Author: Momo Chan

The night before our wedding, my fiancée slept with her childhood best friend. I found out from an Instagram post. She thought she was waking up to a wedding day. Instead, she woke up to a single text from me: “We’re done.” 1. The day before my wedding. That was the day Sophie’s childhood friend took her to a club for her “final night of freedom.” The last text I got from her was around dinnertime. “Ethan, grabbing a bite with the girls. Dylan’s planned a surprise party for me later.” That single sentence left me pacing the floor of our apartment until the dead of night. It wasn’t until I was scrolling through my phone, just to feel some connection to the world outside my own head, that I saw Dylan’s Instagram story. And then I understood why she hadn’t had a free hand to text me back. I stared at the photo for a long time, the two of them so close the image seemed to radiate a shared heat. A block of ice formed in my chest. I had never, not in a million scenarios, imagined this happening to me—my fiancée, sleeping with another man the night before we were supposed to get married. My mind, a traitor, started filling in the details. Sophie, snuggled into his arms, the way she sometimes did with me, her voice soft and playful. The thought was a physical blow, a vicious current dragging me back through our shared memories, tainting every single one. And through it all, as my world fractured, there was only silence from her. No explanation. A bitter question echoed in the quiet of our apartment: What was I to her? Really? The pain in my chest was so sharp it was hard to breathe. I got up and walked through the rooms we were supposed to fill with a life, looking at the festive decorations we’d put up, the little touches meant to celebrate our beginning. Next to the photo glowing on my phone, it was all a sick, cruel joke. I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror and saw a grief on my face I didn’t recognize. My own tears, tracking down my cheeks, seemed to belong to a stranger. Steeling myself against the ache, I typed out a message. “Sophie, we’re done. The wedding’s off.” A long time passed. Still no reply. I knew she’d see it eventually. But I no longer cared what her response might be. Numbly, I started putting everything back into its box—the suit I was supposed to wear tomorrow, the gifts, the carefully chosen favors. Unpacking them had filled me with an almost unbearable excitement. Packing them back up was like performing surgery on my own hopes. Sophie was brilliant, beautiful, the kind of woman who seemed destined for greatness. She’d been the campus queen in college, president of the student government. A Fortune 500 company had recruited her right out of her internship, and in just a few years, she’d climbed to an executive position. Everyone said she was a prodigy, that her future was limitless. And everyone said I was punching way above my weight. I’d tried to answer their doubts and their whispers not with words, but with action. With my devotion. I worked hard, I pushed myself, I was supportive and understanding. I had tried, with every fiber of my being, to be the perfect partner for her. And she had betrayed me. There are some things in this world that happen zero times, or they happen a thousand times. There’s no in-between. I refused to spend the rest of my life wondering, looking over my shoulder, living in a world colored green with envy and suspicion. This was the only way. The best way. I sent a text to my mom, telling her the wedding was off. I expected a text back, but my phone rang almost immediately. Her voice was thick with concern, asking what had happened. I didn’t want to ruin her night, but she deserved the truth. I told her. The silence on the other end of the line stretched on. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw. “You do what you need to do, honey. I support you.” My mom had been dreaming of this day for so long. Tomorrow, she was supposed to watch her son get married. I imagine her heartbreak was only a shade less than my own. After we hung up, I moved through the apartment like a ghost, taking down every sign of the celebration that would never happen. Now that it was over, none of it meant anything. Finally, as the first hint of dawn greyed the windows, I packed away the last of it, turned off my phone, and collapsed into bed. 2. I woke to the sound of frantic knocking. It was already past noon. They couldn’t reach me, my phone was off, so of course, they had come to my door. I ignored it, letting the sound echo until it finally faded away. They gave up. If Sophie’s parents hadn’t been so incredibly kind to me over the years, if our own history didn’t mean something, I would have blown everything up. I would have played that photo on a projector at the ceremony for everyone to see. But all I wanted now was a clean break. I wanted nothing more to do with her. The thought of her… it repulsed me. But in the end, she found me anyway. She was wearing a full face of makeup, but it couldn’t hide the raw exhaustion in her eyes. She stared at me for a long moment, her expression hardening into disapproval. “Ethan, do you have any idea how much of a joke you made of me today? Leaving the groom missing on our wedding day!” Her voice trembled, as if she’d been crying. I looked at her, my face a blank mask. “Before you came here to attack me, Sophie,” I said, my voice flat, “did you ever stop to think why?” Her gaze flickered. Her tone softened. “Ethan, don’t be childish.” “I have so much on my plate, I’m so tired. Can’t you just be understanding for once?” On the surface, it sounded like she was conceding, trying to find common ground. But it was just another form of evasion. She never once mentioned the hotel. Or the picture. Of course she had a lot on her plate, busy as she was checking into hotels with other men. And I’m sure she was tired. Juggling two men must be exhausting. “Oh, you’re busy? Then you should go take care of your business. It has nothing to do with me.” I didn’t want to waste another breath on her. I turned to leave. She grabbed my arm. The moment her fingers touched my skin, I recoiled like I’d been burned. “Get off me!” I snapped. She stumbled back two steps, her eyes wide with disbelief. She had never seen me like this. Her eyes immediately welled up, shimmering with tears that threatened to spill over. “Sophie, I’m not in the mood to fight. If you don’t want to make this uglier than it already is, accept that we’re broken up and leave me alone.” When I moved to walk away again, she blocked my path. “Ethan, what is this about? You owe me an explanation for the wedding!” she insisted, biting her lip, her eyes full of a bewildering sense of victimhood. “You know how many people my parents invited. All of our friends. You left me standing there alone, Ethan. Do you know what they’re all saying about me? How they’re all laughing at me?” “I had to face every single one of them, apologize over and over again. I’m just so, so tired,” she finished, her voice cracking. “Couldn’t you have just talked to me?” I looked her straight in the eye. “You deserved it.” “What?” she whispered, frowning. “You heard me. I said you deserved it. Did you think about any of this when you were checking into a hotel room with him?” Her face fell, the mask of victimhood crumbling away. Her jaw tightened. “Your mind is a filthy place, Ethan,” she spat. I couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. Was she really going to claim they just lay there, innocently? As if sharing a hotel bed was somehow different? “You’re right,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could a piece of trash like me ever hope to understand a pristine angel like you?” “We’re done now. You’re free to go find someone more suitable.” Her body tensed, her eyes practically shooting sparks. After a long moment, the anger on her face softened into something more calculated. “Ethan, I didn’t come here to fight with you. But you at least owe my parents an explanation, don’t you think?” 3. I fell silent. She was right about that. I could treat her with the contempt she deserved, but I couldn’t disrespect her parents. Robert and Carol were kind, reasonable people. The complete opposite of their daughter. While everyone else whispered that I was lucky to have Sophie, they had never once looked down on me. They treated me like their own son. My weakness has always been that I assume the best in people. Because her parents were good to me, I poured all of that gratitude back into my relationship with her. I bent over backward for her. I never said no. She was laser-focused on her career, so I made sure to leave work on time to have dinner ready for her. While she ate, I’d draw her a bath, doing everything I could to create a sanctuary where she could unwind from her stressful days. I loved her. And I thought she loved me, too. But for her to do what she did… it meant she never cared about my feelings at all. I let out a heavy sigh and agreed to go to their house for dinner. Not for her. For them. I needed to tell them the truth, face to face. She rushed to open the passenger door of her car for me, but I just glanced at it and walked to my own. In my rearview mirror, I saw her face darken. When I parked outside their house, the familiar smell of a home-cooked meal drifted out. Every time I came over, they’d prepare a feast. I had imagined a future filled with many more of their dinners. I never thought this would be the last one. Before Sophie could even get her key in the door, it swung open. Robert’s face lit up when he saw me. “Ethan! You’re here! Come on in, have a seat. I’m just running out to grab some fruit.” Every time I visited, he made sure the house was stocked with my favorites. Sophie never ate fruit, so they never kept it around otherwise. I opened my mouth to say something, to stop him, but my words felt clumsy and awkward. He was already halfway down the driveway. After leaving their family humiliated at the wedding, I had come prepared for their anger, their disappointment. But here they were, treating me just the same as always. Usually, seeing them filled me with warmth, and I’d greet them enthusiastically. Now, I couldn’t even manage the words to address them. I walked to the dining table just as Carol came out of the kitchen with a steaming platter. “Ethan, you made it!” she said with a bright smile. “Don’t worry about a thing, you just sit down and relax. I’ve got one more dish and we’ll be ready!” They were both so genuinely happy to see me, as if the whole disastrous wedding fiasco had never happened. Their warmth made a bitter lump form in my throat. If only. If only we could have actually been a family. But Sophie had done the one thing I could never forgive. I sat stiffly on the sofa, staring blankly at some mindless show on TV. Sophie poured me a glass of juice and sat down next to me. A little too close. “You’ve never been this formal here before,” she said quietly. I shifted away slightly. “Things are different now. A little distance is appropriate.” Sophie flinched. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” she asked, her voice low. “No.” I shook my head. “This is the last time I’ll be here.” She bit her lip, staring at me with a complex expression, saying nothing. The air grew thick with unspoken things. Then, mercifully, the doorbell rang. 4. A cheerful voice called from outside. “Soph! It’s me, open up!” Sophie and I locked eyes. We both knew it was Dylan. After a moment’s hesitation, she got up and opened the door. Dylan breezed in, his voice booming. “Soph, what is Carol cooking? I could smell it from the street!” He walked over to the shoe cabinet and pulled out a pair of slippers identical to Sophie’s, just in a different color. Standing next to each other, they looked like a matched set. A couple. He was carrying two gift bags and started toward the kitchen to greet Carol, but he stopped halfway, his eyes landing on me. “Oh. Ethan,” he said, the word catching in his throat. “You’re here too.” I stared at him, my expression cold, and didn’t bother to reply. My eyes, however, caught the glint of the watch on his wrist. It looked exactly like the one Sophie had been so excited about finding a few weeks ago. The one I’d assumed was a wedding gift for me. A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. As Sophie’s childhood friend, Dylan was a fixture here. He treated their house like his own. At the dinner table, Carol, sensing my discomfort, kept a warm smile fixed on her face. She ladled soup into my bowl and then turned to Sophie. “Honey, put some food on Ethan’s plate.” I quickly interjected. “It’s okay, Carol, really. I can get it myself.” Sophie’s hand, which had been reaching for the serving utensils, froze mid-air. I remembered other dinners, when Carol had made the same request. Sophie had always bristled at it, complaining that sharing utensils was unhygienic. I could still hear her sharp, impatient voice in my head. “It’s gross, all that saliva. Can’t he get it himself?” The memory was a fresh sting. Carol’s smile faltered for a second before she recovered, simply telling me to eat more. Dylan shot me a look, then casually picked up a chicken wing and dropped it into Sophie’s bowl. She didn’t show the slightest hint of displeasure, just picked it up and started eating. So, I was disgusting, but Dylan was acceptable. The double standard was breathtaking. In any other setting, I would have slapped them both. Robert saw the exchange and frowned at his daughter. “Sophie, can you please try to have some manners?” he said, giving her a pointed look. I kept quiet. Sophie glanced at me, then resentfully placed a piece of fish on my plate. This time, both of her parents’ faces fell. They both knew I was allergic to seafood. But Sophie, apparently, had forgotten. Still, I finished the rice in my bowl, leaving only that large, conspicuous piece of fish. I had shared one last meal with them. Now it was time to say what I came to say. “Robert, Carol, thank you so much for dinner.” I took a deep breath. “There are a few things I need to say. First, about the wedding, I want to apologize. I’m truly sorry for embarrassing you.” “Second, Sophie and I have broken up. I won’t be coming around anymore. I’m sorry to have disappointed you both.” They looked at me, stunned, at a loss for words. “Ethan, you…” Sophie started, but Dylan cut her off, his voice rising with indignation. “Ethan, that’s not right! First, you ditch the wedding, and now you’re talking about breaking up? What do you think Sophie is to you?” He puffed out his chest. “I thought I could trust you with her, but it turns out you’re just going to treat her like this. Unbelievable.” 5. The hypocrisy was nauseating. I shot him a look, a cold smile playing on my lips. “My treating her like this… isn’t that exactly what you wanted?” “What are you talking about?” Dylan blustered, putting on a show of cluelessness that only made me feel sicker. “Ethan, that’s enough!” Sophie’s voice was sharp, her face a thundercloud. “How many times do I have to explain it to you? Dylan is like a brother to me! We’re not what you think!” At her words, Dylan’s face darkened, but I just laughed. Like a brother? A brother who tells you it’s better to sleep in his arms? I had no energy left to argue with them. It was pointless. Their little outburst had made things painfully awkward for her parents. I stood up, softening my tone as I addressed them. “Robert, Carol, I have to get going. Thank you again for everything.” “If the opportunity arises, I’d love to take you both out to dinner sometime, just us.” They knew the situation was unsalvageable. They stood up, their faces etched with regret. “Ethan,” Carol said, her voice soft, “please, come and visit us anytime. You’ll always be welcome here.” I knew she meant it. But I also knew I could never come back. After leaving their house, I called my best man, Ben. He’d handled the wedding car, the photographers, everything. After the mess I’d made, I owed him an apology. “So,” he said, sliding into the booth across from me at the bar, a shit-eating grin on his face. “The wedding of your dreams ends with the bride standing solo at the altar?” “Come on, man. I’m going through it. The least you can do is not rub it in.” Seeing the genuine pain on my face, Ben’s teasing expression softened. “You pulling a runaway groom act like that… it had to be something big. Don’t tell me, the night before the wedding…” I didn’t answer. I just downed my whiskey in one go. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Damn. You only read about this stuff online. Didn’t think it happened in real life.” “I told you before, man,” he continued, his voice serious now. “I never thought Sophie loved you as much as you loved her. Looks like she was just stringing you along.” Ben had said things like that before, but I’d been too deep in love to listen. Now, with the clarity of a breakup, I could see it. All the little details I had ignored, the small dismissals, the casual inconsiderations. They were all signs. She didn’t love me. “If she doesn’t love me,” I said, my voice rough, “then I’m setting her free.” Ben filled my glass and clinked it with his. “You know what they say. Sometimes you have to lose someone to meet the right one.” He grinned. “Look ahead, man. Better things are waiting for you.” I rolled my eyes at him, and we both broke into a laugh. This whole thing had shattered my heart, but I wasn’t going to drown my sorrows in booze. Just having someone to vent to, someone who got it, was enough to take the edge off. Ben was right. No one is indispensable. No point in wasting my life on someone who didn’t want it. Sophie was an amazing woman, but I wasn’t so bad myself. When it came down to it, all I had lost was someone who didn’t love me. That wasn’t a tragedy worth mourning for long. It happened faster than I expected. My mindset shifted. When I walked back into the office, I felt like myself again. Sharp, focused, ready to go. People who didn’t know any better assumed I was glowing from post-wedding bliss. They offered their congratulations, and I accepted them with a tight smile, the irony a bitter taste in my mouth. Just a few days ago, I’d been the one handing out wedding candy, some of which was still sitting in bowls on people’s desks. In that short time, I had lived through betrayal, a non-wedding, and a breakup. 6. “Ethan, congratulations! You finally did it, man!” a colleague I was friendly with said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Next step, baby prep, right? Get ready for fatherhood.” He lowered his voice. “But you know, that VP position is basically yours. A paternity leave right after the promotion, though… that could be tricky.” I knew he meant well. It was something I had thought about, too. I had worked for years for this promotion; it was the opportunity of a lifetime. Before, I had honestly considered passing it up for my family, to be there for Sophie and a baby. Now, that was no longer a concern. “Like you said, it’s mine for the taking,” I replied, my voice firm. “And right now, my career is the only thing I want to focus on.” My colleague nodded, though he looked a little confused. “Your family’s not pressuring you for kids?” I gazed out the window. “From now on,” I said with a small smile, “I’m just going to live life on my own terms.” He looked at me, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, and finally nodded in agreement. “You’re right. You gotta live for yourself sometimes. Be a little selfish.” I hoped it was really that simple. In the days that followed, I poured every ounce of my being into my work. I’ve always been ambitious, but for Sophie, I had always held a part of myself back, saving my energy for our life at home. Now, with the VP title within reach, I was holding nothing back. And I discovered something strange. When I was completely immersed in my work, I didn’t think about Sophie at all. A full week went by, and I hadn’t seen or heard from her. I started to believe it was really over, that we had finally, cleanly, drawn a line under our story. I was wrong. We were going to see each other again.

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The sky wept sheets of rain on the day my husband decided to play God. He was at the port with Sophia, my petulant stepsister, who had thrown another one of her signature tantrums and run away from home. He, of course, had dutifully followed to coax her back. Standing amidst the storm-lashed shipping containers, Sophia pointed a dramatic finger at a stacked row. A wild idea sparked in her eyes. “Ethan, I dare you,” she said, her voice a childish challenge against the wind. “Like in the movies. Bet you can’t make the car fly over them.” A reckless grin spread across Ethan’s face. Instead of talking sense into her, he floored the accelerator, aiming his BMW for a makeshift ramp of wooden pallets. The tires screeched, lost traction on the rain-slicked wood, and the car slammed sideways into a towering stack of containers that was already groaning under the assault of the wind. The metal giant swayed, then fell. Ethan ignored the small car crushed beneath it. His first and only instinct was to cup Sophia’s face in his hands, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Are you scared? God, this weather… It’s okay, Soph. You’re safe.” Only when the car was flattened into a tin pancake, dark liquid seeping out to mix with the rain, did Ethan finally pull out his phone. “Yeah, 911? My wife, Olivia… I think she’s been in an accident.” My brother, Noah, and I had just grabbed lattes when we saw the flashing lights drawing a crowd at the port. Through the downpour, we could see firefighters working frantically, prying at the window of a crushed car. “Ma’am! Can you hear me? Ma’am, wake up!” Who was that, flattened in the driver’s seat, blood streaming from her face? 1 I grabbed my brother’s wrist and pulled him back, melting into the chaos of the crowd. The scene was a nightmare of twisted metal and flashing lights. The rain washed the blood away almost as soon as it pooled, turning the mud at our feet a sickening shade of pink. Huddled behind a few dockworkers, I listened to their hushed, angry conversation. “Damn shame. If that guy had called for help sooner, she might’ve had a chance.” “You’re telling me. When the container first fell, the car wasn’t totally crushed. But he just stood there, holding that other girl, comforting her. Wasted a good fifteen minutes.” “And her! What a piece of work. Crying about how scared she was. Does she think the Port of Baltimore is her personal playground? Driving around like a maniac.” An arctic chill shot up my spine. Ethan. My husband. He had treated a human life as a prop in his little drama of comforting another woman. Just then, Ethan emerged from behind the police tape, his arm wrapped protectively around a still-trembling Sophia. He spotted my mother in the crowd, and his face went pale. He quickly pulled her aside. “Diane! What are you doing here? It’s not safe!” My mom had just gotten his call. She was crying so hard she could barely stand, her fingers digging into his arm. “Ethan! Where is Liv? What happened to my Olivia?!” A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, instantly masked by a practiced, somber expression. “Diane, you need to stay calm. It all happened so fast. The containers… I couldn’t get to her in time.” He then added, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, “And Sophia was in shock. I had to take care of her first. You understand, right?” The sheer audacity of his twisted logic made my mother tremble with rage. “Understand? Your wife is under that wreckage, and you thought comforting your stepsister was the priority? Ethan, have you lost your soul?” His jaw tightened, a flash of indignation in his eyes as if he were the one being wronged. “It was Olivia who was being unstable! She’s the one who drove out to the middle of nowhere and parked in a hazardous zone. Sophia was just worried about her! That’s the only reason I followed them out here!” My nails dug into my palms. Lies. All of it. He was here to entertain Sophia. Sophia lifted her tear-stained face from Ethan’s shoulder, her voice a fragile whisper. “Diane, it’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have run away. Then Liv wouldn’t have gotten so jealous and done something so reckless…” She paused, letting the poison sink in. “I’m leaving for my program in Paris soon. Please… don’t blame Ethan anymore, okay?” Her words, cloaked in guilt, were daggers, each one painting me as a jealous, unhinged wife who had brought this on herself. Ethan seized the narrative she’d spun for him, his expression shifting to one of profound sorrow. “Diane, what’s done is done. Making a scene won’t do anyone’s reputation any good.” His voice dropped. “I’ll handle Liv’s arrangements. It will be beautiful. It’s the last thing I can do for her.” Nausea churned in my stomach. To protect Sophia, he had already convicted me, sentenced me, and was now planning my funeral. This man wasn’t just flawed; he was rotten to the core, lost in a pathetic fantasy of his own noble suffering and his bottomless devotion to her. My mother raised her hand and slapped him. The sound was a sharp crack that cut through the drone of the rain. Ethan clutched his cheek, stunned. Sophia shrieked, jumping in front of him like a loyal guard dog. “Diane! How could you hit him? He’s a victim in this, too!” Ignoring her, my mother pointed a trembling finger at Ethan’s face. “That,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “was for my daughter. For your rotten, ungrateful heart.” A police officer, drawn by the commotion, walked over. “What’s going on here? Ma’am, please, you need to remain calm. Let us do our work.” My mother turned to him, her voice raw but steady. “Officer, I’m the… victim’s mother. My daughter would never have parked her car in a dangerous area for no reason. I want to see all the security footage from this port.” I needed to know exactly what they had “done” to me. “Ma’am, I’ve already given the police my statement,” Ethan interjected, his face a mask of fury. “Are you trying to make this even harder for Olivia? Don’t you think she deserves to rest in peace?!”

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The moment my sister Olivia’s cerebral aneurysm ruptured, they were rushing her into emergency surgery. I was in my office, calmly practicing a basic suture on a surgical simulator. On the screen, the robotic arms guided the needle and thread with a fluid grace, a perfect, sterile dance. A work of art. Minutes later, my boyfriend, Ethan, burst through the office door. “Audrey!” he yelled, his voice raw. “Olivia’s critical, and you’re the only one who can perform the micro-dissection. The entire department is waiting for you! Her surgical window is less than an hour!” His eyes were wide with a desperate hope. I was the only surgeon in the country capable of performing a procedure at this level. My hands had been called “the hands of God.” But I just gave a soft “hmm,” my attention still fixed on the simulator. My parents stormed in right behind him. My mother grabbed my arm, her voice cracking with sobs. “Audrey! That’s your sister! Can you really just stand by and watch her die?” I gently pulled my arm away and held out my right hand for them to see. This hand, the one that had performed countless medical miracles, was trembling. It was a slight tremor, almost imperceptible, but it was there. “A shame. I started showing symptoms of an idiopathic tremor yesterday,” I said, my voice even. “Dad. Mom. This hand is useless now.” 1 The air in the room froze. The expressions on their three faces morphed into sheer, unadulterated shock. They stared at my right hand, at the slight but fatal tremor that, for a top surgeon, was a career death sentence. My mother’s lips trembled. “How… how could this happen? You were fine yesterday! Have you been working too hard?” “The cause is unknown.” I pulled my hand back, tucking it into the pocket of my white coat. “Perhaps it’s fate.” “Fate?” My father’s brow furrowed, his tone laced with reprimand. “Audrey, don’t be ridiculous! Are you… are you still holding a grudge against us?” I didn’t answer, turning my gaze back to the simulator. The year I turned eighteen, they found me living in a small town upstate and brought me to the Sloane family home. It turned out that Olivia Sloane, the treasured daughter they had raised for eighteen years, was not their biological child. I was. My adoptive parents had passed away when I was young, and life had been a struggle. When I first arrived at the Sloane mansion, I was sensitive and insecure, a wildflower transplanted into a manicured garden. It was Olivia who offered me the most warmth. She taught me etiquette, bought me beautiful clothes, and defended me at every turn. She insisted we were real sisters and told me to feel at home. My parents said the same, that Olivia was their daughter too, and that they couldn’t possibly love one more than the other. Because Olivia’s birth family was destitute, they couldn’t bear to send her away, so they decided to raise us both. I was grateful to them, and grateful to Olivia. I studied relentlessly, desperate to become their pride and joy, vowing to protect our perfect family of four. Until now. Seeing my silence, my mother’s tears started to fall freely. She screamed at me, her voice ragged. “Audrey! Is this resentment? Just because we showed Olivia a little more affection, you’re holding a grudge, and now you’ll let her die?” “Have you forgotten how much she loves you?! When you were pulling all-nighters in med school, who was it that always brought you food to keep you going?!” For a fleeting moment, her words still stung my heart. Ethan rushed to my mother’s side, trying to steady her. “Mrs. Sloane, please, calm down. Audrey isn’t that kind of person!” He then turned to me, his eyes filled with a deep, aching disappointment. “Audrey, I know you’ve been hurt, but Olivia is innocent in all of this! You can’t let your personal feelings cloud your duty as a doctor!” My father, normally a composed university professor, had red-rimmed eyes. His voice was hoarse. “Audrey, even if your hand is injured, you could at least go in and supervise! Olivia is your sister. You can’t just watch her die!” But I remained unmoved, my focus on the instruments before me. My mother finally broke. She collapsed to her knees, her wails echoing in the hallway. “How could I have raised such a cold, heartless daughter?! Olivia is so kind, she gave up so much for you, and now… now you’re going to kill her?” Her cries were so piercing that they drew the attention of other staff members, who peered in from the hallway. Their gazes, a mixture of confusion and contempt, fell on me. I simply offered a small, cold smile. “I suppose it’s her time to go. There’s nothing I can do.” With that, I sat back down and picked up the controls for the simulator. On the screen, the robotic arms began to move again. I was completely absorbed, as if the world outside my office had ceased to exist. Seeing this display of utter indifference, my father swayed on his feet. Ethan stared at me, his expression hardening with finality. He took a deep breath, as if making a monumental decision. “Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, please, don’t beg her anymore.” He turned to my parents, his voice firm. “Let me do it.” Ethan’s declaration was a lifeline, and my parents grasped it immediately. “Ethan! You… are you sure you can do it?” my mother asked, clutching his hand. Ethan glanced at my parents kneeling on the floor, then back at me. His face was a mask of profound empathy and sorrow. “Audrey won’t do it, and I understand,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning. “She carries the burden of being ‘the hands of God.’ She can’t afford to fail. But I can’t stand by and watch Olivia die!” His words were a masterstroke. On the surface, he was defending me, but in reality, he was crucifying me, painting me as a coward who would sacrifice her sister for her own reputation. The whispers from my colleagues in the hall grew louder, their disdain for me thickening the air. Ethan addressed my parents again, his voice ringing with conviction. “Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, please, trust me! I’ve assisted Audrey on every single one of her micro-dissections. I know the theory, I know the principles by heart. Please, allow me to combine her technique with traditional methods. Let me take this risk for Olivia!” “Yes! Yes, my boy!” My father was weeping with gratitude. “Ethan, if you save Olivia, our family… we’ll give you half of our entire fortune!” At the mention of money, I finally looked up from my simulator. I watched my ecstatic parents and the noble, self-sacrificing Ethan, a silent calculation running through my mind. Half the Sloane family fortune. At least a hundred million dollars. But… I rose slowly from my chair and looked at Ethan, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re going to use my technique? Have you been authorized?” Ethan froze, his expression turning to one of pained disbelief. “Audrey Sloane! How can you be thinking about that at a time like this? A life is on the line!” “Saving a life is one thing. Intellectual property is another.” I gave a dismissive shrug, my tone unyielding. “Without my authorization, if you so much as touch a scalpel using my methods, I will sue you into oblivion. You’ll never wear a white coat again.” “You—!” Ethan’s face went pale with rage. My father was trembling, pointing a finger at me. “Audrey Sloane! You’re being utterly unreasonable! Are you really going to let your sister die over money and patents?” I looked at him, my own father, as if he were a complete stranger. “You’d better decide quickly,” I said calmly. “The patient is running out of time.” The seconds ticked by, each one punctuated by the growing murmur of the crowd in the hall. I felt no urgency at all. “Fine! I agree!” my father finally choked out, his voice thick with defeat. “If you authorize the procedure, I’ll have my lawyers transfer half of my shares to you the moment it’s done!” I smiled and pulled a small digital recorder from my pocket, pressing the record button. “Dad, could you repeat that for me? You are voluntarily gifting me half of your shares in Sloane Industries as a licensing fee for my patented technique.” My father’s face turned a deep shade of purple, but he repeated the words, each one laced with humiliation. Satisfied, I put the recorder away and nodded at Ethan. “Go on, then. I hope your hands are steadier than mine.” Then, under the weight of my parents’ loathing and Ethan’s bitter disappointment, I walked out of the office. I didn’t go home. I went to the coffee shop across from the hospital and ordered the blackest, most bitter coffee they had. Through the large window, I could see the lights of the surgical floor shining brightly against the night sky. They got what they wanted. And so did I. For the next few days, I took a leave of absence. The hashtags trended nationally: #HeiressFromHell, #DoctorDearest, #TheSerpentSloane. My life story was excavated and put on public display. The internet spun a lurid tale of a “backwoods girl returns to the manor, torments her kind-hearted sister out of jealousy.” Olivia’s old social media accounts were unearthed, each post a carefully curated testament to how wonderful she had been to me, her gentle words painting me as an even more hideous monster. I didn’t look at my phone. I stayed in my apartment, polishing an old picture frame over and over. Inside was a photo of a kind, scholarly-looking middle-aged man: my mentor, Professor Marcus Cole. Three days later, the news broke. “Devoted Boyfriend’s Heroic Gamble Pays Off, Saves Fiancée’s Sister.” “A New God is Born! Dr. Ethan Cole Completes Impossible Brain Surgery!” The reports lionized Ethan. Facing the cameras, he spoke with deep emotion. “I only did what anyone would do. Audrey is the love of my life. Her sister is my sister.” His words only served to cast my own actions in a colder, more monstrous light. The online vitriol against me reached a fever pitch. And then, an even bigger story dropped. Veridian Medical Technologies, a giant in the medical device industry, announced a major strategic partnership with Dr. Ethan Cole to develop and promote an improved version of the micro-dissection technique and its associated surgical tools. A week later, I received a call from the hospital’s chief administrator. His tone was not an invitation, but a summons. “Audrey, tomorrow morning at nine, the hospital is hosting a city-wide neurosurgery conference. It will be live-streamed. As the patent holder for the original technique, your attendance is mandatory.” I knew what it was. A public execution. They wanted me there to witness Ethan’s coronation. The next day, I arrived at the hospital’s international conference center on time. The hall was packed. The city’s top neurosurgeons, reporters from every major news outlet—the room was a galaxy of flashing camera lights. As I walked in, my eyes were drawn to a scene in the center of the room that felt like a physical blow. Ethan and Olivia, who was seated in a wheelchair, were surrounded by a throng of journalists. My parents stood beside them, beaming. A perfect family of four. Suddenly, just a moment before the conference was set to begin, Olivia turned to the cameras and began to sob. “Everyone, I’m so sorry to take up your valuable time,” she began, her pale face streaked with tears, looking fragile and beautiful. She had everyone’s undivided attention. “But I have to reveal the truth today!” “My aneurysm… it wasn’t an accident! It… it was caused by long-term poisoning… by my sister, Audrey Sloane!” The announcement was a bombshell. The room erupted. Every camera, every phone, every pair of eyes swiveled to face me. Olivia’s sobs grew louder as she clutched our parents’ hands. “From the day she came to our home, she bullied me, she tried to push me out! I endured it all for the sake of our parents, for the peace of our family! But I never thought… I never thought she would be so cruel as to try and take my life!” Ethan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, as if giving her the strength to speak her truth. He then produced several lab reports. “I didn’t want to say anything before, for fear of ruining Audrey’s reputation. But after the surgery, I obtained conclusive evidence. Olivia has been systematically poisoned with a chronic neurotoxin! I cannot stand by and let her hurt Olivia anymore!” The live-stream chat exploded. The hashtag #HeiressPoisonsSister shot to number one trending worldwide. I stood at the entrance of the hall, trapped in the crossfire of a thousand hateful stares. Reporters surged toward me, shoving microphones in my face. “Dr. Sloane, did you poison your sister?” “Why would you do something like that? Was it jealousy?” “Do you have any right to call yourself a doctor?” I ignored them all and walked toward my biological parents. I looked at them, my voice trembling just slightly. “Dad. Mom.” “Do you also believe that I am that kind of person?” My question hung in the air, creating a moment of dead silence. “Audrey, we gave you a chance…” my mother wept. “Olivia has proof… We… we are so disappointed in you!” My father, his face a mask of sorrow, turned away, unable to even look at me. “See? A true monster, even her own parents can’t stand by her!” “She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing! The Sloanes should never have taken her in!” “They need to revoke her medical license, permanently!” The venomous whispers washed over me. I stood there, in the spotlight, utterly alone, a criminal already convicted by the court of public opinion. Just then, several uniformed police officers entered the hall. Their faces were grim, their voices loud and clear. “We received a call about an intentional poisoning. Who made the report?” Every head turned back to me. I could see the faint, triumphant smiles on Ethan and Olivia’s faces. Under the sharp gaze of the officers and in the suffocating silence of the room, I calmly raised my hand. “Officer,” I said. “I’m the one who called.”

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My name was written on a card and dropped into a box. And just like that, I, Sloane Richmond, a scholarship student at the prestigious Blackwood University, became the new prey in the latest round of a hunting game played by the school’s untouchable elite. The one tasked with my taming was the student body president himself, Landon Cole. He pursued me like something out of a romance movie: gentle, attentive, and obscenely generous. Everyone on campus whispered that I was about to hit the jackpot, to become his pampered little thing. They placed bets behind my back, wagering on how hard I’d be crying on the final day of the one-month deadline. But none of them knew. The most dangerous predators are the ones who appear as prey. I came to this university with a single purpose: to evaluate the character of my potential fiancé. And now, the evaluation was over. 1 My name is Sloane Richmond. In the Blackwood University archives, I am, for all intents and purposes, a charity case. On the first day of school, my roommate, Nina, pulled me aside to give me a hushed, conspiratorial rundown of the Blackwood survival guide. “Sloane, you have to remember, there are two kinds of people at this school.” She lowered her voice, nodding toward a red Ferrari peeling away from the curb outside our window. “There are people like us, who fought tooth and nail just to get in.” “And then there are them,” she said. “The heirs, who show up to class in supercars.” “And that circle, the one led by student president Landon Cole… you have to stay as far away from them as you possibly can.” Nina’s expression was dead serious. “They’re monsters, Sloane. Actual monsters.” “They love this disgusting game they call the ‘Kingfisher Draw.’” My hand, holding a glass of water, froze mid-air. I looked at her. “What kind of game?” Seeing my casual curiosity, Nina’s voice trembled with urgency. “They collect the names of pretty, normal girls on campus—girls without money. They write them on cards and put them in a box.” “Whichever girl one of the rich guys draws, he has one month to make her fall completely and hopelessly in love with him.” Nina’s face was a mask of disgust and fear. “And on the last day, in front of everyone, he dumps her in the most humiliating way he can think of.” “They call it ‘taming the prey.’ The winner is the one whose prey cries the hardest during the breakup.” She gripped my arm, her knuckles white. “Last semester, a junior from our department was chosen. A month later, she found out she was pregnant.” “The guy’s fiancée showed up and slapped her in front of a crowd, called her a whore.” “The junior… she couldn’t take it. She jumped from the top of the humanities building. She and the baby… both gone.” “So, Sloane, you’re so beautiful. Please, just be careful. Don’t let them notice you.” I reached out and patted her tense shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I said, offering a placid smile. “I’m just here to study.” Nina looked into my eyes and, for some reason, shivered. That night, in a private suite at the exclusive Aurelian club. Isabelle Beaumont giggled, shaking a polished wooden box. “Landon, darling, it’s your turn! Let’s see which lucky girl gets to be graced by your attention.” Landon Cole was draped across a velvet sofa, swirling a glass of red wine, the picture of lazy, aristocratic boredom. He glanced at the box without a flicker of interest. Undeterred, Isabelle pushed the box right under his nose, her voice thick and sweet like honey. “Come on, Landon, just draw! I put a real prize in there for you this time.” “Scholarship student from the art department. Name’s Sloane Richmond. Looks like an absolute angel. Imagine the satisfaction of winning her over just to break her.” Hearing this, a slow smile spread across Landon’s face. He reached out and plucked a card from the box. On it, in elegant script, was the name: Sloane Richmond. He stared at the card, his smile deepening with meaning. “Alright,” he said, his voice a low purr. “This month, let’s play with her.” From that day on, my quiet university life was suddenly spectacular. Everywhere I went, I “happened” to run into the student body president. Lining up in the cafeteria, he’d appear behind me, insisting on swiping his card for me. “Come on, fate brought us together in the lunch line. It’s on me.” Studying in the library, he’d sit across from me. The moment I frowned at a textbook, a note would slide across the table with the solution neatly written out, accompanied by a bright, effortless smile. I went to the artisanal coffee shop my father had opened for me just outside campus, deciding on a whim to learn how to work the espresso machine. Landon, assuming I was a struggling barista, promptly bought out the entire day’s inventory of cold brew, handing it out to strangers just so I could get off my shift early. “Don’t work so hard,” he murmured, his voice laced with concern. “A woman’s hands aren’t meant for this.” It took every ounce of my self-control not to let my eyes roll all the way into the back of my head. Within a week, the entire campus was buzzing. The student president was relentlessly pursuing the scholarship student, Sloane Richmond. I became the target of every girl’s envy, jealousy, and hatred. Every time I went back to my dorm, Nina would look at me with the sorrowful eyes one reserves for a lamb being led to slaughter. “Sloane! I told you to stay away from him!” I threw my hands up in mock helplessness. “I don’t know how he does it! He just… appears.” “You can’t fall for it!” Nina stomped her foot. “He’s just playing with you!” I nodded, my face a perfect portrait of sincerity. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Of course I knew. Every time Landon performed one of his grand, romantic gestures, I could see Isabelle and her little posse in the distance, phones held up, recording everything. Let them film. My good side is all 360 degrees of them. Then came the invitation to Isabelle Beaumont’s birthday party at the Aurelian. Landon texted, asking me to be his date. I deliberately played my part. That place is way too expensive. I don’t have anything to wear. Ten minutes later, he was standing outside my dorm building holding a garment bag from a ridiculously high-end designer. Inside was a starlit blue evening gown with a price tag that could cover four years of tuition. “Wear this,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Tonight, you’re the princess.” Gasps erupted from the girls watching from their windows. “Oh my god, is that a custom D’Amore? That dress costs more than a new car!” “Sloane Richmond is the luckiest girl alive!” I had to physically restrain myself from crying with laughter. The price tag was almost as much as one of my favorite pairs of silk pajamas. I changed into the dress and walked into the Aurelian on Landon’s arm. The club was my eighteenth birthday present from my father, one of the more modest properties in my portfolio. As we entered, the general manager’s eyes lit up. He recognized me instantly and started forward, about to bow. I shot him a single, sharp glance. The man was a consummate professional; he pivoted smoothly and went to greet another guest as if nothing had happened. The birthday girl, Isabelle, saw me, and the jealousy in her eyes was a tangible thing. “Sloane, you look absolutely beautiful. Landon has such exquisite taste.” She paused, then leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But you should be careful in a rented dress. If you damage it, you could never afford to replace it.” I just smiled and said nothing. Throughout the party, Landon was the perfect gentleman. He intercepted drinks for me, cut my filet mignon, and draped his suit jacket over my shoulders when I feigned a shiver. Every detail was flawlessly executed, a scene from a Hollywood script. He pulled me before his friends, introducing me with an air of possession. “This is my girlfriend, Sloane.” His friends cheered and offered congratulations, their eyes glinting with derision and amusement. I stood there like a well-dressed doll, playing my part in his production. Midway through, I excused myself to go to the restroom. Just as I reached the corner, I heard Isabelle’s voice drift from the hallway. “Izzy, don’t you think Landon’s going a little overboard this time? A custom D’Amore gown? Is it possible he’s actually serious?” Isabelle let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “Are you kidding? My brother bought me that dress. Landon just borrowed it.” “After he’s done with her, that little charity case is going to have to take it off and give it back to me.” “It’s like fishing, you know? The more expensive the bait, the more satisfying the catch.” Another girl chimed in obsequiously. “You’re a genius, Izzy! Letting the poor girl wear Cinderella’s glass slippers for a night, only to smash them yourself. God, that’s going to be epic.” Isabelle’s voice was dripping with venomous glee. “Just you wait. The month is almost up. When the time comes, I’m going to make her strip that dress off in front of the entire school, crying her pathetic little eyes out.” Around the corner, in the shadows, I pressed the ‘stop recording’ button on my phone. After Isabelle’s party, Landon’s romantic offensive grew even more intense. Every morning, he was waiting outside my dorm with an elaborate breakfast. He skipped his own advanced economics seminars to sit with me through my boring required art history lectures. When I dozed off, he would secretly draw a tiny cartoon pig on the palm of my hand. On the day I had casually invented as my birthday, he presented me with a diamond necklace in front of all my roommates. Nina’s jaw dropped. She dragged me onto the balcony, her face etched with worry. “Sloane, be honest with me. You’re not actually falling for him, are you?” My fingers grazed the diamonds at my throat. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course not.” “Then why are you accepting something so expensive?” Nina’s voice was strained with panic. “With guys like him, everything they give, they expect back with interest! How are you ever going to pay for that?” I patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry.” “He’s going to regret it.” The next day, Nina and I were having lunch in the cafeteria. Isabelle, flanked by her friends, walked past our table carrying a tray. With a flick of her wrist, a bowl of scalding hot tomato soup came tipping toward me. I dodged, but the hot liquid still splashed across my arm. “Ah!” Nina screamed, frantically grabbing napkins to dab at my skin. Isabelle looked down at me, her expression one of pure contempt. “Oops. So sorry. My hand slipped.” Her eyes scanned my simple white t-shirt. “You get that thing from a thrift store for five bucks? Here.” She pulled three hundred-dollar bills from her wallet and tossed them on the table as if feeding a stray dog. “That’s three hundred. Should be enough to buy you a whole new wardrobe.” I had to clench my fists under the table. That blind fool. This one t-shirt was worth more than her entire tacky outfit. I had specifically chosen it from my closet full of bespoke clothing as my most “understated” piece, and she had just ruined it. Oh, Dad, I thought, the things your daughter endures for the sake of the family business. Just then, a figure charged through the crowd. Landon shoved Isabelle aside with enough force to make her stumble. He rushed to my side, his face a mask of frantic concern. “Are you okay? Did it burn you? How bad is it?” He whirled on Isabelle, his voice like thunder. “Isabelle, are you insane? Apologize to Sloane. Now.” Isabelle’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Landon, darling, it was an accident.” “I said, apologize!” Startled by his fury, she mumbled a resentful, “Sorry.” The word was barely out of her mouth before Landon swept me up into his arms, princess-style, and strode toward the campus clinic as the entire cafeteria stared. “I’m so sorry, Sloane,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “I should have protected you.” I lowered my gaze, letting my shoulders tremble. “It’s not your fault,” I whimpered, my voice thick with unshed tears. He held me even tighter. “Sloane, trust me. No one will ever dare to bully you again.” I rested my head against his chest. The cloying scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the acidic smell of tomato soup was truly nauseating. If Dad knew I’d gotten hurt playing this stupid game… But it was alright. The observation period was almost over. The one-month deadline finally arrived. I received a text from Landon. Lover’s Point. Tomorrow at 7 PM. I’ll be waiting. There’s something important I need to tell you. Okay, I texted back, adding a smiley face. I’ll bring a gift for you, too. It’s a surprise I prepared just for you. 😉 Nina saw my reply and started pacing like a caged animal. “Sloane, are you crazy? You’re actually going? He’s obviously going to dump you, and you’re bringing him a gift?” “I know,” I said calmly. “That’s why I prepared such a grand one for him.” A gift he would remember for the rest of his life. The next evening, I went to Lover’s Point as planned. Landon was already there, looking like a prince straight out of a fairy tale. Beneath his familiar, gentle smile, I could see the glint of a hunter’s excitement. In the shadows of the trees, I caught the tell-tale glint of phone screens. Isabelle and the rest of the Kingfisher Draw players were already in position. “Sloane,” he began, his voice heavy with fake regret. “I’ve thought about this a lot. I think… I think we should break up.” “Our families are just from two different worlds. My mother would never approve. It breaks my heart to do this, but it’s better to make a clean break now.” “It’s for your own good. You’re a wonderful girl, and I hope you find someone who can actually marry you one day.” He delivered the lines with such heartfelt sincerity; he really had a future in low-budget soap operas. But if it was a performance he wanted, I was more than happy to oblige. “So… this whole month?” I asked, my voice trembling as I looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with tears. “Everything you did for me, all the kindness… it was all just a game, wasn’t it?” Landon’s face broke into a cruel, unconcealed smirk. “Since you’ve already figured it out, I guess I can drop the act.” “That’s right. It was a game. Sloane, did you really think I could ever fall in love with some poor little scholarship girl?” He pointed a finger at the dress I was wearing, then at the necklace on my neck, and sneered. “Do you think you’re worthy of any of this?” “Now, the game is over.” “Give back what doesn’t belong to you. Especially that diamond necklace. I was planning on giving that to Isabelle.” Isabelle and her cronies stepped out from the trees, moving behind Landon, ready to watch me get stripped of my borrowed finery. I raised my hand and unclasped the diamond necklace he’d given me. Then, in front of all of them, I drew my arm back and threw it. The necklace cut a glittering arc through the twilight air before landing in the lake with a quiet plunk. Isabelle shrieked. “My diamond necklace! Sloane, are you insane?!” The others stood with their jaws agape, too shocked to speak. “Landon was right,” I said, my voice suddenly clear and steady. “A diamond necklace of this quality really isn’t worthy.” “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen diamonds of such poor clarity before.” “As for this dress…” I turned my gaze to Isabelle. “Isabelle, open your eyes and take a good, long look. Does this really look like the dress your brother gave you?” One of her more observant friends leaned in and whispered nervously, “Izzy… that doesn’t look like the D’Amore couture your brother bought. It… it looks more like the ‘Galaxy of Starlight’ gown the international master designer Julian Devereaux created for the Richmond heiress.” Isabelle shot her friend a withering glare. “Are you insane, too? Her last name is Richmond, so that makes her the Richmond heiress? Could a scholarship girl ever wear something like that?” It was getting late, and I needed my beauty sleep. It was time to wrap this up. “Landon, I have to admit, playing with you all has been… tiring.” “The observation period is over, fiancé. Congratulations.” “You’ve been disqualified.”

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The Patek Philippe in my family’s vault, the one with an eight-million-dollar valuation, has the Cole family crest engraved on the caseback. It’s our heirloom. So, I was somewhat surprised to see it on Ryan Asher’s Instagram story. He was dangling it for the camera, the light catching the platinum bezel. The caption was pure, unadulterated pride: A gift from the boss. Said it suited my style. Any experts out there know the value? My fingers were trembling when I texted Isabelle. You have thirty minutes to put that watch back where it belongs. If you don’t, I will burn your family’s entire legacy to the ground. She replied almost instantly, her tone a cloying mix of panic and flirtation. “Ethan, don’t be so harsh. Ryan was just curious, he wanted to wear it for a day…” Thirty minutes later, I made a call. The Monroe Corporation board meeting descended into chaos. Ryan Asher, wearing my family’s heirloom, was trying to schmooze his way toward the head of the table when security grabbed him by the arms. They dragged him out, but not before the watch slipped from his wrist, skittering across the mahogany conference table with a sickening crack. Some things, once broken, are just broken. But the person who breaks them? They have to be buried in the wreckage. 1 “Ethan! Are you out of your mind? You had security throw Ryan out of a board meeting?” Isabelle’s voice, sharp and furious, preceded her into my office. I tapped a finger on my desk, not bothering to look up. “I gave you thirty minutes.” “He’s my executive assistant! He just closed a three-hundred-million-dollar contract with our European partners!” She stormed up to my desk, her stilettos sinking into the plush carpet, and slammed her ludicrously expensive Hermès bag on the floor. “Those old vultures on the board are already looking for any excuse to undermine me because of my age, and you just handed them a goddamn knife, didn’t you? You just had to stick your nose into the Monroe Corporation’s business? You think we can’t survive without the Coles?” I finally lifted my gaze to meet hers, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. “You know exactly what that watch represents, Isabelle.” “It has the Cole family crest on the back. No one outside the direct line of succession is ever supposed to touch it, let alone wear it. And you just gave it to your boy toy?” Isabelle’s face went rigid. With a sweep of her arm, she sent a stack of files cascading to the floor. “I have dozens of watches sitting in my dresser at home!” “Ryan had to close that deal today! It’s a nine-figure account! I let him borrow it to make an impression, what’s the big deal?” “He’s just a kid who fought his way out of nothing in Appalachia, is it so wrong to help him?” “Make an impression?” I loosened my tie, the sound of my own cold laugh echoing in the silent office. “Anyone watching would think he was the kept man you’re hiding on the side.” “Plenty of people fight their way up from nothing. They do it one step at a time, with their own sweat.” “You’re so generous, Isabelle. Why don’t you just liquidate your Monroe shares and buy a Patek for every poor kid in the mountains?” “You’re an asshole, Ethan!” The barb hit its mark. She was trembling with rage, snatching our wedding photo from the corner of my desk and hurling it at me. The silver frame shattered at my feet. I bent down and picked up the photograph, my voice as cold and sharp as the broken glass. “On our sixth anniversary, I booked the entire private island in the Maldives where we honeymooned. I waited for you. You spent that night at a hotel celebrating Ryan’s birthday. He even posted a picture of you feeding him a slice of cake.” Isabelle’s chin jutted out. “Can you stop being such a pathetic, paranoid husband for one second?” “It was Ryan’s birthday, and the client was trying to get him drunk. He has a severe alcohol allergy; he could have ended up in the hospital if I wasn’t there to run interference.” “We have an anniversary every year, Ethan. What if Ryan had died?” I swiped open my phone’s photo gallery. There was Ryan, posing in front of a new Porsche. “For his birthday, you throw him a party and buy him a sports car.” “For my birthday, you have your assistant send a bouquet of fake flowers to my office.” “Isabelle, who is your husband? Me, or Ryan Asher?” “As if you need any of those things,” she scoffed, her eyes dripping with disdain. “Ethan, honestly. Picking on a kid just starting his career? Don’t you find that embarrassing?” “No,” I said. A smile touched my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “But you might want to give your star assistant a heads-up, Isabelle.” “If he ever sets foot in a Monroe Corporation board meeting again, your family can expect the Cole Corporation to pull every last dollar of its funding.”

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My parents divorced when I was five. I chose to live with my dad. Two years later, a car accident left me paralyzed from the waist down. My father decided I was a burden he wasn’t willing to bear. He drove me to my mother’s house, left me on the doorstep, and never looked back. But my mom, Laura, she didn’t see a burden. She saw her daughter. For twenty years, she was my hands and my feet. She was my constant. To pay for my medical bills, she worked three jobs, collapsing from exhaustion more times than I can count. Her second husband, Mark, finally gave her an ultimatum. “If you don’t put that girl in a state home, we’re done.” She signed the divorce papers without a second thought. Her devotion went viral, a storybook of maternal sacrifice that captivated the nation. They called her “America’s Greatest Mom.” Everyone told me how lucky I was to have her. Then I won the lottery. Ten million dollars. And I transferred every last cent to the father who had abandoned me. The internet branded me a monster. An ungrateful viper. A reporter tracked me down, shoving a microphone in my face. “Your father didn’t spend a single day caring for you in twenty years, but your mother sacrificed everything. She’s buried in debt because of you. Why wouldn’t you give her a dime?” I looked straight into her camera, my voice even. “Install a hidden camera in our house. Livestream everything for three days. Then you’ll know why.” 1 The camera was no bigger than a screw head, tucked away on a bookshelf. The secret broadcast began. That evening, my mother came home, her body stooped with the familiar weariness of a long day. She shuffled to my bedside, her movements slow and deliberate, preparing to clean me for the night. When she pulled back the sheets, the mess beneath me was obvious. But there was no disgust in her eyes. Only a wave of guilt and heartache. “Oh, Anna,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “Did you have an upset stomach last night?” She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, her brow furrowed with self-reproach. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ve just been so tired from work, I must have slept right through. I didn’t get up to check your blankets. You must have been so uncomfortable all night…” I watched her, my expression unreadable. I said nothing. The live chat, however, was a waterfall of emotion. “OMG, this mom is an actual saint. She comes home to that, and her first thought is to blame herself?” “Right?? I’d be screaming. After a 12-hour shift? No way.” “This is why they call her America’s Greatest Mom. I’m literally crying.” Unaware of her audience, my mother began the arduous process of helping me turn, preparing to lift me into the bathroom for a bath. But she was older now, worn thin by years of this. Her arms strained, her knuckles white, but she couldn’t get the leverage to lift my dead weight from the mattress. Just then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Mom opened it to find my father standing there. She froze. “Rick? What are you doing here?” He held up a duffel bag, a lazy grin on his face. “If I recall, when we split, we put this apartment in Anna’s name. I’m her legal guardian, her father. Nothing wrong with a dad crashing at his kid’s place for a few days, is there?” He shouldered his way inside before she could answer. Mom was too tired to argue. She just sighed. “Fine. Then make yourself useful. Help me get Anna into the bathroom. I need to give her a bath.” My father glanced at the bed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Jesus. Smells like a sewer. I’m not touching her.” Mom’s jaw tightened. “She’s your daughter, Rick! She just gave you ten million dollars. You can’t even be bothered to help lift her?” He scoffed. “She gave it to me. Her choice. Don’t try to guilt-trip me now.” Mom let out a long, weary breath. “I respect Anna’s decisions. She gave you the money because she wants you to have a stable life, to get back on your feet.” Her voice pleaded with him. “She shows you that much respect. Can’t you show her a little kindness?” Rick’s eyes were cold. “What’s the point? She’s a cripple. Has been for twenty years. A useless vegetable.” He shook his head, looking at my mother as if she were insane. “I don’t know why you bother keeping her around. It would have been better for everyone if she’d just died.” The live chat exploded. “WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?? He wished his own daughter was dead? To her face??” “And this is the piece of trash she gave TEN MILLION DOLLARS to. Not a penny to her saint of a mother, but all of it to this monster.” “There’s something seriously wrong with this girl. Her mom gives up her entire life for her, goes into debt, gets divorced, and gets nothing. This daughter is sick in the head.” “She didn’t just paralyze her legs, she paralyzed her brain.” 2 In the end, my father didn’t help. It took my mother over an hour to get me cleaned up and settled. She was sweating, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she carefully dressed me in fresh pajamas and transferred me to my wheelchair. “You must be starving, Anna,” she said, her voice soft. “Let me go make you some dinner.” She almost fainted as she stood up, her body swaying from the effort. She steadied herself against the wall for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked into the kitchen. A short while later, she emerged with a tray. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed green beans, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup that smelled like home. She set the tray on the table in front of me, then spooned some of the soup, blowing on it gently before lifting it to my lips. “I went to the farmer’s market to get a fresh chicken for this soup, sweetie. Just like you used to love when you were little. Try some.” I turned my head away. “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice flat. Worry clouded her face. “Anna, honey, you need to eat something. Especially after being sick last night. You’ll waste away.” I met her gaze, my own eyes cold. “I’m not hungry.” My gaze drifted over to my father, who was slouched on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. My voice softened. “Dad, can I have that slice of pizza on the coffee table?” He didn’t even look up. “That’s mine. You want pizza, wheel yourself down to the corner and buy some.” My mother shot him a furious look before turning back to me, her voice gentle again. “Anna, please, just eat your dinner. I’ll go out and get you a fresh pizza as soon as you’re done, okay?” I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to even look at the meal she’d prepared. The internet was having a meltdown. “Is this girl for real? Her mom makes a home-cooked meal and she wants the cold, greasy pizza her deadbeat dad is eating?” “I thought she was just confused before, but this is just… cruel. Her dad treats her like garbage and she’s still begging for scraps from him?” “That poor woman. All that work for nothing. She made a whole feast and her daughter won’t even look at it.” “This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I hate this daughter. She’s the real monster here.” 3 The first day of the livestream ended with a torrent of abuse aimed squarely at me. The next day, my mother came home a little earlier than usual. She was holding a warm paper bag. “Anna, I remembered you wanted pizza,” she said, her voice bright with forced cheerfulness. “I picked one up on my way home from work. Pepperoni, your favorite. Here, have a slice while it’s hot.” She held it out to me, her eyes searching my face for a flicker of approval. I glanced at the pizza box, then back at her. My voice was monotone. “I don’t want it anymore.” A shadow of hurt and disappointment passed over her face, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Okay, sweetie. Well, what would you like? I can make you anything.” I gave her a long, cold look. “I don’t want anything you make.” With that, I turned my wheelchair toward the balcony, needing some air. As I exited my room, I ran directly into my father, who was staggering out of his, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor. His face contorted with rage. “Goddammit, are you blind? That was a brand-new bottle of Jack!” He snatched the neck of the broken bottle from the floor and, in a fit of fury, kicked my wheelchair with all his strength. The chair bucked violently, tipping sideways. “Anna!” My mother screamed, diving toward me. She threw her body between me and the floor, her arms wrapping around me as the full weight of the chair and my body crashed down on top of her. A jagged piece of metal on the wheelchair’s frame sliced her arm open, a deep, horrifying gash that bled instantly. But she didn’t even seem to feel the pain. Her only concern was me. She scrambled to right the chair, her hands shaking as she checked me over, her voice frantic. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Once she was sure I was unharmed, she rounded on my father, her voice trembling with fury. “Rick, you could have killed her!” My father just stared at me. “She’s a paralytic. It’s not like she can feel anything anyway. What’s the big deal?” He kicked at a piece of broken glass. “Such a waste of good whiskey.” He stormed back into his room, slamming the door. My mother, still breathing heavily, ignored the blood pouring from her arm. Her focus was entirely on the wheelchair. She noticed a clasp had been knocked loose by the kick. Immediately, she went to find the toolbox. She spent the rest of the night on the floor, carefully tightening screws and reinforcing the frame, long after I had gone to bed. In the live chat, the fury was incandescent. “I’m dead. This woman is a living angel. Her arm is ripped open and all she cares about is her daughter.” “And for what? So her heartless, dead-eyed daughter can keep treating her like dirt?” “Is this girl’s heart made of stone? How can she see what her mother does for her and feel nothing? How can she be so cold?” “They say you reap what you sow, but this mother sowed love and harvested a monster. That girl deserves to be paralyzed.” “Just leave her, Laura! My God, just walk away! This child isn’t worth it!” The vitriol was so intense that the reporter called me again, her voice strained. “Is this what you wanted? This three-day secret livestream? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” she asked, exasperated. “Your mother is a saint. This is just making you look like the most evil person on the planet.” I glanced into the living room, where my mother was sitting alone, clumsily trying to bandage her own wound. “There’s still one day left,” I said quietly. “Tomorrow, you’ll understand everything.” 4 On the morning of the third day, my mother came into my room as she always did. “Morning, Anna. How are you feeling today? Is your appetite any better?” she asked softly, her hands expertly checking my circulation and looking for pressure sores. I didn’t answer, but my eyes flickered to the thick gauze wrapped around her arm. Fresh blood had already started to seep through. Ignoring my silence, she began my daily physical therapy, gently massaging my legs and flexing my joints to prevent muscle atrophy. Her touch was tender, as if she were handling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look, Anna, it’s a beautiful day out,” she said, trying to fill the silence. “After breakfast, I’ll take you outside for some fresh air. The doctor said it would be good for you.” I just stared out the window. “I don’t want to.” Her hands faltered for a second, but she said nothing, resuming the massage. When she was done, she brought a bowl of warm water and carefully washed my face and hands, then went to make breakfast. The live chat was still simmering with yesterday’s rage. “Same dead fish expression on her face today. I can’t stand looking at her.” “Her mom’s arm is literally bleeding through the bandage and this girl can’t even ask if she’s okay?” “I’m convinced. Some people don’t deserve kindness.” My mother didn’t go to work that day. She said she wanted to spend some quality time with me. After cleaning up from breakfast, she wheeled me out onto the small balcony to sit in the sun. She brushed my hair, clipped my fingernails, and cleaned my ears. She tended to every part of me until I was pristine. Then, she pulled up a small stool and sat beside me, taking my hand in hers. Her grip was tight. “Do you remember this, Anna?” she began, her voice low and thick with memory. “When you were a little girl, you loved sitting on the porch with me in the sun. You’d say the sunshine made all the sad feelings go away.” She squeezed my hand. “We didn’t have much money back then, but you always said that as long as you had your mom and dad, you were the happiest girl in the world.” A sad smile touched her lips. “You said when you grew up, you were going to take me on a trip around the world…” Her eyes grew misty. Just then, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, then looked back at me, a deep, unreadable expression in her eyes. She silenced the call. She stood up, looking down at me. “Well, Anna,” she said, her voice strangely calm. “It’s about time.” A small smile touched my lips. Finally. The moment was here. My mother turned and walked back into the house, leaving me on the balcony. She went into my room and did something that made every single person watching the livestream gasp. 5 Under the silent watch of thousands, my mother opened my closet. She began taking my clothes, my personal items, and carefully folding them, placing them one by one into a worn, old suitcase. Her movements were slow, weighted with a sense of finality. The live chat erupted with question marks. “What is she doing? Where are they going?” “Is she finally leaving him? Taking the daughter and running? GOOD FOR HER.” “Wait, she’s packing Anna’s things. Is she… sending her away?” “No way. Not after all this. She loves her daughter too much to put her in a home.” “Maybe the daughter pushed her too far. She finally broke.” Just as the speculation reached a fever pitch, my father emerged from his bedroom, yawning. He saw my mother packing the suitcase, and a smirk spread across his face. “So, Laura,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “You finally came to your senses? You’re really going through with it?” My mother didn’t turn around. She just kept packing. “Yes,” she said, her voice a low hum. My father chuckled and walked over to my wheelchair. He bent down, his face close to mine, and his voice was laced with mock pity. “You know, Anna, you’re one lucky girl. Paralyzed for twenty years, and you get a sucker like your mom who just won’t quit.” He shook his head. “Even after everything you’ve put her through, she still couldn’t bring herself to dump you in a state facility.” He paused, his grin widening. “Oh, by the way. That ten million you gave me? It’s gone. Had a bad run in Vegas. Not only is it gone, but I’m another hundred grand in the hole.” He said it like he was telling me the weather. “Good news for me is, I’m still your legal guardian. So I sold this apartment to cover my debts. The new owners will be here in a few days to take possession.” He patted my shoulder. “I was going to have you sent to a nursing home, but your mom here threw a fit. Cried and screamed about how they wouldn’t take proper care of you. Can you believe that?” I glanced at my mother. Her face was a mask, showing nothing. But the internet had seen enough. The dam of outrage broke. “TEN MILLION DOLLARS?! GONE?! And he sold their home out from under them?!” “This man is not human. He’s a demon. He’s going to leave his ex-wife and disabled daughter homeless.” “Well, daughter dearest, are you happy now? Your precious ten million fed a monster.” “This is karma. She was blind and stupid and now she’s paying the price.” “The mother is the only victim here! She worked for 20 years to care for that girl, and now she has nothing. No money, no home, nothing!” “And she’s STILL taking the daughter with her? Is she crazy? Run, woman! Run for your life!” The livestream was a raging inferno of hate for me and my father. As my mother finished packing and my father went to the kitchen for a beer, my phone rang. It was the reporter again. “Anna, is this the father you emptied your bank account for?” her voice crackled with disbelief. “Ten million dollars, and he didn’t say thank you, didn’t lift a finger for you, and pissed it all away before selling your home! Meanwhile, your mother, who has no legal obligation to you, has devoted her life to you. She has nothing, and she’s still choosing you.” She took a sharp breath. “After today, the entire world thinks you’re a monster. Don’t you have anything to say? Why are you being so cruel to your mother?” 6 The reporter’s voice was a frantic buzz in my ear. My eyes found my mother’s back as she zipped the suitcase closed. Twenty years had turned her dark, glossy hair to a dry, brittle gray. Her once straight posture was now permanently bent, as if under an invisible weight. I remember how much she used to care about her appearance. A single gray hair would send her into a spiral for a whole afternoon. Now, for me, she had aged into a little old woman before her time. Such a good mother. What a shame. I sighed, my voice calm as I spoke into the phone. “It’s not time yet.” I hung up. My mother had finished packing. She grabbed the handle of the suitcase with one hand and the back of my wheelchair with the other. “Let’s go, Anna,” she said, her voice steady. “Don’t you worry. No matter what happens, Mom will take care of you.” My father leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a mocking sneer on his face. “Don’t be a martyr, Laura. You’re not young anymore. How are you going to find a job, pay the rent, all while dragging this anchor around?” He gestured at me. “It’s not too late. Just drop her at the county home. You’ve done more than enough. You don’t owe her anything else.” My mother looked up at him, her eyes blazing with a sudden fire. “As long as I am breathing, I will never abandon Anna,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. “I carried her for nine months. She is a part of my own body. She is my heart.” Without another glance at my father, she pushed my wheelchair out of the apartment we had called home for so long. The livestream from inside the apartment cut out, but the reporter wasn’t giving up. The story was too big. Within minutes, she was on the street behind us, her camera operator filming from a distance as she provided live commentary. My mother took the last few thousand dollars she had to her name and rented a tiny, dilapidated studio apartment in a rough part of town. Once she had me settled, she threw herself back into work, harder than ever. I spent most of my days lying in bed. The reporter’s feed, now followed by millions, focused primarily on my mother. Her drone camera hovered discreetly outside the grimy windows of our new apartment. Through that lens, the world watched my mother’s struggle. With the added expense of rent, she was working herself to death. She cleaned houses during the day, washed dishes in a greasy diner at night, and came home late to assemble cheap electronics for pennies apiece. The camera captured it all. It watched her drag her nearly lifeless body home each night, only to begin the second shift of caring for me: cleaning my body, massaging my limbs, cooking my meals, and feeding me. And I remained a stone wall. I often refused the food she so carefully prepared. I met her every act of sacrifice with cold indifference. The livestream continued. The hatred for me never waned; it only intensified. “Is that girl made of wood? Her mother is literally killing herself for her, and she’s still acting like a zombie.” “Does she just think this is normal? That this is what she’s owed?” “If I were her mother, I would have walked away so long ago. I’d be on a beach in Mexico.” “I can’t take this anymore. That woman is a saint, and she’s wasting her life on an ungrateful monster! Your kindness is worthless if you give it to someone who doesn’t deserve it!” “Seriously, what did this horrible girl ever do to deserve a mother like that?!” The abuse was constant. My mother’s labor was endless. On the third day in our new apartment, after working for nearly twenty hours straight, my mother came home and started to prepare my dinner. She took two steps into the tiny kitchen, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed onto the linoleum floor. She was unconscious. I did not move. I did not call for help. A small, satisfied smile spread across my face.

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The war against the Shadowlands was over. My sister’s husband returned a hero. Mine came back in a casket. Everyone said what a tragedy it was, how pitiful I was. But I knew the truth. The man standing beside her wasn’t her husband, Kael. It was my husband, Kaiden. They were identical twins, their power so closely matched that no one could spot the difference. “Lyra, you have to understand,” Kaiden had explained to me in secret. “I’m doing this for the stability of the kingdom.” “My brother was the Crown Prince,” he’d said, his voice a low murmur. “If the Dragon Lords learn their heir has fallen, it will trigger a civil war.” “Besides,” he added, his hand finding mine, “your sister… Sera is so gentle, so pure. She couldn’t handle the grief. I’m just looking after her until things settle.” “Once the succession is secure, I’ll come back to you. I promise.” And I, like a fool, believed him. I believed him right up until the moment he had me sentenced to death for colluding with the enemy, my flesh torn apart by a thousand arcane blades. As my life faded, I saw him holding my sister, his touch intimate and possessive. It had all been a lie. A calculation. I open my eyes again, and I’m back. Back to the day of the Dragon Lords’ great victory, the day the news of my husband’s death arrived like a shroud. Kaiden, wearing his brother’s face, holds my sister’s hand while she weeps. The assembled Lords look at me with expressions of profound sympathy. This time, I don’t hesitate. I will remarry. Kaiden thinks that by stealing the Crown Prince’s identity, he can claim a life of power and prestige. He has no idea that by casting me aside, he has just lost his one and only chance to become the true sovereign of the Dragon Lords. 1 “Lyra, Kaiden… he fell in battle!” The phantom agony of a thousand cuts makes my entire body tremble. When my eyes flutter open, those are the first words I hear. The man speaking is the Dragon King. He had two sons. One was the Crown Prince, who married my sister, Seraphina. The other was my husband, Kaiden. Now, the King, who should have been long dead in my previous life, sits on his throne, his face a mask of grief as he stares at the ornate coffin before us. A wild, fierce joy surges through me. I’m alive. I’m back. Before I can speak, my sister’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and condescending. “Little sister, I know you’re hurting. It’s okay to cry. Let it all out.” Sera looks down at me, her expression a perfect portrait of compassion, but the powder on her cheeks is flawless, undisturbed by a single tear. I lift my head, but my gaze travels past her to the man at her side. Her husband. No. Not him. Her husband is the one lying in that coffin. The man standing before me is Kaiden. My Kaiden. The man who should be holding me in my grief is instead entwined with my sister, their fingers laced together. He feels my stare and turns, his eyes widening in what looks like expertly feigned surprise. A bitter laugh dies in my throat. Kaiden’s acting is as impeccable as ever. In my last life, it took me months of doubt and secret searching to finally confirm my suspicions, to be certain that the man at Sera’s side was truly mine. This time, I see the truth instantly. A wrenching sob echoes through the hall. “My son! Oh, my beautiful boy!” The Queen throws herself against the coffin, tears like jewels spilling down her cheeks. Then, her grief-stricken eyes find me, and her face twists into a snarl. She points a trembling finger. “You! It was you! Your cursed luck killed my son!” The Queen and I had never seen eye to eye. She found me too headstrong, not graceful enough—unworthy of her perfect son. I had worried about it once. Kaiden had sworn to me, his voice earnest and full of devotion, “If my mother ever gives you trouble, I will always, always side with you.” Crack. The Queen’s palm connects with my cheek, the sting sharp and humiliating. Still not satisfied, she raises her hand again. The King, shaken from his sorrow, quickly orders his guards to intervene. “Enough!” The throne room dissolves into chaos. Through it all, Kaiden stands silently to the side, his hand still holding my sister’s. He even seems to be shielding her from the commotion. He reaches into his tunic and pulls out a shimmering blue gem, a Tide Jewel, presenting it to Sera as if it were a holy relic. “For you, my love,” he murmurs, his voice a low comfort meant only for her. “I found this just for you.” A hollow laugh escapes my lips. Phoenixes are creatures of fire, but I had always been drawn to the sea, always longed for a Tide Jewel of my own. I had begged Kaiden to bring one back from the war for me. He promised he would, but it never arrived. So, this is why. He did find one. He just never intended for it to be mine. He gave it to my sister, who has no need for it, no love for the water. The man who promised he would always protect me now watches impassively as his mother assaults me. Sensing my gaze, Sera shifts slightly, defensively, as if to shield Kaiden from my view. “Lyra, why are you staring at my husband?” she chides, her voice sharp. “Father is speaking to you.” The King’s voice is weary. “Lyra, by law, when a warrior falls, his widow must observe a century of mourning.” He sighs. “I will not force you, but I must ask… what are your intentions?” I shake my head, my voice clear and steady. “I choose the second path. I will remarry.” A stunned silence falls over the hall. Every eye in the room is on me, wide with disbelief. Kaiden is the first to speak, his voice cracking with indignation. “Absurd! Lyra, how could you marry another?” Now, even the King and Sera notice that something is wrong. The King, though puzzled, speaks gently. “Kael, this is a private matter for your sister-in-law. The choice must be hers.” Kaiden falls silent, his jaw tight, his eyes boring into me. My sister, however, is even more incensed. She steps forward, her eyes flashing with condemnation. “Lyra, your husband’s body is still warm, and you’re already screaming to remarry instead of mourning him?” Her voice rises. “Do you want the entire world to think everyone from the Phoenix bloodline is as cold-hearted and faithless as you?” The Queen glares at me with pure venom. “If Kaiden hadn’t insisted on marrying you, I never would have allowed a viper like you into this family!” I meet their fury with a calm I don’t feel. “If Kaiden truly loved me as much as you all say, he wouldn’t want me to waste my life away in mourning.” I raise my chin. “I will remarry!” “You—” Kaiden starts, desperate. The King cuts him off. “Enough. Lyra has made her decision. So be it.” He looks at me, his gaze heavy. “However, the ancient pact between our houses stands. You may remarry, Lyra, but you must choose a son of the Dragon Lords.” I turn to face the crowded hall, the sea of stunned faces. I raise my voice so that all can hear. “Is there any man here who will take me as his wife?” No one moves. A few younger lords look like they might step forward, only to be yanked back by their families. Others meet my gaze for a split second before looking away as if they’d just seen a serpent. A flicker of despair touches me. The Fates have given me only two paths: a century of lonely widowhood or remarriage. Is my destiny truly unchangeable? Seeing my predicament, Kaiden can’t resist a smug, cutting remark. “You see, Lyra? No one dares to marry a faithless woman like you. You should accept your fate and mourn properly.” His tone is so confident, so utterly certain of my defeat, it makes my stomach churn. And then, a figure descends from the vaulted ceiling, landing silently before the throne. “I will.” My eyes focus, and I recognize him. It’s Jax, the Warlord of the Dragon Lords. He has a fearsome reputation, a man they call the God of Slaughter, yet he kneels now on one knee before the King. “Your Majesty,” he says, his voice a low gravel. “I will marry Lyra.” Kaiden’s composure shatters. “Jax! This is none of your concern!” He points a finger at me. “A word of friendly advice. My brother just died, and she’s already rushing to find a new husband. Are you sure you want to bring that kind of curse into your house? Are you not afraid she’ll be the death of you, too?” Jax rises and steps in front of me, shielding me from Kaiden’s venom. His brow furrows. “Your Highness, Lyra is your brother’s widow. Instead of protecting her, you’re slandering her.” “I’m speaking the truth!” Kaiden insists. Jax ignores him completely, turning to face me. His eyes, intense and serious, meet mine. “Lyra, will you marry me?” he asks. “I will be loyal to you for all my lives, forever by your side. Let the Heavens be my witness. If I break this vow, may my soul be extinguished.” I’m stunned. In his gaze, there is nothing but unwavering sincerity. I find myself nodding. “Yes.” It is done. Kaiden has no further grounds to object. Jax and I are bound in union right then and there, a simple, powerful ritual before the court. When it’s over, the exhausted King waves a dismissive hand at me. “Go.” He then turns to the rest of the court, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I am old, and I have lost a son. I no longer have the strength to rule.” “In three days, I will pass the crown to Kael.” Kael. My sister’s dead husband, whose name Kaiden has stolen. A chill runs down my spine. In my past life, the King never abdicated. Not once, right up until the day Kaiden had me executed. Why has he decided to step down so soon this time? Before I can process it, Kaiden walks past me with the departing crowd. As he passes, he leans in close, his voice a venomous whisper only I can hear. “You bitch. You will regret this.” That night, I move my belongings from Kaiden’s grand palace to Jax’s stark, militaristic domain. The servants’ whispers follow me down the halls. “The Warlord is a great man, but his judgment in women is questionable.” “The second prince’s body isn’t even cold, and she’s already moved on. How could she possibly be a good wife?” “Didn’t the Queen say she was a bad omen? I fear for the Warlord’s life.” … I listen to the gossip from outside my window with a wry smile. I turn to Jax and gesture with my chin towards the door. “The great Warlord’s reputation, ruined by me,” I say, my tone light and self-mocking. Jax’s brow darkens. “Don’t say that.” His voice is stern. “Lyra, give me half a day. I will make sure you never hear them speak ill of you again.” I sigh, a genuine wave of weariness washing over me. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Compared to my last life—a living widow to Kaiden, suffering endless humiliation only to be publicly executed by a thousand cuts—this is paradise. Jax has provided for me with the finest of everything, equal to what I had in the royal palace. I am comfortable and safe. I am more than content. Before the lights are extinguished, I hear him mutter under his breath, so quiet I almost miss it. “Let them talk. As long as I have you, none of it matters.” I don’t sleep at all that night. A few days later, a summons arrives from my sister. She is about to be crowned Queen, and handmaidens are fussing around her with a heavy, opulent coronation gown. She excitedly holds the crown above her head, turning to me with a glint in her eye. “Lyra, tell me honestly. Who looks better in this, me or the old Queen?” I remain silent. She continues, talking more to herself than to me. “You know, sometimes a person just has to accept their fate.” A cruel little smile plays on her lips. “You were always the more talented one, weren’t you? But in the end, who’s becoming Queen? Me.” She has been like this since we were children, always needing to feel superior. My gaze drifts over the cluttered vanity table and lands on the Tide Jewel Kaiden gave her. A flash of memory, sharp and clear, sparks in my mind. When we were young, during a training exercise, my sister was dragged into the sea by a water sprite. She nearly drowned. Ever since, she has had a deep-seated fear of the ocean and hates anything related to it. She despises Tide Jewels. Kael, her actual husband, was meticulous. He knew this. He remembered every little detail about her. My voice is a raw whisper when I finally speak. “Did you honestly not know it wasn’t him?” Sera’s hand freezes mid-air. And in that single, frozen moment, I have my answer. In my last life, through all the pain and confusion, I never once suspected my sister. To me, she was just another victim of Kaiden’s deception, even if we were never close. But her reaction now tells a different story. She knew. She was part of it. Tears well in my eyes, hot and furious. “Sera, are you insane?” I demand. Clang. She slams a phoenix-shaped hairpin onto the table, her patience gone. She turns to me, her eyes cold as ice. “What if I did?” I stare at her, stunned into silence. A chilling smile spreads across her face. “Let me be perfectly clear. As long as he is the Crown Prince, and as long as I become Queen, I don’t give a damn who my husband is.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “As for you, you will be a good little widow.” “If you behave, I’ll be sure to take care of you once I’m Queen. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone,” she hisses, “I will destroy you.” An icy dread washes over me, colder than any fear I’ve ever known. Her words are almost identical to the ones Kaiden used on me in my last life. In the end, neither of them showed me any mercy. Just then, voices sound from outside the chamber. The curtain parts, and Kaiden enters with the King and Queen. They all stop short when they see me. Kaiden’s brow furrows, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Lyra? What are you doing here?” The Queen’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be with your new husband? What business do you have in the royal palace?” Sera immediately begins to cry, pressing herself against Kaiden’s side. “It’s not Lyra’s fault. She’s just… she’s in so much pain from losing her husband, she’s not thinking clearly.” Kaiden wraps an arm around her, glaring at me. “Lyra, none of us wanted to see my brother die. But you not only refused to mourn him, you remarried in defiance of his memory, and now you come here to harass your sister?” He points toward the door. “Get out.” I stare at Kaiden, at his false righteousness and his stolen life, and suddenly, a slow smile spreads across my face. “Gladly.” Justice is not denied, merely delayed. The next day, Jax and I are summoned to attend Kaiden’s coronation. He is masquerading as Kael, and the King has named him as the successor. Although he still needs the formal recognition of the Heavens to complete the ceremony and receive the ancient power of the Dragon Kings, everyone—including Kaiden himself—believes it’s a mere formality. He stands there now, clad in gleaming silver armor, with an equally radiant Sera on his arm. He greets the assembled lords with the easy grace of a man born to rule. I watch him, and I can’t help but remember something from my past life. The King had once asked Kaiden if he felt any resentment that his twin, Kael, had been named Crown Prince. Kaiden had answered with perfect sincerity, “My brother is noble and kind, his talent far surpasses my own. He is the rightful heir. As his younger brother, I am nothing but proud.” His actions today are a grotesque mockery of those words. I shake my head, a bitter smile on my lips. How could I have been so blind to such a deeply false man? Soon, Kaiden and Sera make their way over to us. He glances at Jax, a flash of jealousy in his eyes, before speaking to me with feigned concern. “Lyra, I know you still carry a torch for Kaiden. But you’re the one who chose to remarry. You should focus on your new life now.” Before I can respond, Jax replies smoothly, “Your Highness need not worry. Lyra is very good to me.” A warmth spreads through my chest. I look at the smug, triumphant couple before me and offer a gentle warning. “Your… Highness. Are you so certain that the Heavens will accept your claim today?” Sera’s brow immediately crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean? Lyra, are you cursing us?” Kaiden’s glare is filled with hatred, but with so many watching, he restrains himself. He simply pulls Sera closer. “Don’t lower yourself by arguing with her, my love. Let’s go.” I sigh and lean back against Jax’s solid frame, saying no more. The coronation begins. Kaiden ascends the ceremonial steps, his eyes fixed greedily on the crown in the King’s hands. The High Priest begins the incantation, his voice booming across the silent square. “We beseech the Heavens to bestow their blessing and pass the sacred power to the heir!” CRACK-BOOM! Thunder rolls across the sky, gathering in dark, angry clouds. Just as the leader of the Phoenixes must endure a rebirth through fire, every new Dragon King must undergo a baptism by celestial lightning. If the Heavens approve, the King and his Queen are left unharmed, infused with divine power. Kaiden takes Sera’s hand, and they stand together at the center of the altar. BOOM! The first bolt of lightning strikes. I see it clearly—the color drains from both of their faces. Then comes the second bolt, and the third… Sera coughs violently, spitting a mouthful of blood, and collapses to her knees. Kaiden’s face is now ashen. The King and Queen leap to their feet in shock. A murmur of confusion and fear ripples through the crowd. “When the last King received the blessing, it wasn’t like this.” “Could it be… that the Crown Prince and his wife are not recognized by the Heavens?” There are eighty-one bolts in total. What should be a blessing has become torture. By the tenth bolt, Kaiden is on his knees beside Sera. In a panic, the King throws up a magical barrier, shielding them from the storm’s fury. But in doing so, he has invalidated the coronation. The square is deathly silent. Everyone is staring at Kaiden and my sister, waiting for an explanation. Kaiden struggles to his feet, looking up at his father. “Father, perhaps there was an error in the ritual. I am willing to try again.” The King hesitates, his face a canvas of doubt. I let out a soft sigh, but my voice carries clearly across the silence. “It’s useless. Stop struggling.” All eyes turn to me. “How can the Heavens recognize two impostors?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385416”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the live finale of the reality show, the host had a cheap gimmick: check the seventh photo on each guest’s phone. I sent them the one I had of Sophia—a sweet, candid selfie she’d sent me last week. But when it flashed on the screen, the young heartthrob sitting next to me, Ethan Cole, scrunched his perfect brow. “Liam, man, I get it,” he said, his voice dripping with false concern. “You can come after me all you want, but can you please not be a creep about my girlfriend?” I froze. “I’m sorry, since when does she have a boyfriend?” Without missing a beat, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed Sophia. “Babe,” he cooed, the cameras zooming in on his face. “Someone’s trying to break us up…” There was a pause on the other end, and then Sophia’s voice, crisp and serious even through the speaker. “Who? Where? I’m on the next flight back to the States.” My jaw hit the floor. The internet exploded. [I KNEW IT! LIAM KNIGHT IS ALWAYS CHASING CLOUT!] [GUESS AGAIN, LIAM. SOPHIA ROSE ISN’T SOMEONE YOU CAN JUST USE FOR ATTENTION!] [OMG, ETHAN AND SOPHIA ARE SO CUTE! GET MARRIED AND MAKE LIAM KNIGHT’S HEAD EXPLODE!] Seriously? I was just blindsided by the fact that my little sister was secretly dating my number one rival. 1 My dumbfounded expression was instantly clipped, GIF’d, and trending on Twitter. [LMAO does Liam Knight actually think Ethan is joking? Does he think everyone is as desperate for attention as he is?] [As if Sophia Rose would ever give him the time of day. This GIF is the best thing to happen all year, I swear.] [Hahaha, this is GOLD. I love watching this phony get put in his place by Ethan!] The live chat was a waterfall of hate. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the stage and ducked into the nearest dressing room. [Did he just run off? Can’t handle the heat?] [Seeing him get knocked down a peg is my new favorite thing.] I slammed the door shut and immediately called Sophia. Her voice was rushed on the other end. “Liam, I’m in the middle of something urgent. I’ll call you back.” “Let me guess,” I said, my voice tight. “Did your new ‘boyfriend’ call you crying?” Sophia went quiet for a second. “How did you know?” “Are you insane? You’re dating a guy like that?” “You don’t get it, Liam. He’s the most special man I’ve met in my entire twenty-five years.” I felt the air leave my lungs. “He’s an actor, Soph! He can act like anything! I’m telling you, I know exactly who Ethan Cole is, and you need to break up with him. Now.” “It’s not an act!” she shot back, defiant. “He tells me he loves me even when he’s blackout drunk!” A knot of frustration tightened in my chest. “What’s so hard about that? It’s a performance! Watch, I can do it, too. I love you, I love you, I love you!” “Are you crazy? That’s disgusting!” Sophia sounded genuinely repulsed, like she had a full-body cringe. She hung up before I could say another word. Furious, I spun around—and found someone standing in the doorway. Ethan Cole had one hand on the doorknob, the other holding his phone. His eyes were wide with manufactured surprise. “Liam? Hey, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” I gave him a humorless smile. “Funny. I could’ve sworn I saw you watch me walk into this very room.” “Liam, you…” Ethan’s face crumpled into a mask of hurt. The online comments, which I could only imagine, were probably going wild. [OMG, YOU PSYCHO, GET AWAY FROM ETHAN!] [I can’t stand this fraud. His movies suck, and so does he. He was hitting on Ethan’s girlfriend first!] I was done playing this game. I brushed past him and walked away. But of course, in the time it took me to walk to the restroom and back, another social media bomb had gone off. I clicked the link. It was a three-second video of me on the phone. My frantic, mocking “I love you” to Sophia. The headline was brutal. Sophia Rose to Liam Knight: “Are You Crazy? That’s Disgusting.” Liam Knight Attempts to Sabotage Relationship, Gets Savagely Shut Down by Business Mogul Sophia Rose. My world went black. 2 The dressing rooms were soundproofed, private. The only person who could have filmed that video was the one who opened the door at the end: Ethan Cole. The clip started right at my “confession,” making it look like I was having a psychotic breakdown and professing my love for Sophia, only for her to reject me in disgust. I found Ethan by the craft services table and held up my phone, playing the three-second clip. “You recorded me?” He forced a nervous laugh. “Whoa, Liam, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just taking a selfie and you were in the background, I didn’t mean to—” “Why was your camera pointed at me for a selfie? And if it was an accident, why did you post it?” The color drained from his face. He realized his mistake—admitting he filmed it was admitting he leaked it. It completely contradicted his carefully crafted persona as the kind, harmless victim. His eyes welled up, his lip trembling. The performance was flawless. “Liam, please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Just stop going after my girlfriend, okay? I tried talking to you, but you wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how to fight with people… I just didn’t know what else to do.” He looked down, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “She’s the first girl I’ve ever really loved like this. Please… just leave us alone.” I cut him off. “That whole routine might work on her, but it’s wasted on me.” My voice was flat. “You play enough games, and eventually, people see you for who you are. It’s only a matter of time before she dumps you. Watch your back.” I turned and walked away. The premise for this season of the reality show was a “back to basics” rural theme. As I was getting ready for the next leg of the trip out to some farm, my agent called. “For God’s sake, Liam, can you stay out of trouble for five minutes? You’re trending for the third time today!” I pulled up my phone. The number one trending topic had a big red “BREAKING” tag next to it: Liam Knight Threatens Ethan Cole Just moments before, an audio clip had been “leaked” by an anonymous “production staffer.” It was the audio of my conversation with Ethan. I was certain we had been the only two people there. My social media mentions were a war zone. [Dude, get a clue. Sophia Rose herself confirmed Ethan is her boyfriend! And you’re telling HIM to ‘watch his back’?] [Hope you die alone, you homewrecker.] [Who is this clown? Oh, right, the guy who makes garbage movies. No wonder. His whole family is probably trash.] … At the same time, Ethan started a live stream from the back of his car. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling “bravely.” “Guys, please don’t say mean things. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding between me and Liam,” he said softly. “It makes me sad to think I might have caused him any pain.” His fans were eating it up. [OMG MY POOR BABY YOU ARE TOO KIND FOR THIS WORLD! Liam Knight is just a bully! DON’T DEFEND HIM!] [You’re so sweet, I’m crying for you! On my way to Liam’s Twitter to light him up.] [We will protect the kindest boy in the world! Liam Knight can rot!] Sitting in the van, the world swam before my eyes. I picked up my phone and called Sophia again. 3 “Break up with him. Right now.” I didn’t bother with a greeting. Sophia sounded completely lost. “Liam, I told you, this is real.” “Did you happen to see how he’s manipulating the entire internet to make me look like a monster? Have you even glanced at what’s trending?” “Oh, come on, Liam. You get dragged online every other day. I’m used to it by now.” …She had a point. “It’s fine, big brother,” she said, her tone softening. “When I get back, I’ll take you both out to dinner. We’ll clear the air. Ethan is a really good person, he’s not what you think.” “Forget it. I have more experience in this industry than you have contracts signed.” “And what has that experience gotten you? Nothing but bad reviews.” “You—” “Look, Liam, just quit,” she said, not unkindly. “You know your acting got passed down from Mom.” I had no comeback for that. After a moment of letting me stew in her victorious silence, she continued, “Seriously, bro. Just come home and help me run the family business. You’d make way more money, and my life would be a hell of a lot easier. Why are you putting yourself through all this?” “No! I didn’t get into this business for the money. I did it for Amelia!” “…” 4 The truth was, I never needed to be in show business. My parents were constantly begging me to come home, to join Sophia in running the family empire and take it to the next level. But I was stubborn. I chose the chaos of Hollywood for one reason: to get closer to Amelia Lane. The goddess I’d worshipped from afar for five years. To avoid any unnecessary drama, I had never publicly disclosed my relationship with Sophia. I took my mother’s last name, Knight. Sophia took our father’s, Rose. In all these years, no one had ever connected the dots. Until now, when it had all blown up into this ridiculous circus. A wave of regret washed over me. As her older brother, I’d always been the one to guide her, to keep her focused. I’d been so strict about her not dating in high school or college. I guess the consequence of a youth devoid of romance was that the first slick-haired charlatan who came along could lead her away by the nose. I slumped down in my seat in the van, my head in my hands. “I should have let her date more when she was younger.” 5 My dark mood evaporated the moment we arrived at the next location. Because as soon as I stepped out of the van, I found out who the “surprise celebrity guest” was. “Amelia Lane?!” I gasped. “Is it really her? Is she actually here?” A crew member shot me a disdainful look, sniffed, and walked away. Ever since the drama with Ethan “stealing” my “crush,” the entire production team had been treating me like I was radioactive. When they realized the online audience loved their coldness toward me, they doubled down. I didn’t care. After years in this business, I was used to the side-eyes and whispered insults. Amelia was the only thing that mattered. The moment she stepped out of her black SUV, a wave of shrieks erupted from the crew and the other cast members. I darted forward, holding out a pristine, gold-edged photo card. “Ms. Lane, I’m a huge fan. Could I please get your autograph?” She pulled down her mask, and her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. “Of course.” She took the card, scribbled something on it, and handed it back. I was about to place it carefully in my jacket pocket when I glanced down and saw what she’d written. Two words. [Asshole] I blinked. When I looked up, she was giving me a contemptuous little sneer. “Ethan!” a cheerful voice cried out, shattering the moment. Ethan’s car had arrived. The second he got out, Amelia launched herself into his arms. Ethan caught her easily, spinning her around before setting her down and ruffling her hair. “You’re the surprise guest? I thought you were filming on the other side of the country.” “Heehee,” she giggled. “I knew you were here, so I came just for you. Or maybe I just had a sudden whim to join this show. Which story do you like better?” The online comments on the live feed must have been exploding. [I’LL SAY IT! SHE CAME FOR YOU! FOR YOU FOR YOU FOR YOU!] [This is so sweet I’m crying…] Ethan just smiled and tapped her lightly on the forehead. “You’re always teasing me.” Amelia pouted. “You hit me again! Hmph!” I frowned. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Amelia immediately stepped in front of Ethan, shielding him from me. She gave me a look of pure scorn. “Ethan and I grew up together. We’re childhood friends who have supported each other through everything to get where we are today. I would hope, Mr. Knight, that you wouldn’t project your own dirty mind onto everyone else.” 6 The live chat went into another frenzy. [That’s our queen Amelia! She can spot an asshole a mile away!] [Quote of the day! Just because someone likes being a homewrecker doesn’t mean everyone does.] [They’re childhood best friends, that’s just how they are. Someone with the last name Knight needs to stop judging everyone by his own low standards.] A hot spike of anger shot through me. I was about to say something when my assistant pulled me aside. “Liam, cool it. She just landed the lead role in a massive Hollywood blockbuster. Half the industry is kissing her feet right now. If you get into a fight with her, you’re the only one who’s going to get hurt.” “A blockbuster?” I scoffed. My assistant nodded. “Yeah. Some mysterious billionaire is a huge fan of hers and is pouring money into the production just for her. I heard the guy thinks she’s the next big thing. If you piss her off, Liam, we can’t afford the fallout.” “Hah,” I said. “He’s investing in her because he appreciates her acting. That doesn’t give her a license to be a tyrant.” My assistant gave me a pitying look. “Liam, it’s probably best not to pretend you know what a billionaire is thinking.” “I’m not pretending,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “I’m pulling my funding.” “Liam, you… sigh!” My assistant just shook his head and walked away. I heard him muttering to a colleague a few feet away. “Liam’s lost it. He’s actually starting to believe he’s Amelia’s big-shot investor. First he thinks he’s Sophia Rose’s boyfriend, now he’s having delusions of being a studio head. I think all the hate comments finally broke his brain.” I had already pulled out my phone and dialed my secretary. “Pull it,” I said, my voice firm. “You heard me. Pull the funding.” My secretary was silent for a beat. “But Mr. Knight… you’re Amelia Lane’s biggest supporter, aren’t you?” “I was blind. Pull it. Cancel every bid, every investment connected to her. Immediately.” “Yes, Mr. Knight.” Hanging up, I finally felt a sliver of satisfaction. I walked back towards the set, but the scene in front of me nearly made me drop my phone. Ethan was sipping from a cup of iced tea. On the straw was a lipstick stain, the exact shade Amelia was wearing. He took a sip and handed it back to her. “It’s a little too sweet. They messed up this batch.” Amelia took it back without a second thought, putting the lipstick-stained straw to her own lips. “I think so too, but since you bought it for me, I guess I can force myself to drink a little.” “You’re impossible,” he chuckled. “Hold on,” I interrupted. “You have a girlfriend. Even if you are childhood friends, shouldn’t you have some boundaries?” Amelia moved to stand in front of him again, her expression defiant. “Like I said, Mr. Knight, don’t project your own filth onto us.” That did it. My temper flared. “If someone is already filthy,” I shot back, “then they’re going to seem disgusting no matter who’s looking, don’t you think?” “You—!” Amelia’s face flushed with anger. Ethan frowned. “Liam, are you calling us filthy?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is there anyone else here I could be talking to?” Amelia’s expression turned thunderous. Luckily, the director arrived just then, preventing a full-blown meltdown. Fearing I would cause more “trouble,” the production team did something unprecedented: they gave me a private room, away from the other cast. But just as I finished unpacking my bags, a staffer knocked on the door. “You’re cut from the show.” My assistant stared at him. “What? Why? We have a contract.” The staffer sneered. “This came directly from Ms. Lane.” My assistant deflated, turning to me with a sigh. “Well, Liam. I guess we’re really leaving.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Wow. So she’s calling the shots now? Fine. Let’s go. I’m sick of this business anyway.” That day, I was trending on social media for the last time: Liam Knight Finally Forced Out of Hollywood 7 I went home. The trending topics weren’t just about me; Ethan was all over them too. After I left, the show’s cameras had captured Amelia comforting him, stroking his hair as he looked forlorn. A few minutes later, they filmed him on the phone with Sophia, telling her how much he missed her. Sophia’s voice, syrupy and sweet, carried through the phone’s speaker. “It’s okay, my love. I just landed. I’ll be there soon. With me by your side, no one will ever bully you again.” Hearing Sophia put on that cloying voice made me want to throw up. The internet, however, was in a state of ecstasy. [PLEASE, UNIVERSE, GIVE ME A MOVIE STAR CHILDHOOD BESTIE AND A BEAUTIFUL, WEALTHY GIRLFRIEND!] [THIS IS THE LIFE EVERY MAN DREAMS OF!] [I can’t even imagine having one woman this beautiful, and this guy has TWO?] … My phone rang. It was Sophia. “Liam, I’m back in the country. When are you free? I want you and Mom and Dad to finally meet Ethan.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. “Mom and Dad won’t like him. And neither do I.” “You don’t know that,” she said, her voice bubbling with happiness. “I have never met a man who makes my heart feel this way. Once you all meet him, you’ll see. You’ll accept him.” “…” Listening to my sister sound so blissfully delusional, I quietly ended the call. A few minutes later, the trending topics shifted again. Sophia Rose had posted on her personal, rarely used Instagram account. It was a photo of her and Ethan, their faces close together. The caption read: [Take my hand, take me home.] I commented below it: [So lame.] My comment was immediately dogpiled and shot to the top. [Still dreaming, are we, third wheel? Lame or not, it has nothing to do with you. They’re about to meet the parents and you’re still here throwing a tantrum?] [SOPHIA AND ETHAN FOREVER! HOPE THE HATERS CHOKE!] I replied to the top comment: [I won’t choke, thanks. After all, whether he can marry her or not is still up to me.] Moments later, a new hashtag was born: #LiamKnightHasLostHisMind 8 I called my parents immediately. When they heard the name “Ethan Cole,” both of them, who were supposed to be on a relaxing vacation, said in unison, “Absolutely not.” I sighed. “I know, but you know how stubborn Sophia is. Sometimes you have to let someone hit rock bottom before they learn. You two should probably come back soon.” I had just pulled up to my house when I saw him. Ethan Cole, standing right by my front gate. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “That’s right, everyone. I’m about to meet the parents today. I came a little early to give her a surprise. What do you all think of my outfit?” The comments were flying. [You look so handsome! If I were the mother-in-law, I’d tell you two to get married on the spot!] The next second, I smacked the phone out of his hand. It clattered onto the pavement. “No filming is allowed on this property. Didn’t Sophia tell you that?” [WTF! That psycho is here too!] [If I remember correctly, the security in this gated community is insane. How did a random trespasser like him even get in?] Ethan stared at me, then his brow furrowed. “Liam, I know you’re upset that Sophia and I are together, but this isn’t your house. Even if you follow us here, you can’t stop her from loving me. You should just leave. I can pretend I never saw you.” The live comments scrolled furiously. [My baby is so kind, still giving this asshole a chance.] [Ethan deserves the best things in the world~] I let out a cold laugh. “Why would I leave? Why would I have to leave my own house?” 9 [Is this guy delusional? You can’t just buy a house in this neighborhood; you need serious connections. Amelia Lane had to wait a year to get a property here. How could a washed-up actor possibly afford a place?] [He’s a fantasist. Didn’t the news already say he’s gone crazy? Of course he’d imagine he’s with Sophia and living in her house.] [I feel so bad for Ethan, having to deal with this lunatic.] My voice was ice. “I have a collection of antique paintings in that house. They’re private, and I don’t want them broadcast to the world. If you want to come inside, you’ll turn off the live stream.” “What an arrogant thing to say. Since when do you get to decide if someone can film inside their own home?” A familiar voice. I turned in surprise. Amelia Lane was getting out of a brand-new Ferrari, moving to stand protectively in front of Ethan. The live chat went insane. [OMG AMELIA IS HERE!! SHE’S HERE TO BACK ETHAN UP!!] [God, she’s gorgeous. How can someone look that good in casual clothes?] “Mr. Knight,” Amelia said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I have been very patient with you. Either you apologize to Ethan right now and leave, or I’m calling security.” A faint, contemptuous smirk flickered across Ethan’s lips before vanishing. He tugged on Amelia’s arm. “It’s okay, Amelia. Liam was in the business too, it wouldn’t look good to call security on him. I forgive him.” [BABY NO, DON’T BE SO NICE TO HIM!] A look of deep sympathy filled Amelia’s eyes. She shook her head. “He bullied you. I’m not letting it go.” [Just kill me now and let it be a wedding gift for you two!] [What do I do? I ship Ethan and Sophia, but I also ship Ethan and Amelia!] [Ahem, why choose…] … “Oh, security definitely needs to be called,” I said, pointing a finger at Amelia. “But you’re the one who’s going to be escorted out.” Amelia blinked. Then she laughed out loud. The live chat laughed with her. [Does this guy really think he lives here? Our queen LITERALLY owns property in this neighborhood!] “Mr. Knight, do I need to remind you? I am a resident here. You are not.” “Let’s put aside whether I am or not,” I said calmly. “Because I’ve just decided to revoke your ownership of that property.” “What did you say?” Amelia looked as if she’d misheard me. I crossed my arms. “Who do you think pulled the strings that allowed you to buy a house here in the first place?” Amelia stared, then her laughter grew louder. She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hello, security? I’m at number 88. There’s an intruder on the premises. Can you please do a better job with your patrols? You shouldn’t be letting lunatics wander in here.” “Hey? Liam? What are you all doing standing out here?” A Rolls-Royce had pulled up to the gate. Sophia got out, looking confused. In that instant, Amelia’s pupils constricted. “What did you just call him?”

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The year I was paralyzed, my husband cleaned out our bank accounts and ran. Before he left, he asked our son and daughter who they wanted to go with. Ryan, my son, chose him without a moment’s hesitation. My daughter, Emily, chose to stay and take care of me. I was paralyzed for twelve years. Emily took care of me for twelve years. Even after she got married, she kept me with her. To pay for my medical bills, she worked three jobs a day, collapsing from exhaustion more than once. Her husband, Mark, couldn’t take it anymore. “If you keep taking care of that cripple mother of yours, we’re getting a divorce!” Emily divorced him without a second thought. Her devotion went viral, and she was hailed online as “America’s Most Devoted Daughter.” Everyone envied me for having a daughter like her. Until the old family property was bought out by a developer, and I received an eight-million-dollar check. But I transferred every last cent to Ryan, the son who had gone with his father. The internet erupted, calling me a monster, a misogynist who favored her son. A journalist found me. “You’ve been paralyzed for twelve years. Your son never visited you once, while your daughter stood by you, took on mountains of debt for you. Why wouldn’t you leave her a single penny?” I looked at the reporter and said calmly, “Install hidden cameras in my home. Livestream everything, secretly, for three days. Then you’ll know why.” 1 As soon as the micro-cameras were installed, the secret livestream began. Emily came home from work, dark circles under her eyes, and walked wearily to my bedside to clean me up. Seeing the mess I’d made, there wasn’t a trace of disgust in her eyes, only heartache and guilt. “Mom, did you have an upset stomach last night?” She gently brushed the stray, graying hairs from my forehead, blaming herself. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so exhausted from work lately, I slept too heavily. I forgot to get up in the middle of the night to make sure you were covered. You must have been miserable all night…” I watched her in silence. The live feed’s comment section, however, was exploding with emotion. “OMG, this daughter is an actual saint. She just got off work, sees this, and her first reaction is to blame herself.” “Right? If I came home to that after a long day, I’d lose my mind.” “No wonder they call her the most devoted daughter. I’m literally crying right now.” Emily, oblivious to the cameras, tried to shift my weight, wanting to get me into the bathroom for a bath. But she was too tired. She strained with all her might but couldn’t manage to lift me from the bed. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Emily opened it to find Ryan standing there. Her eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing here?” Ryan slouched in, all swagger. “Mom gave me eight million bucks. Dad said I should crash here for a few days, you know, for appearances. Stop the neighbors from talking.” He squeezed past her into the apartment. Emily was too drained to argue. “Fine. Then make yourself useful. Help me get Mom into the bathroom. I need to give her a bath.” Ryan glanced over, his face twisting in disgust. “Gross. It smells like a hospital in here. I’m not touching her.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “Ryan, Mom just gave you all eight million dollars from the buyout. You can’t even be bothered to help lift her?” He scoffed. “She gave it to me. Her choice. Don’t try to guilt-trip me.” Emily sighed. “I respect whatever Mom decides. She gave you all that money because she wants you to settle down, find a wife, and build a good life.” Her voice softened. “I just hope you don’t let her down. Don’t break her heart.” Ryan’s expression was pure contempt. “Emily, she’s a paralyzed old woman. Why do you waste so much time thinking about her feelings?” “Taking care of her is a waste of your life.” “Honestly, it would be better if she just died.” The comments section went into a frenzy. “WHAT?! What kind of son is this? Cursing his own mother to her face?” “And this is the kind of trash son the mother dotes on! Eight million dollars! Didn’t even blink, just handed it all to this monster!” “I don’t get it. Her daughter is drowning in debt for her, lost her marriage for her, and gets nothing. This isn’t just favoritism, it’s brain-dead!” “She ignores the daughter who is a total gem to spoil this inhuman piece of garbage. A preference for sons so toxic it’s no wonder she ended up paralyzed!” 2 In the end, Ryan didn’t help. It took Emily over an hour to get me cleaned up. She was drenched in sweat, but still, she carefully dressed me in fresh clothes and settled me into my wheelchair. “Mom, you must be hungry. I’ll go make you dinner.” She almost fainted as she stood up, the fatigue overwhelming her. But she just paused for a few seconds, steadied herself, and pushed on into the kitchen. A short while later, she emerged with a beautiful meal: pan-seared fish, a slow-braised beef, sautéed greens, and a steaming pot of chicken soup. Emily placed the food in front of me, then ladled a spoonful of soup, blew on it carefully to cool it, and brought it to my lips. “Mom, I went to a farm out in the country to get a fresh chicken for this soup. It was always your favorite. Here, try some.” I turned my head away. “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice cold. Her eyes filled with worry. “Mom, your stomach is already upset. If you don’t eat something, you’ll get weaker.” I looked at her, my tone just as detached. “I don’t have an appetite.” Then, my gaze shifted to Ryan, who was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. My voice softened. “Ryan, honey. Mom wants that piece of cake on the coffee table.” He didn’t even look up. “I bought that for myself. If you want some, wheel yourself down to the store and buy your own.” Emily shot her brother a glare, then turned back to me, her voice gentle. “Mom, just eat your dinner first. After you eat, I’ll go out and buy you a cake, okay?” I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to even look at the food she’d made. The comment section was a battlefield. “Is this old woman insane? She won’t eat the incredible meal her daughter made but wants the cake her son won’t even give her?” “I thought she was just biased, but this is next-level sick. The way he treats her, and she’s still fawning over him?” “I feel so bad for her daughter. All that work for nothing. She cooks this whole feast and her mom won’t even glance at it.” “This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I realize the mother is the real monster here.” 3 The first day of the livestream ended. The feed was a waterfall of insults directed at me. The next day, Emily got home a little earlier than usual. She was carrying a small, elegant box from a bakery. Inside was a strawberry shortcake. “Mom, you wanted cake yesterday, remember? I stopped on my way home to get this for you. Your favorite, strawberry. Please, have a piece.” She held the cake out to me, her eyes shining with hopeful anticipation. I glanced at it, my voice flat. “I don’t want it anymore.” A shadow of disappointment and pain crossed her face, but she forced a smile. “Okay. Well, what would you like to eat? I can make you anything.” I gave her a cold look. “I don’t want anything you make.” With that, I maneuvered my wheelchair, intending to get some air on the balcony. As I came out of the bedroom, I ran right into Ryan, who was walking with his head down, engrossed in a game on his phone. The phone clattered to the floor. He exploded. “Damn it! That was a critical team fight! You made me get killed! It was a promotion match!” He snatched the phone off the floor and, in a fit of rage, kicked my wheelchair. Hard. The chair lurched violently, tipping to one side. “Mom!” Emily screamed and threw herself forward, using her body to shield me and stop the chair from toppling completely. The metal frame scraped her arm, opening a gash deep enough to see bone. Blood gushed out. But she ignored the pain. After steadying me, she turned on her brother, her voice shaking with fury. “Ryan, you could have seriously hurt Mom!” He shot me a dirty look. “She’s a paralytic. It’s not like she can feel pain. What are you getting so worked up about?” “This is such crap. Another ranked match lost,” he muttered, storming into his room to resume his game. Emily, still shaken, checked me over from head to toe. Once she was sure I was unharmed, she finally tended to her own injury, then began inspecting the wheelchair he had kicked. She found a loose latch. Immediately, she got out a toolbox and spent the rest of the night carefully tightening bolts and reinforcing the frame. In the livestream chat, the fury was relentless. “I’m sobbing. Where do you find a daughter like this? Her arm is sliced open, and all she can think about is her mother’s safety.” “And for what? A mother who is blind and heartless. What a waste.” “Seriously, is this woman’s heart made of stone? After everything her daughter does for her, she treats her with such coldness?!” “You know what they say, pitiful people have a reason to be hated. This mother’s favoritism is so off the charts, she deserves to be paralyzed!” “This is suffocating to watch. Emily, please, just leave! This mother and brother aren’t worth it!” The stream was a torrent of condemnation. Even the journalist called me. “Is this what you wanted? This three-day secret livestream? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” he demanded. “Your daughter has done everything for you. You’re just setting yourself up to be hated.” I glanced at Emily in the living room, silently cleaning and bandaging her own wound. “There’s one day left,” I said quietly. “Then you’ll all understand everything.” 4 The morning of the third day, Emily came into my room as usual as soon as she woke up. “Mom, how are you feeling today? Is your appetite any better?” she asked softly, her hands expertly checking my circulation. I didn’t answer, just gave a brief, flat glance at her bandaged arm. Blood was still seeping through the gauze. When I remained silent, she began her routine, massaging my limbs and moving my joints to prevent muscle atrophy. Her touch was gentle, as if she were handling a priceless treasure. “Look, Mom. The weather is so beautiful today.” She gestured toward the window, trying to fill the silence. “After we eat, I’ll take you outside for a walk. The doctor said getting fresh air is good for you.” My reply was the same cold wall. “I don’t want to.” Her hand paused for a fraction of a second. She said nothing more. After the massage, she brought a basin of warm water and carefully washed my face and hands before going to make breakfast. The comments in the live feed kept scrolling. “Same dead-eyed look from the old lady today. It makes me sick.” “Her daughter’s arm is seriously injured, and she still has to serve her. Not even a single word of concern?” “Truly disgusting. Some people don’t deserve the kindness they get.” Emily didn’t go to work that day. She said she wanted to spend the day with me. After finishing all the morning chores, she wheeled me out onto the balcony to sit in the sun. She brushed my hair, clipped my nails, and cleaned my ears. She tended to every part of me until I was spotless. When she was done, she pulled up a small stool and sat beside me, taking my thin, frail hand in hers. She began to speak in a low voice. “Mom, do you remember? When I was little, you used to bring me out on this balcony to sit in the sun.” “You loved to braid my hair out here and tell me stories.” “You told me that your greatest wish was just to see me happy.” As she spoke, her eyes grew misty. Just then, her phone rang. But she didn’t answer it. She looked at me, a deep, meaningful look, and declined the call. Then she turned back, a small smile on her face. “Mom,” she said softly. “It’s about time.” I returned her smile, a faint one of my own. The moment had finally arrived. Emily stood up, gave me one last, inscrutable look, and then did something that stunned every single person watching the livestream.

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My little sister was a ghost in the machine of Hollywood. A nobody, an actress so far down the D-list she barely cast a shadow. She was the kind of sweet, timid soul who’d get steamrolled in the industry and wouldn’t dare squeak in protest. Which is why I was currently sitting in a car with her, on our way to film a reality show. Someone had to have her back. On the show, I took on everyone and everything. I fought with the cast, the crew, the network executives. I got the live feed cut—twice—and was personally responsible for half the guests ending up in jail. The internet’s reaction? “Ainsley, we’re seriously worried you’re going to get yourself killed.” A joke. As if the heiress to the Stratton Enterprises fortune had anything to fear. The worst-case scenario? I’d have to go home and finally run the damn company. 1 Are you insane? Film a show with you? In your dreams. Sophie, you’re getting treated worse than dirt in this industry, and you want to drag me down with you? Here’s some advice: instead of plastering on a fake smile for the cameras all day, you should be figuring out how to milk that rich old man of yours for every cent. The crumbs that fall from his table could set you up for life. The words on the phone screen burned my eyes. “Ainsley.” Sophie’s voice was a whisper. She gently touched my hand, the one holding the phone. I typed back a single, eloquent word—Fuck off—then blocked and deleted the contact listed as “Cousin.” As I went to hand the phone back to Sophie, my thumb slipped, accidentally opening her social media DMs. The screen was still on. You’re such a clout-chaser. Wearing the same brand as my girl? You should try jumping off a building instead. It’d be more original. Hey, Sophie, you little bitch. Did you like the dead rat we sent? Next time you ‘accidentally’ fall into a male celebrity, we’ll make sure your whole family gets what’s coming to them. Heard you’re bringing your sister on the show. What kind of trash is the sister of a manipulative slut going to be? Can you two just disappear already and stop making us all sick? I actually laughed at that last one. They had no idea. I was the furthest thing from “good” they could possibly imagine. When I was a kid, I burned down my family’s winery playing with matches. In school, when bullies tried to shake me down for protection money, I put them all in the hospital. As an adult, I’d survived close encounters with crocodiles and pythons in the Amazon. When my family tried to force me into the corporate world by cutting off my credit cards, I sold three of my cars, invested the money in the stock market, and never touched a dime of their money again. My sister, Sophie, was the daughter of my dad’s best friend from the army. After they passed, we took her in. Before she came to us at fifteen, she’d been bounced around between relatives who treated her like a burden. It made her the polar opposite of me. I was the tornado that tore through the house, leaving chaos in my wake. She was the quiet, straight-A student who never caused a lick of trouble. But I never knew. I never knew that the girl who always told me she was “doing great” and begged me to be careful on my adventures was being tormented by our own family and harassed into oblivion by strangers online. While I was reeling, the “rich old man” my cousin had referred to was in the middle of one of his classic lectures. “You don’t come home for years, running off on one reckless trip after another. You almost got yourself killed! Look at your Uncle Mark’s son. So what if he lost a fortune on his startup? At least he’s doing something serious with his life! When are you going to stop giving me gray hairs?” The rage that had been simmering inside me boiled over. “He lost a fortune, I made back three. I guess the neighbor’s kid is always better, right? It’s fine if you don’t understand me, but do you have any idea what Sophie has been…” “Ainsley!” Sophie, who had been standing by like a nervous sparrow, grabbed my arm. Her eyes were wide, a mix of panic and pleading. My heart softened instantly. The words on the tip of my tongue changed course. “…do you have any idea that Sophie invited me to be on a reality show with her?” Sophie’s jaw dropped. ! My father stared. ? I was done standing by. I was about to find out which was stronger: this toxic little world she was trapped in, or my will to burn it all to the ground. My decision was final. The only thing Sophie begged me to do was keep our connection to Stratton Enterprises a secret, which suited me just fine. On the day of the shoot, the production team told us to arrange our own transportation. Our estate was in a remote area where Ubers were scarce. Sophie refused to be seen in any of the limited-edition sports cars lining our garage. In the end, we borrowed the beat-up Honda Civic our housekeeper, Maria, used for grocery runs. The show was called Getaway, a live-streamed reality series where celebrities invited a non-famous friend or family member to join them. Each episode lasted two days. A team captain was chosen for the first day to plan the entire itinerary. At the end of the episode, online viewers would vote, and the team with the lowest popularity would be eliminated. As the celebrity, Sophie was designated the first captain. The moment our sad little Civic pulled up to the entrance of the massive Westwood Park, a swarm of crew members surrounded us, and the livestream began. During the drive, Sophie had been anxiously reviewing the day’s schedule for the six cast members, muttering about restaurant reservations, landmark check-ins, and driving directions. Distracted, she didn’t see the low concrete post next to our parking spot. The moment she opened her door, it scraped against the post with a sickening screech, leaving a deep gash in the paint. “Oh, no.” Her face crumpled. “Maria is going to kill me.” Maria had been with our family for decades; she was more of a grandmother to us than a housekeeper. A papercut was enough to earn a lecture. Careless driving was a capital offense in her book. I shrugged, a silent gesture of ‘you’re on your own.’ The live chat, of course, interpreted it differently. [LOL, so she’s admitting they borrowed that piece of junk?] [Wait, are you serious? An actress has to borrow a car to get to a shoot, scratches it, and isn’t even going to fix it? Just gonna hand it back like that?] [Come on, guys, it’s all for show. These people make more in a day than I do in a year. This is just a pathetic stunt for attention. Look how naturally her sister is playing along. Another wannabe actress.] I glanced at the comments and looked away. Arguing with the legion of morons online would only make Sophie’s job harder. We were told the other two pairs of guests were already somewhere inside the park, and it was our job to find them. After walking for a bit, I draped my arm over Sophie’s shoulder, leaning on her slightly. My body was still healing from my last… excursion. She looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Ainsley, are you tired?” I pinched her cheek. “Not a chance. I could probably carry you for a half-mile run right now.” A series of excited shrieks erupted behind us. I turned to see a small group of teenage girls trailing us, just behind the camera crew. “Hey,” I said with a wave. “Are you guys here for my sister?” They all shook their heads in unison. Undeterred, I pushed Sophie forward. “Let me introduce you. This is Sophie Stratton. A phenomenal actress. She’s got the talent, the integrity, and the grace. A future superstar. Get on board now, you won’t regret it.” Sophie covered her face with her hands and dragged me away. “Tch.” The sound, sharp with disdain, cut through the air. On a bench to our right sat a woman, her expression sour as she watched us. The sound had clearly come from her. I closed the distance in two strides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you run it by me again?” Sophie rushed over and squeezed my hand. “Ainsley, she’s one of the other guests.” The man sitting beside the woman took her hand and stood up, carefully smoothing her dress before turning to the camera. “Hi, everyone. I’m Ryan, and this is my girlfriend, Morgan.” [OMG! OMG! It’s my favorite couple from ‘Love Unlocked’! I can’t believe it! The chemistry is still off the charts! My shipper heart can’t take it!] [Who’s that aggressive woman talking to Morgan? She looks like she’s about to start a fight. So trashy. Morgan is from a super-rich family and she’s way more humble than that.] [Sophie Stratton, you have some nerve. You relentlessly harassed Ryan on ‘The Actor’s Crucible’ until he was forced to quit. How dare you show your face in front of him again?] [Wait, what? She’s not even that pretty. How did she have the audacity to go after Ryan? Like sister, like slut, I guess. Both are disgusting.] [What was the network thinking? Can’t they vet their guests? This is so cringey!] After his introduction, Ryan looked at my sister. “Long time no see,” he said, his tone flat. Sophie gave a tight, nervous nod. Morgan clung to his arm, a sly smile playing on her lips. “She even wore a matching outfit for you, Ryan. I guess she’s still carrying a torch for you.” Sophie was wearing a simple white blouse and a black skirt. Ryan was also in a white shirt, paired with black trousers. It was the most basic color combination imaginable. I scanned the park around us. A grin spread across my face. “Well, in that case, it looks like half the people in this park are carrying a torch for your boyfriend, from the five-year-olds over there to the eighty-year-old grandpas by the fountain.” “Morgan didn’t mean anything by it,” Ryan said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder possessively. “She’s a fashion designer with her own independent label, so she’s just very sensitive to these things.” It was a statement meant to sound like a defense, but it reeked of a brag. Morgan’s gaze was pure contempt. “You’re so protective of your sister. But do you have any idea what she did? She chased my boyfriend so relentlessly on that show that he had to drop out, costing him the lead role in Declan Reid’s new film.” [What is this Ainsley person’s problem? Does she have any clue what a snake her sister is?] [He’s defending her! She’s defending him! This is true love! Real couples are the best!] [If he hadn’t been forced to quit, Ryan would have been named Best Newcomer that year for sure. Sophie, how are you ever going to repay him for that?!] [An unknown with no formal training won the whole thing? It was definitely rigged.] [If you have a powerful enough sugar daddy, you can get anything you want. Best Newcomer? Hell, you could buy yourself an Oscar.] The Actor’s Crucible was a performance competition show. I’d only seen the final episode, which I watched with my parents. Sophie had won the championship with four consecutive A-grade performances. The prize for the winner and runner-up was a custom-written high school movie directed by the legendary Declan Reid. I had no idea this utterly forgettable guy, Ryan, had even been on the show, let alone had some kind of history with my sister. Morgan scoffed. “Playing on your phone during a live broadcast? Sophie, didn’t you teach your sister any manners?” I glanced at the crew members, who were pointedly doing nothing. “The network hasn’t said a word. Why are you so worked up? Spend less time watching historical dramas.” Her eyes widened. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sophie ducked her head, trying to hide a smile. It meant exactly what she thought it meant. The emperor isn’t worried, but the eunuchs are losing their minds. I’d just spent the last two minutes on my phone, watching clips of Ryan from that show three years ago. He was even uglier then, with acting skills that were an absolute train wreck. There was one clip where he got a papercut and cried like he’d been shot. This guy? I shot a sideways glance at Sophie. If she’d genuinely ever had a crush on him, I was going to ascend to a higher plane of existence out of sheer disbelief. She instantly understood my look and shook her head frantically. “We barely even spoke. All those videos were heavily edited.” I relaxed. Ryan put on his best victim face. “It’s all in the past. We were all young…” I cut him off. “I just took a look at your highlight reel. You were ranked last in every evaluation. The mentors criticized you in every single class. My sister, on the other hand, went from a D-rank in the beginning to a perfect A-rank by the finale. When you quit, you gave an interview where you implied it was because she kept confessing her love to you, distracting you and dragging you down. I’m just curious—how exactly does someone at the bottom of the ladder get their leg pulled by someone at the top?” “And another thing,” I continued, not letting him breathe. “Let’s get specific. When and where did my sister confess her love to you? Tell us all the details. Oh, and by the way, that show had cameras everywhere, even in the bedrooms. So I assume this didn’t happen in the bathroom, right?” Ryan’s face turned an ugly shade of red. He stammered, unable to produce a single concrete detail. Of course he couldn’t. His entire strategy was to make vague, suggestive claims and let the online mob fill in the blanks. “It never happened at all, did it?” “Everyone knows how reality TV editing works. Slap on some slow-motion and a romantic BGM, and you could make it look like my sister was giving heart eyes to a golden retriever. You played the victim card, quit the show, and milked the sympathy for all it was worth. It got you the lead in two cheap web series. So how exactly did my sister ‘ruin’ your career? Have you ever watched yourself act? You even narrate the stage directions. You’re always talking about how you’d die for your art. Let’s see how you’ve been ‘honing your craft.’” I held up my phone, reading from his online bio. “Ah, here we are. Contestant on a matchmaking show. ‘Relationship expert’ on a panel. The resident villain on a celebrity house-share show. Got into a physical fight with a veteran actor. A regular cast member on three consecutive seasons of a dating show…” I couldn’t help but applaud. “They say a diamond shines from one place. You, my friend, are a shard of glass, reflecting light from everywhere.” Ryan was speechless. Morgan jumped to his defense. “Ryan is just trying to seize every opportunity to get noticed! Hard work pays off, and I know a visionary director will discover him soon enough!” I put my phone away. “If you really love acting, spend less time crafting a personality in front of the cameras and more time honing your skills behind them. If no one’s sending you scripts, then send out your resume. Audition. If you can’t get a lead role, fight for a supporting one. Stop blaming the world for your problems. If you want a blockbuster script, first ask yourself if you’re good enough to deserve it.” I remembered what Ryan had called her: a “fashion designer.” I gave her dress a deliberate, slow scan, then looked away after three seconds. It looked like a pink burlap sack adorned with a cheap lace trim. My eyes burned. My tone shifted. “Let me guess, you designed this yourself?” She tossed her head back, smug. “Of course. I design everything I wear. It’s all one-of-a-kind.” “If you like it so much, I can give you a few pieces,” she added with a smirk, her eyes raking over my outfit. “That generic jumpsuit and those common combat boots… what did that cost you, under a hundred dollars? You can’t even buy a t-shirt from my brand for that price.” “Oh, right, I don’t even know what you do for a living,” she continued, her voice dripping with condescension. “Does your monthly salary even cover one of my outfits? Don’t tell me you’re still mooching off your actress sister at your age.” A slow smile spread across my face. “Money has never been something I’ve had to worry about.” “But I am curious about your brand’s design philosophy. Is it… recycled waste? I mean, it’s great that you’re environmentally conscious, but I wouldn’t recommend continuing. I happened to look up your online store just now. Your bestseller has two sales, and most items have zero. I guess that’s one way to ensure everything is ‘one-of-a-kind’—by selling it to yourself. Your factory workers must get a lot of vacation time.” The live chat exploded. [I’m a 27-year-old entrepreneur in New York. I own a penthouse on Park Avenue and drive a Porsche and a Ferrari. I’m not saying this to brag, just to show you that with enough effort, I can also make up any bullshit I want.] [This sister is hilarious. She knows nothing about fashion and she’s trying to lecture Morgan on design.] [Morgan’s brand ‘Cherish’ has a boutique in Paris. She could just be a lazy trust-fund baby, but she’s talented and hardworking. Who does this Ainsley person think she is?] [Can the producers please shut these two up? I’m so sick of seeing their faces.] [Gotta be honest, though… Morgan’s dress is really ugly.] The crew finally stirred. The cameraman took two steps closer, making sure not to miss a single word. Sophie, desperate to stop me from getting more hate online, tried to pull me away. “Ainsley, let’s go find the other guests.” But Morgan wasn’t done. She grabbed my arm. “You want to talk design? Fine. I’m going to make you eat your words.” “Do you know who Solange Renaud is?” she declared. “She’s the youngest-ever chief designer for a major international luxury brand. She’s collaborating with my label at the end of the year. We’re co-designing a couture collection for the spring season. Don’t think you can just throw around a few buzzwords and act like you know anything. You look down on my brand because you could never afford it!” She shouldn’t have done that. She had just walked directly into my line of fire. I patted Sophie’s hand to calm her down. “Well, what a coincidence,” I said, drawing out the words. “I happen to know her.” “Impossible!” Morgan blurted out. “She’s never even been to the United States.” “I never said I met her here. In fact… I saved her life once.” It had been in North America, deep in a remote forest. She’d been recklessly searching for inspiration, got herself into trouble, and I was the one who got injured pulling her out of it. We’d been through a life-or-death situation together and had kept in touch ever since. Morgan burst out laughing. “Wow, you can just say anything, can’t you? Are you just telling us your dreams now? Hahahaha!” Sophie stepped in front of me, like a mother hen protecting her chick. “My sister doesn’t lie.” That only made Morgan and Ryan laugh harder. I pulled out my phone and dialed an international number. Solange kept odd hours; time zones were never an issue. The camera zoomed in, trying to get a shot of my screen, but the operator managed to keep it just out of frame to protect my privacy. The live chat was a blur of text. [No way. Solange Renaud is my idol. If Ainsley really knows her, I’ll eat my own shoes.] [I’m with you. She’s totally bluffing.] [LOL, I could call any of my friends with a French accent and claim it’s Solange. It’s not like we can see her face.] [I am Napoleon Bonaparte. Venmo me $50 and I will make you a general in my new army.] I rested my chin on Sophie’s head, my eyes on the speakerphone. Ring… Ring… After the third ring, the call was disconnected. [AHAHAHAHAHA, THE ACT IS OVER! Did the actor she hired decide the pay wasn’t good enough?] [That backfired faster than a firecracker in a hurricane.] [If the sister is like this, the other one can’t be any better. I’m starting to believe Ryan’s story now.] A second later, a video call notification popped up on my screen. A woman with warm brown hair and light eyes appeared. “Ainsley! I have wonderful news! I’m coming to America in mid-December!” The cameraman respectfully avoided my screen, but Solange’s voice, speaking in fluent, elegant French, filled the livestream. Her identity was undeniable. [AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH SOLANGE! It’s really her! I’m watching this live! That’s like, one degree of separation from greatness!] [HOLY SHIT. Ainsley wasn’t lying. Who the hell is she? I can’t find a single thing about her online. No school, no job, nothing.] [French major here, translating! Solange is coming to the US in December! So what Morgan said was true!] [OMG Morgan is so amazing! A true female icon!] [My deepest apologies, I cannot, in fact, eat my own shoes. I retract my previous statement.] I switched to French and explained I was in the middle of filming a show. She didn’t care at all. In fact, she insisted I point the camera at her so she could say hello to everyone. “Are you coming to collaborate with a brand called ‘Cherish’?” I asked. The face on my screen looked utterly baffled. She switched to heavily accented English. “Cherish? Collaborate? No, I am coming for a study trip. Remember the ancient legends you told me about, from the deep woods? I was so fascinated. I want to learn more about American folklore.” The triumphant smile on Morgan’s face froze, then shattered. She made a desperate lunge for my phone, trying to talk to Solange herself. The director’s voice finally cut in. “Could everyone please proceed to find the last two guests?” As we walked away, Sophie was practically beaming, shooting me looks of pure adoration. Morgan had crumpled into Ryan’s arms, sobbing. As a parting gift, I called over my shoulder, “Oh, by the way! Solange once told me that people have used her name to scam investors before. That’s why she has a strict policy against collaborating with small, independent brands.” Morgan’s sobs grew louder. The final pair of guests were cousins. The sister, Faye, was a stand-up comedian who, off-stage, seemed to have crippling social anxiety. Her brother, Finn, was a charismatic live-stream shopping host. He was all charm, calling everyone “bro” and “sis,” but something about him rubbed me the wrong way from the moment I saw him. With all six of us assembled, we boarded the production van and headed to the restaurant Sophie had booked. Morgan, who had been silent for the whole ride, decided it was time for an encore performance. She poked at the dishes on the table with her chopsticks. “This meat is so greasy. And this fish smells so strong. How is anyone supposed to eat this?” Ryan dutifully peeled a shrimp for her. “I don’t know who chose this place. It’s all stuff we don’t like.” Finn chimed in. “Honestly, that place next door is way more famous. Their food is incredible. This place is pretty mediocre.” Sophie could handle the criticism from Morgan and Ryan, but with Finn piling on, she started to believe she’d genuinely messed up. She looked mortified. She stood up, her head bowed in shame. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t I go out and get you all something you’d prefer to eat? This was my fault.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Sit down. And eat your food.” “But, Ainsley…” “Sit down,” I repeated. She obeyed. I placed a piece of braised pork on her plate. “The choice of restaurant, the dishes on this table—Sophie consulted every single one of you beforehand. She asked for your opinions and told you she was happy to change anything if you weren’t satisfied. Every single one of you said nothing, or said ‘whatever, it’s fine.’ “So, here are your options: either find another place to eat on your own, or shut up and eat what’s in front of you. You’re all adults. No one is here to coddle you.” “My sister is the captain today. You can offer suggestions, but don’t look for trouble. We’re filming a show, not providing you with a personal punching bag.” [Is Ainsley a mob boss? Acting like she’s some big shot protecting her underling. She thinks she looks so cool, but it’s just pathetic.] [Who’s using her sister as a punching bag? She’s the one who screwed up the arrangements. Don’t blame people for telling the truth.] [Everyone vote for the other two teams! If we can get their popularity low enough, we won’t have to see these two annoying bitches next episode!] “In fact,” I said, my eyes fixed on Morgan, “let’s settle this now. Does anyone have any objections to the afternoon’s itinerary? The scenic spots, the hiking trail? Speak now.” She avoided my gaze, searching for an ally. Her eyes landed on Faye, who had been silently eating this whole time. “Faye, you don’t look like the athletic type. Isn’t that a lot of walking this afternoon? And a mountain hike? Do you think you can handle it?” Without looking up, Faye replied, “Yes.” Morgan faltered, then tried again. “It’s okay, you know. If you don’t want to go, just say so. I can go back to the villa with you to rest.” Faye finally lifted her head, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses up her nose. “I want to go. I’m actually interested in all the places the captain planned.” I leaned back in my chair, watching Morgan with amusement. As I shifted, my foot bumped into someone. Ryan, sitting across from me, didn’t react. But Morgan slammed her hand on the table, glaring daggers at my sister. “Sophie, have you no shame? In public, with all these cameras on you, seducing my boyfriend right under the table!” Her voice was so loud that the entire restaurant turned to stare at us.

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