validation. “Miss Rachel, I will handle Atherton’s corporate matters. Your equity will remain completely safe.” He stepped aside, clearing the hallway. I pulled my suitcase past him. After three steps, his voice sounded from behind me. “If you need legal council when you arrive in Oceanside, call this number.” A business card was tucked under the sleeve of the coffee cup he had left behind. I picked up the cup, taking the card with me. As the elevator doors glided shut, my phone vibrated one last time. A text from Gary: Did you order the cake? I did not reply. I dragged his number straight into my block list. The wheels of my suitcase rolled crisply across the marble floor of the main lobby. Outside, the rain had stopped. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass doors, landing on the tips of my shoes. I walked out into the light.

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