Author: Momo Chan

My name is Angela. I’m the wife of Damian Sterling, the CEO of the Sterling Corporation, and the mother of his two sons. You’d think that having two sons would mean I could walk on air in this high-society world. In circles like these, producing a male heir is the ultimate currency. But I know the truth. My two precious boys… they aren’t exactly normal. They’re human by day, but at night, they turn into cats. So, I’ve learned to keep my head down, to shrink into the background and make myself as small as possible. I live every day in a state of quiet terror, terrified that Damian will discover I’ve cheated on him. The problem is, my supposed rival for his affections is a cat—and where the hell am I supposed to find the other man in that equation? 1 There’s a legend that runs through the Sterling family: because their ancestors were so ruthless, their hands so stained with the blood of their rivals, they were cursed with difficulty in conceiving. For generations, there has only ever been a single heir. So when it came to choosing a wife, it wasn’t just about beauty or family connections. The ability to bear sons was the ultimate trump card. And I, Angela, just so happened to have a mother who was a master at it. After my mom married my dad, she popped them out one after another. Other families might have two kids in three years; my mom had triplets in one go, cranking out six boys in just three years. Six of them. All boys. Can you believe the nerve? Even though we were constantly scraping by with so many mouths to feed, my mom walked with her chin held high, her voice booming with pride. In a world that worshipped sons, who could compete with her fertile womb? Who could dare challenge her track record? Word of her legendary fertility spread, and as her only daughter, I became the town’s most sought-after prize. From the day I turned eighteen, our doorstep was worn thin by suitors. In the end, it was the Sterling family’s offer that won. And just like that, I was married off. My life’s new purpose: to carry on the family line. For a country girl suddenly thrust into the gilded cage of high society, the pressure was suffocating. But for a two-million-dollar marriage settlement, I swallowed my fears. I waved a tearful goodbye to my parents and six older brothers and climbed into the waiting limousine. Of course, those weren’t tears of sorrow for my departure. They were tears of pain from chipping their teeth on gold. My parents and brothers, bless their country-bumpkin hearts, had never seen real gold before. Their first instinct was to bite it. Every single one of them ended up with a broken tooth. Watching the scene unfold, I wanted to scream, “Could you at least try to save me some face?” That was one reason I left. The other was simpler: you don’t argue with a force of nature. Just try saying no to a billionaire family and see what happens. When I first arrived at the Sterling estate, I was left alone for a month to learn etiquette. The second month, I was sent to Damian Sterling’s bed. My first impression of my benefactor? Mr. Sterling was young, formidable in bed, and visited my room with dutiful frequency. As expected, a month later, I was pregnant. A wave of relief washed over me as the doctor confirmed the news. I hadn’t failed my family. I hadn’t tarnished our reputation as premier son-producers. Ten months later, as the woman carrying Damian Sterling’s first son, I was the focus of the entire family. After a full day and night of labor, a piercing cry announced my success. I had delivered the heir. Damian came to see the baby. He glanced into the swaddling clothes, his face a mask of indifference. “You’ve worked hard,” he said, then turned and left without another word. The Sterling matriarch, his mother, rushed in, her face etched with anxiety. She unwrapped the baby, inspecting every inch of him, before she too shook her head and walked out. Their reactions sent a spike of panic through me. Was there something wrong with the son I had worked so hard to deliver? I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain, and leaned over the bassinet to get a closer look at my newborn son. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Five fingers, five toes. I looked again. His lips were a perfect bow, his eyes bright and clear, his skin as smooth as porcelain. He was a beautiful baby. A cherub straight out of a Renaissance painting. Not only was there nothing wrong with him, any other family would have been delirious with joy to have such a perfect, healthy boy. I couldn’t understand it. Even if they didn’t praise me, shouldn’t they at least acknowledge my effort? Shouldn’t there be some kind of reward? They gave my family two million dollars just to marry me; now that I’d given them a living, breathing heir, there was nothing? Or maybe they were just stunned with happiness, their brains short-circuiting? Cradling my sweet-smelling little boy, I waited eagerly for my benefactor’s reward. As night fell, I sent the nanny off to have her dinner, wanting a moment alone with my son. But the reward never came. Instead, something happened that nearly scared me to death. The sweet, milky-smelling baby in my arms… dissolved, right before my eyes, into a tiny black kitten. It mewed softly, tumbling and rolling in the blankets on the bed. Oh, my God. My father. My six brothers—what was happening? Where was my son? My beautiful baby boy? Why was he a cat? If I hadn’t seen the transformation with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. I was certain I’d only ever been with Damian, that I hadn’t cheated. So how could my child be a… a hybrid? How was this even possible? I trembled as I watched over the tiny, furry creature all night, refusing to let anyone near the room. As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, I was sure my life was over. A thousand different ways to die flashed through my mind, but none of them seemed quite right. 2 “Waaah! Waaah!” A human sound from the bundle of fur in my arms? I looked down. The kitten was gone. In its place, nestled in the blankets, was my plump, perfect prince—my precious son. I called the nanny in to feed him while I watched, my heart pounding with suspicion. He ate, he slept, he gurgled and cried when he was hungry—he was a perfectly normal baby. I started to wonder if I’d suffered some kind of postpartum hallucination. My family had no history of… abnormalities. The day passed in a haze of doubt. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, my hybrid—no, my beloved son—transformed into a kitten again, right before my eyes. Cradling the mewing ball of fur, I cried silently. Son, please be quiet! If you keep meowing, they’ll kill us both! After that second transformation, the last of my hope withered and died. My God, my grandmother, my coat, my jacket—my brain felt like it had been scrambled into mush. I spent another sleepless night trying to figure out where this mutation could have come from, but I had no answers. For my own survival, and for the survival of my hybrid child, I learned to be invisible. I stopped going to the gardens. I stopped visiting the kitchens. I stayed by my son’s side, guarding our terrible secret. But then, when my son was six months old, I found out I was pregnant again. The matriarch sent nourishing soups. Her husband sent ginseng. Even the wives of other prominent families sent bolts of fine fabric. After six months of living like a ghost, I could finally hold my head high again. During that time, I’d observed that my hybrid son’s human form was stable during the day. So, I started venturing out again. I went to the gardens, I instructed the kitchen on menus. My pregnancy cravings and late-night hunger even prompted Damian to have a small, private kitchen built in my villa. I, Angela, was back in the game. The other society wives started visiting my villa for tea and gossip again. Soon, another ten months passed, and the day of delivery arrived. My first son’s little brother was born. I peeked at him nervously. He was human. Thank God. Tears of relief pricked my eyes. But Damian’s reaction was the same as before. A grim expression, and then he was gone. The matriarch sighed, shook her head, and left. Still, the birth of my second son earned me a promotion: I was no longer just the wife of the CEO, but the Lady of the house. I was ecstatic—a promotion meant better benefits. With one human child and one hybrid to raise, I needed every penny I could get. My joy, however, was short-lived. As the sun set, my second beautiful, chubby son transformed into a kitten right before my very eyes. He was identical to his hybrid brother, a creature of pure black fur, except for the very tips of his ears, which were white. How thoughtful. Was this so I could tell them apart? This time, I didn’t faint. I just sat there, my heart a block of ice, as two tiny kittens playfully wrestled on my bed. And so, once again, I retreated into the shadows. No more causing trouble. No more tea parties or gossip sessions. No more picking flowers, chasing butterflies, or ordering special meals from my private kitchen. I lived a quiet, peaceful life, raising my two hybrid children. My dedication paid off in an unexpected way. My eldest, once he turned a year old, only transformed into a cat during the midnight hour, between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. My younger son wasn’t there yet—he still transformed the moment the sun went down. I took care of their every need myself, terrified of letting the secret slip. Ironically, my tireless devotion to my sons earned me a reputation as a model mother, and even the matriarch rewarded me for it. Sometimes, I’d let myself dream. With two healthy sons, maybe I could one day fight for the position of head of the family. Then I’d hear the meows in the dead of night, and the fantasy would shatter. Forget it. I’d be lucky to keep my head. After the birth of my second son, Damian’s visits became less frequent. I didn’t mind. Unlike the other wives, I never tried to win his favor with homemade soups or pastries. In fact, I was the one woman in this entire social circle who genuinely wished for Damian to have more children with other women. The more heirs he had, the less attention he’d pay to mine. And the less attention he paid, the safer my two hybrids would be. The longer the three of us would get to live. God, just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. 3 Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, my eldest hybrid was five, and my younger one was three. By carefully cultivating the image of a fragile woman recovering from a lingering injury, I had managed to keep our villa quiet and isolated for years. It was as if I’d fallen out of favor. The good news was that my eldest could now maintain his human form almost perfectly, only changing during the full moon. My younger son was still a work in progress—he transformed every three days. To ensure their physical and mental well-being, I lived a life of constant deception. By day, we ate simple, bland meals. By night, we feasted on fish and meat. More accurately, I was practically living on bread and water during the day, stretching the food budget for a CEO’s wife and two young masters just to afford a few extra fish for my boys at night. Watching my two little cat-sons devour their meal, I would shed a silent, bitter tear for myself. My darling hybrids’ father, who are you? Where are you? On the outside, I was a doting mother. On the inside, a storm was raging. I was at my breaking point—my hybrids were now eating seven fish a night. Sob. The kitchen manager I’d bribed told me he couldn’t justify increasing our order any further. Over the years, I’d learned their personalities. My eldest was stoic and serious, always trying to act more mature than his years. He was thoughtful, obedient, and had a small appetite. He doted on his younger brother, respected his mother, and only ate two fish a night. My younger son, on the other hand, was a little terror and a bottomless pit. One day he was tearing up the matriarch’s prized orchids, the next he was scrapping with a society wife’s precious Persian cat. He was a constant source of anxiety. Thankfully, he only caused trouble in his cat form, or our secret would have been out long ago. Lying in bed, I reflected on the challenges of raising two hybrids. It hadn’t been easy. “Mom, Leo’s gone.” My eldest son’s grim face appeared at my door. “What—” The scream died in my throat as he shot me a stern look. “Mom, please wait quietly in his room. I’ll go find him.” “Be careful. Please, be careful.” “I will.” With that, he transformed into a sleek black cat and vaulted over the garden wall, disappearing into the night. “That little rascal,” I sighed, wringing my hands. “He never gives me a moment’s peace. Oh, I hope no one catches him. My baby boy…” I sat on a stool, my mind racing with terrible possibilities. Just as the moon reached its zenith and I was about to sneak out to search for them myself, my two hybrids returned. “Oh my god, what happened to you two?” My eldest’s black fur couldn’t hide the blood matting the corner of his mouth. But my younger son was in worse shape—all four of his legs were limp, completely useless. I quickly lifted the smaller cat from his brother’s back. As my fingers brushed against his soft, broken limbs, tears streamed down my face. “Mom, Leo is badly hurt,” my eldest said, shifting back into his human form. “His internal energy isn’t stable enough to hold his human shape.” “Where did you find him? Where did that little devil run off to?” I asked, my voice choked with panic as I dabbed at the blood on his lip. “Don’t worry, Mom. His injuries aren’t that serious. Our bodies can heal themselves. I found him in Dad’s study. We’ll have to wait until he wakes up to find out who hurt him. You should get some rest. I’ll take him back to our room to recover.” His calm, methodical demeanor managed to soothe my frayed nerves. “Okay, okay. Go quickly. Make sure you take good care of your brother. My poor little hybrid, you must have been in so much pain. Sob…” I called after them, the image of that small, limp body burned into my mind. My heart ached, and I couldn’t stop the tears. What kind of monster would be so cruel to a helpless kitten? Don’t let me find out who hurt my baby boy. I swear, I’ll have my eldest scratch their eyes out. 4 Worried sick about my sons, I only managed to doze off near dawn, slumped against the headboard. “Hurry, hurry…” “Find it…” “Check over here…” “You go that way…” The commotion outside the villa jolted me awake. Bang, bang, bang! Someone was pounding on the main gate. The cleaning lady rushed to open it. For years, I hadn’t even kept a personal maid, all to protect my sons’ secret. I rose, checked my reflection—I looked presentable enough—and pulled back the curtains to see what was happening. “My Lady,” the head of security said, bowing low as he led a team of guards into the courtyard. “Last night, a black cat broke into the master’s study and scratched him. We are under orders to find the creature. We ask for your cooperation.” His words sent a chill down my spine. My hybrid son had scratched Damian? Damian was the one who had hurt my sons? Even a tiger won’t eat its own cubs, but Damian… he had injured both of them in one night. My heart shattered. “My Lady, if you would please allow us, we will be thorough but careful not to damage any of your belongings,” the captain said, bowing again. “Captain, please, do as you must,” I murmured, still lost in a fog of grief over Damian’s cruelty. I sat in the garden pavilion, watching numbly as the guards finished searching the main house and moved towards the side wing where my sons slept. I felt like I was forgetting something important. My head throbbed from lack of sleep. I just couldn’t place it. “Young Master, please open the door. We’re here to conduct a search,” the captain announced, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he bowed toward the door. Wait. A black cat? My younger son was still unconscious. He couldn’t transform back into a human! If they burst in there now, it would all be over.

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For six years, I was secretly married to an Admiral’s daughter. Yet everyone at Port Sterling Naval Base saw me only as a pitiful doctor chasing a woman far beyond his reach. She never corrected them. Everything came to a head at a victory celebration. A voice laced with scorn cut through the crowd: “Dr. Cross, the Admiral’s daughter is engaged to a diplomat’s son. Stop dreaming.” Even Seraphina stood coldly nearby, champagne in hand. “Don’t waste your time on me,” she said. In my past life, that broke me. I exposed our marriage certificate, only for her to call it a childish prank. To protect David, she had me jailed for a week. Later, pirates ambushed my transport. Bleeding out, I sent a distress signal. She received it but chose the opera with David over saving me. I died knowing I was just a pawn. Now, reborn at that same moment, I met her indifferent gaze with a calm smile. “Very well. I wish you and Mr. Croft a happy life together. By the way, my transfer’s been approved. Farewell.” 1 For the first time, a crack appeared on Seraphina Vance’s ice-cold facade. Standing beside her, David Croft’s triumphant smirk froze on his lips. He shot a panicked glance at Seraphina. “Sera, what is he…?” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing. I turned and walked away. In my last life, I shoved our marriage certificate in their faces. The stunned silence was followed by Seraphina tearing the document to shreds, claiming I’d forged it. I came out of the brig seven days later with half my hair turned gray from the stress and despair. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to even present the evidence. There’s no point in fighting for someone who doesn’t give a damn about you. “Ethan!” Seraphina’s voice was sharp, chasing after me. I didn’t stop. The sound of her heels clicked rapidly on the polished floor, getting closer. A second later, her hand clamped down on my wrist. I stopped, not struggling, just turning my head to look at her. Her face was a mask of fury. “What is this? What new game are you playing? A transfer? Who authorized it?” It was the same tone she’d used in my past life as I, half-mad with grief and betrayal, grabbed her uniform and demanded to know why she’d left me to die. “Ethan, what kind of scene are you making now?” I pushed the memory away and used my free hand to pull a folded document from my satchel. “Commander Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “Read it carefully. It was approved directly by the National Military Medical Center. Your authority doesn’t extend that high.” Her pupils contracted. That transfer was a favor, cashed in. It was a debt owed to me by a four-star general whose granddaughter I’d saved. In my last life, I never asked for anything in return, but the general insisted he owed me a debt that could never truly be repaid. This time, I called it in early. Seraphina snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the text. Her expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and finally hardened into a dark glower. “Cancel it,” she commanded, her eyes locked on mine. “I forbid it.” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. I wrenched my wrist, now red from her grip, free and took a step closer. “And on what grounds do you forbid it?” I tilted my chin up, meeting her gaze without flinching. “On the grounds of our secret marriage certificate that can never see the light of day? Or on the grounds that you’ve stood by and let the entire base humiliate me for six years?” Her mouth opened, but no words came out. I pressed forward, closing the space between us. “Seraphina,” I whispered, the name feeling like ash in my mouth. “To me, you are nothing anymore.” Just then, the sound of expensive leather shoes echoed from the end of the hall. David came running, a look of faux concern plastered on his face as he stepped between us. “Dr. Cross, how can you speak to Sera like that? She’s been more than patient with you all these years. You should be grateful…” “Move,” I cut him off. “You…” “I said, move.” My voice was quiet, but it held a new kind of steel. David, for all his bluster, instinctively took a step back. He bit his lip, his eyes welling up with crocodile tears. “Dr. Cross, I never wanted to be your enemy. I just love Sera. Is that so wrong?” “No,” I nodded. “But standing in my way is.” With that, I brushed past him. He shouted at my back, “Ethan Cross, you’re just a common medic! Without Sera’s protection, you’re nothing!” I stopped and turned to look at him, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Am I? I thought I was just making room for you.” The color drained from David’s face. He lunged at me, his fist raised, but an arm shot out and stopped him. Seraphina had appeared, her expression unreadable as she gripped David’s wrist. “David, stop it.” His eyes instantly reddened with real tears this time. “Sera, you see? This is how he treats me! He has no respect for you at all!” Seraphina didn’t answer him. Her gaze was fixed on me. “Commander Vance,” I said formally, “I wish you and Mr. Croft all the happiness you deserve.” And then I left, without a single look back. 2 My transfer was blocked. The official reason was beautifully crafted nonsense. The base is currently engaged in a highly classified medical research project, and Dr. Cross, as a core member, cannot be reassigned at this critical juncture. I stared at the notice and almost laughed out loud. A core research member? I was a trauma surgeon. I hadn’t even been briefed on the project, let alone seen the inside of that lab. I knew it was Seraphina’s doing. She was a woman accustomed to control, to having the world bend to her will. The phone rang while I was organizing patient files. Her father’s voice, the Admiral’s voice, boomed through the receiver, laced with its usual condescension. “Ethan, I hear you’ve been acting out.” I said nothing. “I understand that young men have tempers,” he continued, “but you need to learn your place. The Vance family is not a ladder for a man of your background to climb, nor is it a cage you can just walk away from. Come back, apologize to Seraphina, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” My fingers tightened on the receiver until my knuckles were white. Then, I relaxed. “Admiral,” I said calmly, “I think I’ll leave that particular blessing for you to enjoy.” I hung up. The retaliation was swift. The next day, the rumors started. They slithered through the barracks and the mess hall, poisoning every conversation. Dr. Cross has no professional ethics. He’s been using his position to harass a superior officer. He’s a social climber, trying to marry into the Vance family by any means necessary. The stories were viciously detailed, woven with just enough truth to be believable. When I was getting food in the mess hall, I heard the whispers behind me. “I heard he’s been some commander’s secret boy-toy for six years. Now he’s trying to make it official.” “Shameless. The woman’s already engaged and he won’t give up.” I turned, tray in hand, and the gossipers immediately fell silent. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the slander. The Vance family was trying to destroy my reputation, to make my life in the Navy so unbearable that I’d have no choice but to come crawling back to them, begging for mercy. But a man who has already died once has very little left to fear. Three days later, the base hosted a diplomatic event. Several foreign military attachés were visiting for a tour and exchange. David, as a diplomat’s son, was naturally part of the welcoming committee. As the on-duty physician, my only job was to remain in the clinic and be ready. That afternoon, chaos erupted. One of the foreign attachés collapsed, his breathing ragged, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple. Anaphylactic shock. Severe. Someone burst into the clinic, screaming for a doctor. I took one look at the man and knew we had seconds. “Get the crash cart! I need epinephrine, now!” A corpsman ripped open the medical kit and then froze. “Doctor… there’s no epinephrine.” My blood ran cold. Impossible. I had personally inspected that kit yesterday. Every vial, every ampule was accounted for. The attaché’s breathing grew fainter. The people around me started to panic, their fear turning to accusation. “What do you mean there’s none? How is this clinic being run?” “If he dies, who’s responsible?” “Get him on oxygen, keep his airway clear!” I commanded, trying to remain calm. “And get the nearest hospital on the line, have them dispatch a full emergency team, now!” I dropped to my knees and began chest compressions. Thankfully, the backup team arrived in time. The attaché’s life was saved. But the investigation report placed the blame squarely on me. The inspection log, which should have shown my signature from the previous day, had vanished. In its place was a forged document, showing the kit hadn’t been checked in three days. I looked up and saw David leaning against the doorframe of my office. He was holding a cup of coffee, a gentle, cruel smile on his face. “Dr. Cross, I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything rash. After a screw-up this big… well, if it were me, I don’t know how I’d ever show my face again.” I got to my feet and walked toward him. “You think this is enough to destroy me?” “Destroy you?” He laughed, the sound full of genuine amusement. “Oh, Ethan, you give yourself too much credit. You’re just a mistake Seraphina made, a stain she was always going to wipe away. I’m just helping her clean up the trash a little early.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just imagine, what if that attaché had actually died? Negligent homicide? An international incident? Or would they just ship you straight to a court-martial?” I stared at him. This man, in his obsession to marry Seraphina, had gone completely insane. That evening, I received my official orders. Suspended from duty, pending further investigation. 3 The heavy steel door of the brig slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing in the small, concrete cell. On the third day, Seraphina came. “Just admit it was your mistake, and I’ll step in and protect you,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “You’ll get a formal reprimand, a demotion, but you’ll be able to stay in the Navy. It’s your best option.” I didn’t move. “Ethan, don’t be stubborn,” she continued. “You can’t win against my family, and you certainly can’t win against the Crofts. Confess. And this all goes away.” She was offering me a lifeline, on the condition that I get on my knees and admit to a crime I didn’t commit. To admit I was incompetent, that my medical ethics were flawed, that I was unworthy of the uniform I wore. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I wondered how I could have ever loved this woman. I was just an intern at the naval hospital when we met. She was already a decorated Special Forces commander, not just an Admiral’s daughter. During a training exercise, a mortar misfired. She was hit by shrapnel, bleeding out and unconscious. On a makeshift operating table, I was the one who dug three pieces of metal out of her. When she woke up, the first thing she asked was my name. After that, she began to pursue me, in her own awkward, clumsy way. I thought her coldness was a shield, a wall she put up. I was wrong. It wasn’t a shield. It was her foundation. “What if I told you David did it?” I said, finally looking up at her, my voice flat. Her brow furrowed instantly, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Ethan, don’t be ridiculous. Don’t drag innocent people into your mess.” “I know David,” she stated, as if it were fact. “He would never do something like this.” In her world, David was forever the innocent victim, and I was forever the one making a scene, lying, making excuses. “You know him?” I pushed myself off the cot and walked to the bars of the cell. “Seraphina, what do you really know about him?” I stared into her eyes. “You know I would never shirk my responsibilities. You know I have a perfect record after six years as a physician. You know how much my honor as an officer means to me. And yet, you still choose to believe him instead of me.” “Because the evidence is against you,” her voice grew colder. “You were responsible for the kit. You were in charge of the epinephrine. How am I supposed to believe you?” I laughed until my eyes stung. “What if I told you the kit was tampered with the day before the event? What if I told you David knew in advance that the attaché had a severe peanut allergy? What if I told you he personally arranged for the catering to include powdered peanuts in the pastries?” Her expression didn’t change. “Do you have proof?” My heart stopped for a beat. She didn’t care about the truth. All she wanted was my submission. “No,” I said, letting all emotion drain from my face. “But I will find it.” “Ethan.” Her voice was low, a clear warning. “Don’t fight a battle you can’t win. Admit your guilt, accept the punishment. It’s better for both of us.” I took a step back from the bars. “Seraphina, when have you ever once considered what’s better for me?” She fell silent. I looked at her, this woman who once made my heart race, and all I felt was a profound sense of pity. “Seraphina,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “the day is coming when you will come begging me. Remember that. You will beg me.” She stared at me for a second, the contempt in her eyes overflowing. “It seems seven days in the brig isn’t enough for you,” she said, turning to leave. “You can stay in here and keep dreaming.” 4 At the court-martial, David sat in the front row of the gallery, a picture of solemn support. Seraphina was seated to the side of the judicial panel. The duty roster was presented as evidence. My signature was there, but the date had been clearly altered. Three corpsmen testified that I had been distracted and unfocused that day, claiming that I must have tampered with the kit after their initial inspection. I listened to the cascade of lies and didn’t say a single word in my defense. The presiding judge finished reviewing the file and looked up. “Dr. Cross, do you have anything to say in response to these charges?” Whispers rippled through the gallery. I scanned the room. Not a single person in this court was on my side. But then, I had always been alone. My gaze finally landed on Seraphina. Her face was as impassive as ever. “Your Honor,” I began, my voice ringing out in the silent courtroom. “My defense has nothing to do with this medical incident.” The judge frowned. “Dr. Cross, what are you talking about?” I didn’t hesitate. “I am formally requesting this court launch a full and immediate investigation into Commander Seraphina Vance on charges of illegal confinement and conspiracy to endanger the life of a service member!” The room fell into a dead silence. I turned to face Seraphina. The color was draining from her face. “She did this,” I announced, my voice booming, “so that she could use me as a living blood bank and a personal pharmacy for her terminally ill brother, Leo Vance. She has been doing this, by deceiving me into a fraudulent marriage, for six years!” Seraphina shot to her feet. I kept my eyes locked on her. “Furthermore, I have reason to believe that six years ago, as a new recruit, I was the victim of a so-called ‘medical accident’ where I was illegally transfused with blood products from Leo Vance himself!” The courtroom erupted. The judge slammed his gavel. “Order! Order in the court!” David was ghost-white, stumbling to his feet. “You’re lying! Leo has been…” “He’s been dead for years, right?” I cut him off. “Except that’s not the story the Vance family tells, is it? The official story is that he’s receiving treatment abroad. Commander Vance even takes a personal trip to ‘visit’ him every year.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thick file, holding it high. “These are my complete medical records for the past six years. Every blood draw is documented. And every time, the amount of blood taken was far beyond what is required for routine tests. But on every single record, the field for ‘Purpose of Draw’ is conveniently left blank.” An officer of the court took the file to the judge, whose face grew darker with every page he turned. “This is absolute nonsense!” Seraphina roared. I ignored her, sliding a small, encrypted USB drive across the table to the judge. “This is a copy of a hidden medical file that Commander Vance kept. I managed to decrypt it.” The drive was plugged into a laptop, and the data filled the screen. Patient: Leo Vance. Condition: Rare genetic disorder, fewer than twenty documented cases worldwide. Requirement: Blood transfusions from a specifically matched donor, twice monthly. And there it was. Starting six years ago, the donor code was listed as EC-001. My initials. “Leo Vance first showed symptoms at age twelve,” I continued, my voice cold and clinical. “Six years later, at eighteen, during my enlistment physical, my blood was found to contain a unique antibody. Three months after that, I was involved in a ‘medical accident’ and transfused with blood products from an ‘unidentified source’.” The gallery was in an uproar. Seraphina stared at me, raw panic finally breaking through her composure. “Ethan, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I turned to her, a true smile finally reaching my face. “Of course I do. I’m saying that to save your brother, you turned me into your personal, living blood bag.” Her face was as white as a sheet. “Your suspicion isn’t proof!” she stammered. “Where is your evidence?” I didn’t answer her. I just looked at the judge. On the screen, he had pulled up another file. It was the original incident report from my transfusion six years ago. The signature of the attending physician belonged to the Vance family’s private doctor. The line item for the source of the blood had been redacted. But you can’t redact a digital footprint. Seraphina staggered, grabbing the railing for support. “This involves family privacy,” she gasped, turning desperately to the judge. “This is a matter of military security, I demand…” She was cut off by the sound of unified, heavy footsteps from the back of the courtroom. Several officers in different uniforms stood up. The man in the lead flashed a badge. “Judge Advocate General’s Corps. We’re taking over this case.” The last traces of color drained from Seraphina’s face. She knew. Once JAG was involved, there would be no burying this. “Commander Seraphina Vance,” the JAG officer announced in a grim voice, “you are under suspicion of conducting illegal medical experiments, unlawful imprisonment, and endangering the life and health of a service member. A full investigation begins now.” Two military police officers moved toward Seraphina. But her eyes were locked on me, filled with a terrifying mix of disbelief and fury. I felt nothing. The JAG team worked with terrifying efficiency. In less than an hour, they found the missing syringe of epinephrine. It was hidden in David Croft’s office desk. The fingerprints on it weren’t his, but they belonged to his personal assistant. The judge slammed his gavel one last time. “On the matter of medical negligence, the court finds the defendant, Dr. Ethan Cross, not guilty. You are acquitted of all charges.”

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The call came just before my bone marrow donation. It was my brother, Henry. “Hey,” he said casually, “if I get your marrow, will I turn out ugly like you?” I was too on edge to process it at first. He continued, “I’m grateful, but I’ve always liked Talia more. She’s beautiful. Giving me your marrow… that’s your duty as my sister, right?” His words struck like a blow, leaving my mind blank. Then my parents chimed in from the background. “Henry, stop,” my mother said mildly, “your sister is about to have surgery.” Then she added, “But he’s not wrong. Don’t get worked up.” “You’ve never been a beauty, Nora,” my father rumbled. “Not like Talia. She’s pretty and charming. Everyone likes her.” Suddenly, it clicked. This wasn’t just about my looks—it was punishment for calling off my engagement after discovering my ex was cheating with Talia. Fine. If that’s how they felt, there was nothing left to say. I swung my legs off the hospital bed and began removing the sterile gown. My parents rushed over. “What are you doing? Stop making a scene.” “Let go of me,” I said, my voice low and cold. “Or I’ll call security.” 1 My mother grabbed my arm. “The doctors will be here any minute! What are you doing? Do you want to make us a laughingstock?” My father’s eyes were filled with disgust. “A man who cheats before the wedding is only going to be worse after. Talia took a bullet for you and shielded you from disaster. You should be thanking her, not holding a grudge.” I tilted my head back and let out a cold, sharp laugh. The story was pathetically simple. My cousin Talia, the girl who had spent her entire life trying to take everything that was mine, had finally snatched my fiancé, too. She’d done it at our engagement party, wrapping her arms around him right in front of me. I’d lost my mind and demanded we call the whole thing off on the spot. Ever since, my parents had blamed me for ruining Talia’s reputation. “How’s Henry doing?” Just as we were locked in our standoff, Talia herself appeared in the doorway, a vision of concerned grace. My parents’ faces instantly softened. “Talia! What are you doing here?” As if summoned by a psychic link, my brother Henry burst out of the sterile isolation ward, ignoring the frantic protests of the nurses. “Talia! I knew you’d come see me!” I watched as they all flocked around her, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Talia’s eyes found me, and she offered a gentle smile, holding out a small, elegant gift bag. “I wanted you to have some wedding favors,” she said sweetly. “I’m getting married this weekend. Your uncle said you’d probably still be in the hospital, so… we didn’t send an invitation.” My eyes burned with rage. I glared at her, and Henry immediately jumped in front of her, shielding her like a knight. “Why are you looking at her like that?” he snarled. “You’re an ugly, vicious witch! No wonder no one wants you!” He took a step closer, his face contorted with disgust. “The thought of having your marrow inside me makes my skin crawl!” I froze. Was this really my brother? The same brother I had been caring for day and night since his diagnosis, ever since we found out I was a perfect match? Now, for Talia, he could say something so vile. With a monumental effort, I fought back the tears and turned to my parents, my last hope. My mother stepped forward and smoothed the collar of my shirt. For a second, the warmth of her hand on my neck made my heart ache, and the tears threatened to spill over. But then she spoke. “You have always been such a disappointment,” she sighed. “The surgery is in an hour. Why must you always cause trouble?” “Look at Talia. She’s so busy with work, yet the moment she heard Henry was having his operation, she rushed right over. And then there’s you.” Her voice dripped with condescension. “This is why everyone loves her, Nora. And why no one loves you.” Her words landed, and every sacrifice I’d ever made for them turned into a cruel joke. In that moment, something inside me snapped. I grabbed my donation consent form from the bedside table and, with a single, violent motion, tore it to shreds. My mother lunged for me, but I shoved her back. My brother started to shout something, and I slapped him, hard, across the face. “You give me…” Before I could finish, a storm of slaps rained down on me. I instinctively curled into a ball, shielding my head as my father’s rage descended. I stumbled backward until I crashed to the floor. He stood over me, panting, his eyes bloodshot. “Get out! You are no daughter of mine.” His voice was raw with fury. “We don’t need you. Someone else can donate to Henry.” It was as if I’d been waiting to hear those words my whole life. The last, stubborn thread of hope inside me finally died, and in its place, I felt a wave of absolute, liberating peace. Now, I could finally leave them for good. 2 I used a nearby bed to pull myself to my feet. My parents and my brother were clustered together, protectively surrounding Talia, staring at me as if I were a wild animal. A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside me. I never knew they were so afraid of me. Sensing my resolve, my mother tried a different tactic, her voice softer now. “Don’t be so dramatic. Families say things they don’t mean. Are you really going to abandon your brother?” “No matter what, we’re family,” she pleaded. “If you want, I’ll apologize on their behalf. I’m his mother, I’ll get on my knees. I’ll do anything, if you’ll just stay and save Henry. I’ll be your servant for the rest of my life, how about that?” Talia glided over, taking my hand. “Everyone was just emotional,” she cooed. “Your parents are getting older; we should be more understanding. Besides, if you leave, what will happen to Henry? You’re his sister. Can you really bear to watch him die?” I almost laughed in her face. “If I leave, he’ll still have you, won’t he? You were a match, too, remember?” After my uncle—Talia’s father—died in a car accident and his wife remarried, my dad brought Talia to live with us. Perhaps out of guilt or nostalgia for his late brother, my parents began to shower her with affection, growing colder and more distant with me each day. It’s true what they say—being loved makes you bloom. The more they doted on her, the more beautiful and radiant Talia became. I, on the other hand, was thin, sallow, and unremarkable. Whenever we went out, people would praise my parents for raising such a wonderful girl in Talia. As they soaked in the compliments, their resentment towards me grew. At the dinner table, any plate with meat on it was always placed in front of Talia. If I dared reach for a piece, my father would slap my hand away. “Were you raised in a barn? Look at you, like a starved stray. It would be a waste of good food anyway.” My entire childhood was a battle against this injustice. So, as an adult, I threw myself into my work. I gave them everything I had, desperate to prove I was better, more successful, more worthy of their love than Talia. When Henry was diagnosed with leukemia, I was the first to get tested. Even though both Talia and I were matches, I rushed to the hospital to sign the consent forms without a second thought. And what did it get me? The unloved child is always invisible. No matter how much I gave, I would always be the one they despised. Rather than pour my life into a bottomless pit, leaving was the only choice I had left. 3 I grabbed the duffel bag I’d kept with me at the hospital. It was filled with things for Henry—special foods, clean clothes, everything he’d need. Now that I was leaving, I wouldn’t be taking them with me. I turned and handed the bag to my parents and Talia, explaining each item. “After this incident, the doctors will be even stricter about his isolation. These apples and pears need to be steamed before he can eat them. And this…” My voice broke. “This is a plane ticket to Sweden for him. The air quality there is better; it’s good for recovery.” My vision blurred with tears. I looked up and saw their faces, still masks of arrogance and disgust. I wiped my eyes, turned, and threw the entire bag into the trash can. I ripped the plane ticket in half. “Hey! What are you doing? You said that was for me!” Henry yelped, reaching out as if to stop me. I shoved the bag deeper into the bin. “You want it? Go ask your precious Talia to buy it for you.” I turned back to the four of them. “If there’s nothing else, you can leave now. I need to change.” They stared at each other, stunned. It seemed they never expected me, the family doormat, to finally grow a spine. When my parents still didn’t move, Talia gave Henry a subtle look. The two of them each took an arm and escorted the older couple out of the room. Through the glass window in the door, I saw the four of them huddled together, with Talia at the center, plotting. My mother kept glancing nervously in my direction. I don’t know when it started, but every family decision, big or small, was made by the four of them, without me. I used to cry and scream about being excluded, only to be told, “Are you crazy?” My only confidant was my dog, Daisy. I hugged her every night just to be able to fall asleep. When Talia found out, she must have said something to my parents, because they exploded at me. “You don’t even care about your own family, but you cuddle that stupid dog all day,” my father had yelled. “You’re losing your humanity.” He threw a knife at my feet and locked both me and Daisy out on the balcony. “You can come back in when you’ve killed that animal,” he’d said. “Otherwise, you can starve out there.” Then, he, my mother, Talia, and Henry all left for a week-long vacation. It was the dog days of summer. The heat on the balcony was suffocating. For seven days, I survived on dog food and sips of rainwater. But my poor Daisy… the heatstroke took her. When my parents returned, they didn’t ask how I’d survived. They only asked, “Are you done with your nonsense now?” After that, I stopped fighting. No matter how close the four of them were, I never protested again. After packing my things, I was ready to leave. Henry pushed the door open, an impatient look on his face. “Fine, I’m sorry, okay? You’re my sister. I shouldn’t have called you ugly. I shouldn’t have called you a witch.” He sighed dramatically. “There. I said it. Now you should go apologize to Mom, Dad, and Talia.” I just rolled my eyes. “Thank God I didn’t give you my marrow. You don’t deserve it.” Growing up, he had always been the bully. I had never said a harsh word to him in my life. Hearing me now, he flew into a rage, raising his fist. “Don’t push it! Who the hell do you think you are, acting like everyone owes you something?” I shrugged. “If you’re done talking, move. Good dogs don’t block the door.” He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Walk out that door and you’re never coming back. Mom and Dad will never forgive you!” The spot where my father had hit me still throbbed with a burning pain. A family like this, a home like this… I was better off without them. Talia approached, her eyes red-rimmed. “This is all my fault. I’ll make sure Henry and your parents spend more time with you from now on,” she pleaded. “Everything they buy for me, I’ll give it to you. If that’s not enough, I’ll leave. I’ll go away and I won’t come back until you’ve forgiven them.” For all her supposed tears, not a single one fell. It was her classic routine, and I was sick of it. But some people always fell for it. Henry, who had just “apologized,” was now her champion again. “Talia, why are you begging her? We like you because we want to. Some people are just born to be hated.” Behind Henry’s back, Talia’s tearful eyes were filled with triumph and provocation. The sight made me nauseous. She grabbed my hand again. “It’s my fault. Please don’t go.” I was so tired of her games. I tried to pull my hand away, but somehow, in the movement, she stumbled back and knocked over a thermos of hot water sitting on a table. It splashed all over her arm, instantly turning her fair skin an angry red. Before I could even process what had happened, Henry’s fist connected with my face. “You just had to take it too far, didn’t you!” he screamed. “She apologized to you! What more do you want?” He grabbed my shirt. “I’ve hated you for years! If Talia hadn’t stopped us, Mom and Dad would have kicked you out long ago!” I tried to fight back, but before I could even raise my arm, my father clamped it in an iron grip. “You ungrateful viper. I knew this day would come.” My mother, ever my father’s loyal supporter, jumped in, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “How could you attack your own family? You have no conscience!” Fearing a scene in the hallway, they dragged me by my hair to the far corner of the room. As I struggled, I managed to pull out my phone and dial 911, screaming my location into the receiver. Seeing the phone, Henry lunged, snatched it, and stomped it into pieces. “What are you doing? Do you want the cops to arrest Mom and Dad?” When they finally stopped, I was a bloody mess on the floor, every inch of my body screaming in pain. I stared at them with pure hatred. “Unless you kill me right here, right now, I’m going to make sure the police arrest every single one of you.” My mother and brother flinched, but my father stood his ground. “So what? I was disciplining my own child. What’s that got to do with the police?” Thankfully, the police arrived quickly. My father was still fuming. My mother immediately pointed at me. “Officer, arrest her! She promised to donate bone marrow to her brother, he’s already in the sterile ward, and now she’s backing out!” “And she assaulted us!” she shrieked, holding up Talia’s scalded arm for the officer to see. “This woman is a menace to society!” The officer looked at Talia’s arm, then at my bleeding face. His expression grew grim. “This constitutes assault. All of you are coming down to the station.” My father, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up. “My daughter didn’t hit anyone,” he said firmly. “She’s planning on applying for a government job soon. A police record would ruin her future.” The daughter he was referring to, of course, was Talia. He would move heaven and earth for her. To make me drop the charges, my father transferred ten thousand dollars to my account as “compensation.” I accepted the money, then looked him straight in the eye. “Some things can’t be solved with money.” My parents glared at me, wishing they could devour me whole. “What else do you want?” “Simple,” I said. “I’m going to the records department.” “I, Nora Harris, am formally and completely cutting all ties with you.”

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After three years of playing the designated social outcast, I finally completed the mission. Before my scheduled “death,” the System gave me one day to say goodbye to my targets. I’d been holding it in for three years. It was time to go scorched-earth on each and every one of them. To my moody, controlling adoptive brother: [You think you’re so deep and mysterious? You’re just a poser with a trust fund!] To my arrogant jock of a childhood friend: [Three years of tutoring and you still have the IQ of a golden retriever. Are you brain-damaged?] To my cold, older fiancé: [Who would be desperate enough to marry an old man like you? You’ve practically got one foot in the grave!] A moment later, my phone buzzed with replies. Moody Adoptive Brother: [? Is this a code? Are you in trouble? I’m on my way home now!] Arrogant Jock: […I was just pretending to be dumb to make you feel like you were good at teaching, okay? God, you make me so mad. Just you wait!] Cold Fiancé: [Is someone trying to poach you? Let’s meet and discuss this in person.] Just then, my doorbell started ringing like crazy. At the same time, the System’s voice screeched in my head: [HOST, I READ THE DATE WRONG!] [YOUR EXTRACTION ISN’T FOR ANOTHER SEVEN DAYS!] Me: “?” Part 2 It was my third year of being the girl everyone loved to hate. And I had finally, finally, finished the mission. For three years, I’d played the part of the timid, doormat protagonist perfectly. I was a ghost at school. At home, my adoptive brother, Julian, treated me like his personal assistant. I had no friends, and my family barely tolerated me. Then, a glimmer of hope: an arranged marriage to the powerful Pierce family. But, of course, on the day of our engagement party, the truth came out. I was the switched-at-birth fake heiress. The Sterlings’ real daughter had been found. Just like that, the world turned on me again. I was public enemy number one. Maybe that was the final straw the System was waiting for. After three years of radio silence, it finally reactivated. [Congratulations, Host! The ‘Universal Scapegoat’ mission is complete. A substantial reward is waiting for you.] [You will be returned to your original world tomorrow.] I blinked. “What about ‘me’ in this world?” I asked. The System chuckled. [Don’t you worry about that. We’ll arrange a little accident. A clean exit.] That easy? “Are you sure? It’s really over? No more missions?” I had to be certain. The System puffed out its digital chest. [Absolutely! Tomorrow, you can cash your check and go home!] Relief washed over me. The System said I had one day to say my goodbyes. But as I thought about it, there was nothing and no one to say goodbye to. These people probably wouldn’t even flinch if they read my obituary. Bored, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Right on cue, it vibrated. A message from a contact I’d saved as “Mr. Broody Poser.” [I’m having a dress for the gala sent to the house tomorrow.] [For God’s sake, don’t wear one of your ugly ones. You’re embarrassing me.] That was my brother, Julian Sterling. Or, I guess, my adoptive brother now. My parents’ golden child. From the moment I was dropped into this world, he’d treated me like something he’d stepped in. Moody, condescending, and a master of the backhanded compliment. He’d criticize my taste, my grades, my very existence. All I had to do was walk past him to earn a look of pure disgust. But he was the Sterling heir, and no one dared to challenge him. Not even my own mother, who just told me to keep my head down and endure it. I’d endured it for three years. I’d been his quiet, obedient little shadow. But I was leaving tomorrow. And today, I was done enduring. Me: [You think your taste is so great?] Me: [Attached Image] Me: [Is this supposed to be a dress or a designer garbage bag?] Me: [And that wasn’t a typo.] Me: [You walk around like you’re some kind of fashion god. Honestly, even though you’re a miserable person with no real friends, literally 0 people care what you wear.] A long pause. Then, a single question mark appeared. I think I broke his brain. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a message came through. Julian: [What happened to you?] My fingers flew across the screen. Me: [Nothing happened.] Me: [I’m just sick of your act.] Me: [You poser.] My phone went silent. Julian had probably short-circuited from rage. But who cared? I put him on Do Not Disturb. A soft knock at my door. One of the housekeepers peeked in. “Miss Ava, the car is waiting.” “It’s taking you back to school for the event this afternoon.” Even though I was now the “fake” Sterling, my parents, out of some lingering sense of duty, were letting me finish high school at the prestigious Northwood Prep. The ride to school was silent. Even the driver could probably sense the toxic atmosphere back at the house and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when I opened the door to a furious voice. “Ava, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Part 3 I looked up. A guy was standing there, glaring at me, his chest heaving with anger. I gave him a once-over. “Why were you waiting for me?” Liam Prescott looked like he’d been slapped. “?! I felt sorry for you, okay?” he sputtered. “Nobody was going to ask you to prom. I was going to do you a favor and be your date, and this is the attitude I get?” The Prescotts and the Sterlings were old family friends. That made Liam, unfortunately, my childhood acquaintance. With his lazily handsome face and star athlete status, he was basically king of Northwood Prep. Our parents had once even tried to set up an arranged engagement between us. Liam had shut that down publicly. I can still remember the look of pure disgust on his face at the dinner party. “Her? An engagement with her?” he’d scoffed. “Are you insane? Are you actively trying to ruin my life?” His very public rejection had made me the laughingstock of our entire social circle for a year. But hey, his reaction had also netted me 100 experience points, a third of my total mission goal. So, I wasn’t planning on holding a grudge. But then his two cronies, who were flanking him, decided to chime in. “Yeah, Ava. Liam’s doing you a huge favor. You should be grateful.” “What’s with the attitude? You still playing hard to get or something?” Hearing that, Liam’s lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Ava. I’m talking to you.” I looked at him, genuinely confused. “You’re in my way. I need to get to the main building.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Did you hear a single word I just said? Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I blinked. “Apologize? To who?” “To you?” “As if.” Liam froze. “You were waiting for me, but you never bothered to text me,” I continued, ticking the points off on my fingers. “What, am I supposed to be a mind reader? And I never asked you to be my prom date. So who is this whole knight-in-shining-armor act for? Do you need a tissue? Maybe you can squeeze out a few tears to make it more believable.” His two buddies looked scandalized and jumped to his defense. “He was just trying to be nice since you’re pathetic and have no one else! You’re so ungrateful!” “Why are you being such a bitch? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I shot them a bored look. “Duh, of course it’s on purpose. Why else would I say it?” I gestured between them. “What are you guys, his personal cheerleading squad? Did you get a two-for-one deal on loyalty or something?” I then swept my gaze over all three of them. “Look, I know my words are harsh. But it’s not like any of you deserve a compliment.” Liam was the first to snap out of it, reaching out to grab my arm. “Ava—” My bodyguard smoothly stepped between us. I glanced back at Liam over my shoulder. “Look, I’m in a surprisingly good mood today, so if you have something to say, spit it out before I change my mind.” But the expression on his face wasn’t the rage I expected. It was… confusion. And a strange sort of panic. “Ava, today you’re…” he stammered. “Are you sick or something?” I’d braced myself for an explosion, and that’s all he had? Seriously? All this time, I’d been surrounded by the most pathetic bunch of posers and wannabes. I’d really overestimated them. Part 4 I didn’t bother with Liam again and headed straight for the principal’s office. I had more important things to do. Even though the whole school was buzzing about prom, it held zero appeal for me. It was just an excuse for the popular kids to dance and take pictures. As the resident ghost, I never had a date, so I hadn’t even bothered to get a dress. I was just wearing a hoodie and jeans. When I came out of the principal’s office, the looks I got in the hallway were different. Sharper. More pitying. “So she’s not a real Sterling…” “That explains so much. She has none of their class…” “Her and Julian are from two different worlds. Poor Julian, having to put up with an adoptive sister like that.” The rumors about my parentage had finally made it to school. I pulled out my phone and saw twenty missed calls. All from Julian. A number that had been dormant for a decade was suddenly blowing up my phone. I half-wondered if he’d signed me up for some spam-call service online. I didn’t bother calling back. I just opened his texts. There were too many to read, but the last one caught my eye. Julian: [I’m coming home tomorrow.] He was supposed to be on a business trip overseas. Staring at the message, I had no idea what to say. So I just locked my phone. Whatever. It was his house. He could come and go as he pleased. On my way out, I ran into Liam again. He was in a tux now, the boyish edges of his face sharpened into something more mature. When he saw me, his jaw tensed. “Ava, why haven’t you changed yet?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “I’m not going to the dance,” I said flatly. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Usually, he’d be with Chloe Sanders, the most popular girl in our grade, by now. As Liam opened his mouth to say something else, my bodyguard politely blocked his path. “Mr. Prescott, Miss Ava is engaged to Mr. Pierce.” Liam’s face went cold. “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” I just rolled my eyes and nodded to my bodyguard. “Let’s go home.” As I got into the car, I saw a few of Liam’s friends rush over to him. They were talking animatedly, gesturing towards my car. I watched Liam’s expression shift from confusion to shock. I could guess what they were telling him—the big, juicy gossip about my real identity. The car started to pull away. Suddenly, Liam shouted my name. “Ava—!” He was running after the car, his face desperate. The driver accelerated, and the tinted window slid shut. I watched in the rearview mirror as Liam’s figure got smaller and smaller, until he was just a black dot in the distance. I turned to my bodyguard. “What’s his deal?” He considered it for a moment. “Maybe he’s getting his cardio in for the day.”

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On the fifth anniversary of my marriage to my stepbrother, he killed himself. He left me only a torn piece of paper. On it were three words: I hate you. He had every right to hate me. He’d raised me for ten years, and I’d repaid his kindness by drugging him and climbing into his bed. I made him lose the love of his life. I faked a pregnancy to trap him into marrying me. I knew he didn’t love me, but I was too selfish to let him go. In the end, I drove him to his death. And I died on the way to his funeral. I thought that would be the end of it, a final, clean break. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I drugged him. Caleb was dead. I was in a coffee shop with my lawyer, finalizing the divorce papers, when the call came. “Give him the money, the house, everything,” I said, my voice flat. The lawyer looked at me, surprised. “Ms. Ross, you intend to walk away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his expression baffled. “My understanding is that Mr. Hayes initiated the separation. Legally, he’s the party at fault…” I held up a hand to stop him. “Just write it that way.” The money, the house—it was all his. I’d already poisoned so many years of his life; I had no right to his possessions now that it was over. “Well, in all my years handling divorce cases, you’re certainly the most generous client I’ve ever had,” the lawyer said with genuine admiration. A bitter smile touched my lips. If he knew what I’d done to Caleb, he wouldn’t be saying that. For years, everyone in Caleb’s life had a name for me: the psycho. The monster who’d coveted her own stepbrother. The ungrateful viper he’d raised. “If you’ll review this one last time, you can sign right here. I’ll have the agreement couriered to Mr. Hayes.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise as I took the pen. I’d just started the first letter of my name when my phone rang, shattering the quiet of the café. “Am I speaking with Ms. Stella Ross? This is St. Jude’s Medical Center. We’re calling about your husband, Caleb Hayes. He was admitted following a suicide attempt…” The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and the world blurred. I never imagined he hated me that much. That he would rather die than spend another day tied to me. But he was just one signature away. I was so close to finally setting him free. Part 2 By the time I reached the funeral home, Caleb was already in an urn. The moment she saw me, his grandmother, her eyes red and swollen, slapped me hard across the face. “You monster. How dare you show your face here?” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at the black-and-white photo of Caleb, my mind numb. It had been six months since I’d last seen him. That was the day he’d asked for a divorce. “Jessica’s back in town,” he’d said, his voice devoid of emotion. “After all these years, I’ve never forgotten her.” He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “Name your price, Stella. Whatever you want. Just sign the papers.” I’d flown into a rage. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him like a banshee. “A divorce, Caleb? Don’t you even think about it!” I’d shrieked. “The only way I’m leaving this marriage is in a casket. There’s no divorce for me, only widowhood.” He didn’t say a word. Just like every other time we fought, he silently started cleaning up the wreckage I’d made. I thought I’d won. I thought the subject was closed. But when I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, every trace of him had vanished from the house, as if he’d never been there at all. And now, my own words had become a twisted prophecy. I was a widow. Right at the moment I’d finally decided to give him his freedom. A metallic taste filled my throat, and a wave of pain so intense it buckled my knees brought me to the floor. A storm of regret washed over me, but all it produced was a useless, silent, I’m sorry. Grandma Hayes refused to let me attend the funeral. She ignored my pleading and physically pushed me out of the building. When I tried to force my way back in, she shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my hand, her eyes burning with hatred. “You want to see what he left behind? This is it! This is the only thing he left!” I froze. My fingers automatically smoothed out the paper. The familiar handwriting sent a chill straight through my soul. “Still want to come in?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. The three words on the paper burned in my mind, a repeating, searing mantra. I hate you. Caleb never made enemies. It was painfully obvious who those words were for. Part 3 I clutched that piece of paper and stood outside the funeral home all night. I couldn’t go in, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. As dawn broke, I saw his family emerge, carrying the urn. They got into a car. I scrambled to mine and followed at a distance. The road leading up to the cemetery was a winding mountain pass, slick and treacherous from last night’s rain. The higher we climbed, the more difficult the driving became. I prayed silently, a desperate bargain with a universe that had never listened. Just let me see him off. Just let me finish this one last journey with him, and I’ll do anything. As the thought crossed my mind, a shadow fell over my car. A massive boulder, dislodged from the cliffside by the rain, crashed down onto the roof. The piece of paper I’d been holding fluttered onto my lap. I looked at the words—I hate you—and laughed through my tears. Of course. I was so arrogant I’d forgotten. Caleb didn’t want me here. He didn’t want me to see him off. As my vision faded to black, I closed my eyes and made a vow. “Caleb, if there’s a next time, I swear I’ll leave you alone.” Part 4 “Stella, are you insane?!” “I’m your brother! You drugged me!” The familiar voice echoed in my ears. I apologized instinctively. “I’m sorry.” The words had barely left my lips when a pair of strong hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. “A little late for sorry, don’t you think?” His warm breath tickled my ear. I snapped my eyes open in disbelief. Standing in front of me, very much alive, was Caleb. “Caleb?” His eyes were flushed with a mixture of desire and anger. I immediately shoved him away and, acting on pure instinct, slapped myself hard across the face. The stinging pain was real. Tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my cheeks. It wasn’t a dream. I was really back. “I’m not the one who’s mad, why are you hitting yourself?” Caleb frowned, grabbing my hand. His eyes were filled with… concern. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. It was just like the first time. I was the one who had drugged him, who had planned this whole disgusting thing. But instead of being furious, he blamed himself for not being a better guardian, a better brother. Afterward, he’d taken all the blame. His fiancée, Jessica, broke up with him. His grandmother was so enraged she’d cut him off completely for a year. Through it all, he never once told them what I had done. If I hadn’t become more and more possessive, more unhinged over the years, he never would have come to hate me so much. He never would have sought death as an escape. Remembering how I never even got to see him one last time, I pulled my hand from his grasp, my eyes red. “Caleb, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it… I just wanted to see if this stuff worked. I’ll call 911 right now…” I fumbled for my phone, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. His voice dropped, and his eyes darkened. “You were… testing it on me, Stella?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “If it worked, who were you planning to use it on?” I hadn’t expected him to believe my frantic, ad-libbed excuse. But then I realized, this was the perfect out. If he thought I was in love with someone else, it would be a relief for him. A good thing. I forced a shy, embarrassed smile. “The quarterback at my school. I’ve had a crush on him for ages. When I confessed to you before, I was just… practicing.” The hand on my wrist tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Stella, you used me as a guinea pig for some other guy?” “Is he really that special?” Part 5 “Is it really worth it, Stella? To do something like this for a guy?” Caleb’s expression was a complicated mix of disbelief and… something else. It was like he was scolding a naive little sister, but also like he was interrogating the ghost of my past self. For a moment, the present blurred with the past. The first time this happened, right before I pushed things past the point of no return, he had held my hand just like this and asked me the same question. “Stella, do you have any idea what you’re doing? What people will say? Is this really worth it to you?” Back then, I was young and fearless, blinded by my obsession. I knew the world would condemn us, but I didn’t care. I just tilted my head up and kissed him. “It’s worth it,” I’d whispered. The scene shifted back to the present. I said the same two words, but this time, I pulled my hand away from his. “Caleb, he’s the love of my life. Anything is worth it for him.” I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor, terrified he would see the blazing love for him in my eyes. And because of that, I missed the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face. “Fine, Stella. You’d better not regret this.” Before I could answer, he’d shoved me out of the hotel room and slammed the door. Remembering the intensity of the drug, I hesitated for a moment and knocked. “Caleb, are you sure you don’t need me to call 911?” Silence. My anxiety spiked. I was about to call security to break down the door when a familiar voice came from behind me. “Stella? What are you doing here?” I turned around stiffly. A pang of pain shot through my chest when I saw who it was. “Jessica. What are you doing here?” Jessica held up a small paper bag from a pharmacy and smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What do you think, sweetie? We’re all adults here. I’m not here to play Monopoly with your brother in the middle of the night.” Before I could respond, the hotel room door opened. Caleb stood there in a bathrobe, his hair damp. He frowned when he saw I was still there. “Why haven’t you left yet?” A bitter coldness spread through my chest. I kept telling myself this was for the best. Caleb and Jessica were supposed to be together. It was only natural that he would call her. This was the right thing. “Never mind, the medicine…” he started to say. “You guys are busy! I’ll head home now!” I practically fled. The moment I was back in my own apartment, the tears started falling. I guess people are just greedy creatures. I was the one who chose this path, to put things right, to go back to being a normal sister so he could live a long, happy life. But the second I saw him standing with another woman, the pain was unbearable. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to go back and drag him away. I didn’t sleep all night. When I opened my eyes, the very first thing I wanted to do was check his Instagram to see if they’d made it official. I slapped myself. Then I jumped out of bed and started packing. “Stella, what are you doing now?” “Caleb? Why are you home so soon?” I stared at him, my mind reeling. From my past life, I knew how strong that drug was. Last time, he had kept me in that hotel room for three days straight. How was he home after just one night? He saw the look on my face and his expression darkened. “What, you’re disappointed to see me? Were you hoping I’d be gone longer so you could pack up and move in with your precious quarterback?” I never thought he’d jump to that conclusion. It was almost funny, but also deeply sad. I would probably never get the chance to live with the person I loved. “No, that’s not it,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m moving into the dorms. It’ll save you the long drive to pick me up from campus every day.” My university was on the other side of the city. I should have moved into the dorms freshman year, but because of my obsession with him, I’d stayed at home, forcing him to drive me back and forth every day. I paused, then added, “Besides, we’re not real siblings. And now that we both have people we’re interested in, it’s… probably not a good idea for us to live together anymore.”

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We’d been married for six years, separated for three, when my husband, Ethan Hayes, and I were cast on a reality show about divorce. On the show, when they asked about the state of our marriage, I told the truth. “There’s not much left,” I said. “He can’t even stand the dog I adopted. Last week, he brought up divorce again. We barely speak.” I expected the entire internet to tell me to leave him. Instead, they started finding romance in the wreckage. [GIRL, you adopted TEN dogs that kept him up all night, but he didn’t DARE get rid of them. He just quietly moved out. You don’t think that’s love??] [He only gets the courage to threaten divorce when he’s drunk and lonely. Can’t you see he’s just begging you to come home?] [I can’t watch this anymore. I’m starting to fall in love with someone else’s husband.] [Just put them on a dating show already and get it over with.] I shot a skeptical glance at Ethan. He was leaning in close, attaching my microphone, his lips brushing against my cheek in a way that felt anything but accidental. 1 Ethan and I were famously incompatible. Ever since the reality show Last Chance Love premiered, rumors swirled each season that we’d be on it. This time, it was official. Before the first episode even aired, the internet was already sharpening its knives. [The other couple might make it, but Chloe and Mr. Hayes? 100% getting divorced.] This season, the show featured two couples. Besides us, there was former boy-band idol Ryan Vance and his wife, Maya. Before filming started, the director pulled me aside. Ryan, he explained, was using the show to stage a comeback. His plan was to play the devoted husband, a stark contrast to his bad-boy image, and rake in the views. That meant all the real drama, the real conflict, was expected to come from me and Ethan. The director was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. “Your relationship is a train wreck,” he said, beaming. “You’re going to be ratings gold.” On the first day, both couples were brought into an interview room for a “marriage assessment.” The host kicked things off with two bombshell questions. “Do you remember why you got married in the first place?” “And, how often have you been intimate this year?” Ryan jumped in without hesitation. “We were in love, of course. That’s why anyone gets married.” Maya blushed. “He has a… healthy appetite,” she said softly. “It’s usually every few days.” The camera panned to us. I looked at Ethan, then answered truthfully. “I was pregnant. It was a shotgun wedding.” “As for the frequency… zero. We haven’t slept together in three years.” 2 This season, the show was live-streamed, and a feed of the online comments was visible only to the female contestants. After my answer, the chat exploded. [Wait… what? Three YEARS? Did I hear that right??] [No sex in three years? Are they even married?] [What normal guy can go three years without touching his wife?] [Chloe, honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your husband is DEFINITELY cheating on you.] The director looked thrilled with the chaos. He signaled for the host to continue. I heard the host ask again, “For both couples, do you remember how many times you met before you got married?” The question hung in the air, baffling everyone. The live chat was just as confused. [Is the host drunk? Who the hell remembers that?] [If you can’t ask a real question, get someone who can.] Maya started counting on her fingers, then gave up with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, it was too many times to count.” I knew the question was aimed at us. Because before we signed the marriage license, Ethan and I had met exactly once. When I gave my answer, Ryan and Maya stared at me in disbelief. “Chloe, you have to be joking,” Maya said. “You can’t get married after meeting someone one time.” Ryan took her hand, his expression disapproving. “That’s incredibly reckless. It shows a complete lack of respect for the institution of marriage. Maya and I dated for five years before we even thought about getting engaged.” The chat was a waterfall of question marks. [People are actually this crazy? My dog spends more time sniffing out a potential mate than that.] [Does anyone have the inside scoop on this? I need answers.] [^^ I heard some things. Chloe was a struggling actress who slept with Mr. Hayes for money. She got lucky and got pregnant on the first try. That’s how she trapped him.] [So that’s the story. One wanted money, the other wanted a pretty face. Disgusting.] [This isn’t a marriage, it’s a business transaction. Calling them a married couple is an insult to the word.] The internet had already dug up my past and was gleefully tearing it to shreds. I watched the comments scroll by, my face a blank mask. Because every word they said was true. 3 Meeting Ethan was a fluke. A complete accident. To pay off my mother’s gambling debts, I’d started acting, taking any extra work I could find. After a few small parts, I finally landed an agent. Not long after, she told me she’d gotten me an audition for a major role. I followed her to a hotel, but instead of an audition, she led me into a lavish party. She paraded me around, introducing me to a string of producers. One of them, a bald, middle-aged man, kept stroking my wrist with his fat, greasy hand as he “cheersed” me. His lecherous gaze made my skin crawl. I saw other girls my age, standing around like merchandise on display. This wasn’t an audition. I needed to get out. But a wave of dizziness hit me, and my body felt flushed and hot. My agent steadied me, a knowing look on her face. She pulled out a key card and told me she’d already booked a room upstairs. She and her assistant practically dragged me toward the elevator. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what was coming. But my limbs were weak, and I couldn’t break free. I was desperately trying to figure out a way to escape when he appeared. Ethan Hayes. He must have just woken up, emerging from the executive suite to head downstairs. I’d seen him in business journals—the youngest son of the powerful Hayes family, a man who controlled a vast empire. He was my only hope. As he passed us, I reached out and grabbed the hem of his jacket. “Save me.” He was smart. He took one look at my flushed face, the way the two of them were holding me, and immediately understood. He took me to his room to hide and was about to leave to find a doctor. But the drug was too strong. I’d been fighting it for so long, and I couldn’t hold on anymore. I grabbed his hand, looking up at him. “Help me. Please?” His eyes were clear and sober. His rejection was blunt. “No.” My mind was fracturing. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my body trembling. I bit his collarbone, my voice breaking as I cried. “Please? You’re sure?” I don’t know how long I begged, but eventually, his eyes darkened, his breathing grew ragged, and his hand finally landed on my waist. His voice was a low, rough rasp. “Are you sure about this?” He was handsome, clean-cut, nothing like the other men. In a daze, I nodded. “I’m sure.” The words were barely out of my mouth before he lifted me with one arm, tossed me onto the bed, and tore off his shirt. He took my hand, guiding it over the hard planes of his chest, down his abs, to the heat of him. That night was a blur. I woke up the next morning, my throat raw, staring at a stranger. I dressed quickly. “Last night… thank you. Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for you. I’ll act like nothing happened.” I was at the door when he called my name. He gave me his number. “Chloe, this is my contact info. If you need anything, you can call me.” I saved the number, but I never planned to use it. The next three months were hell. The agency blacklisted me for refusing to “entertain clients.” The roles I had lined up vanished. I discovered the predatory clauses in my contract, and they sued me for an impossible sum. To make matters worse, I was late. A pregnancy test confirmed my fears. I had taken the morning-after pill. But somehow, it had survived. I couldn’t afford to keep it. The day of my appointment, staring at the number Ethan had given me, I decided to call. He was the father, after all. He deserved to know. When I told him, he was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Chloe, will you keep it?” “If you say yes, I’ll come get you. We can get married today.” He added one more thing. “I can pay the breach of contract penalty. I’ll get you out of it.” The penalty was three million dollars. I could never pay that on my own. I paced outside the clinic all afternoon, watching the sun sink below the horizon. I felt a tiny flutter in my stomach, like the first stirrings of life. I rested a hand there and called him back. “I’m at 98 West Beacon Street in Boston. Are you coming to get me?” His voice was a low rumble on the other end of the line. “Chloe, come downstairs.” “I’ve been here the whole time.” 4 I never thought I’d get married in such a blur. But life after the wedding was better than I expected. Ethan was reliable. He handled everything, big and small. I never had to worry. There was just one thing that threw me. He was a planner. Everything had a schedule. Including our sex life. His proposed frequency was ten times a week. Ten. I had no idea where he found the energy. He worked insane hours but still had the stamina for that. If he was away on business and missed a few “sessions,” he would make up for them with interest when he returned. In public, he was restrained, almost ascetic. In private, he was a different person entirely, his hot hands tracing my spine, his fingers wiping the tears from my eyes as he whispered filthy, wonderful things in my ear. But after what happened three years ago, we stopped touching each other completely. A chill in the interview room snapped me back to the present. The set was designed for the men and women to sit facing each other. Maya and I were directly under an air-conditioning vent. The fan was on high, and my legs, bare in my short dress, were freezing. But we were live; I couldn’t exactly ask them to change it. The host was still firing questions. “What do both couples hope to achieve by coming on the show?” Ryan and Maya were in sync, saying they had some friction in their marriage and hoped the show would help them work through it. They looked at each other lovingly. “We’re here to solve our problems. Divorce is not an option.” The chat was already fawning over them. [Now THAT’S a real couple. They can’t take their eyes off each other.] [The other two are so gross. This is so much better.] When it was my turn, I shrugged. “I’ve never been on a reality show before. I wanted to see what it was like.” The camera cut to Ethan. He was frowning at me, not answering. [Is Mr. Hayes just straight-up ignoring the question?] [He obviously didn’t want to be here. I bet Chloe threw a fit until he gave in.] [To give her the silent treatment on live TV… imagine what he’s like at home.] [Isn’t Chloe embarrassed? I would have walked off set.] Ethan finally spoke, but not to answer the question. He looked at the director. “Can you turn the heat up? Or get my wife a blanket? She’s sitting right under the vent. I’m worried she’ll get cold.” [I was ready for him to start trashing her, and he says THAT?] [He noticed such a small detail. I don’t know, maybe there’s still something there.] [Maya’s cold too, she’s all huddled up. I thought Ryan was so in love with her, how come he didn’t notice?] [Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ethan is seven years older. There’s no way there’s real love in a May-December marriage like that.] [For real. He was probably just cold himself and didn’t want to say it.] After the crew adjusted the temperature, Ethan finally remembered the host’s question. The host seized the opportunity. “Mr. Hayes, you’re such a busy man. How did you find time for an eighteen-day live broadcast? I heard from the director that Chloe tentatively agreed on the 25th but didn’t give a final answer until the 30th. What happened during that week? Did you two have a fight?” This deliberate leak of information sent the live chat into a frenzy. [So they fought for a week before the show even started?] [Makes sense. Mr. Hayes is so private. He’d never want to do this. They must have had a huge blowout.] [Is it just me or is the host kind of a jerk for revealing that?] [Yeah, it’s just you. She’s a gold-digger on a TV show. What privacy does she deserve?] Ethan shot a brief, annoyed glance at the host. “I was on a business trip overseas that week. She told me about the show when I got back on the 30th.” “We didn’t argue. To be precise, we’ve never had a real fight in our entire marriage.” “And the idea that I had to ‘squeeze in time’ for this is ridiculous.” He smirked, a flash of contempt in his eyes. “Even if I’m busy, I’m not too busy to be with my wife. Half of my time belongs to her, by default.” “My wife wanted to do this show, so I’m here with her. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

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I was the least favorite princess. Before my father, the King, kicked the bucket, my eight older siblings were at each other’s throats for the throne. Historians would later call this period “The Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson.” And me? I was the wildcard in this royal rumble, operating on the principle of “It’s not the winning, it’s the messing-with-people that counts.” By making a bunch of empty promises to various powerful figures, I somehow got crowdfunded onto the throne. Now, as I gaze at the three women I verbally promised to make my queens, a single drop of cold sweat trickles down my temple. This whole “absolute power” thing is turning out to be a bit of a handful. 1 My father, King Harley, was on his last legs. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to make it through the winter. And so, my eight beloved siblings kicked off the glorious Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson. Oh yeah, my dad’s name is actually Harley Davidson. Seriously. I’m the ninth and least favorite of his kids, basically just here to round out the numbers. But participation is key, and I was enthusiastically participating in the chaos. The most critical piece on the chessboard of this succession crisis was the Queen. King Harley and Queen Beatrice were childhood sweethearts, deeply in love. He consulted her on almost everything. Luckily for the rest of us, she was barren. Otherwise, this whole war would’ve been over before we were even embryos. My siblings weren’t idiots. They swarmed the Queen’s chambers like bees to a honeypot. I rushed over, but I was too late. The place was already packed with my fawning relatives. My eldest brother, Prince Albert, was on his knees, declaring, “If you support me, Mother, I will formally adopt you as my own. I will build you a grand cathedral and serve you day and night!” My second sister, Princess Diana, shoved him aside. “Albert, your own mother is still alive! What right do you have to be adopted by the Queen?” Then she turned to Beatrice, her face a mask of sincerity. “Mother, my own mother has passed. My devotion to you will surely surpass my brother’s. Please, think of me as your own daughter!” I discreetly shuffled to the side, hoping the Queen wouldn’t have a sudden maternal meltdown and start adopting people on the spot. My own mother was also gone, and she’d had a hard enough time birthing and raising me. I had zero interest in calling some other woman “Mom.” The other princes and princesses were just as shameless. Some promised to make the Queen’s nephew a Duke, others offered to marry her nieces. One even offered to marry her entire… extended family of unmarried women. Thank God. For a second, I thought her eighty-year-old great-aunt was about to have a very eventful year. My siblings prattled on, but the Queen just maintained a serene smile, giving nothing away. Suddenly, her gaze fell on me in the corner. “Ellie,” she called out. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?” “Huh?” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. My first instinct was to just parrot some generic flattery like everyone else. But faced with their hostile glares, my rebellious streak kicked in. It’s not like I was going to win anyway. I might as well go nuts while we were all still candidates. They couldn’t do anything to me yet. So, with an air of supreme confidence, I announced, “If I become Queen, I’ll set you up with ten gorgeous boy toys to keep you entertained.” 2 The room went dead silent. Then, chaos. Prince Albert shot to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Eleanor, have you lost your mind? How can you say such a thing to the Queen? It’s an insult!” The others chimed in. “What do you take her for? She’s not some scandalous historical figure who needs a harem of young men!” “Exactly, Ellie! The Queen is devoted to the King! If he heard you say that, you could kiss any chance of the throne goodbye!” A few of my sisters seemed a little less convincing in their outrage. I rolled my eyes. The old man wasn’t exactly a looker to begin with, and now he was a sickly, wrinkling mess. How was he supposed to hold a woman like Beatrice’s attention? Besides, I wasn’t suggesting she start now. But once King Harley was six feet under, she’d be all alone. Wouldn’t ten handsome companions be a comfort? I was sure the old man’s spirit would appreciate the gesture. The Queen covered her face with her sleeve, trying to hide a laugh. When she’d composed herself, she said, “Now, now. Ellie means well. Don’t be so hard on your sister.” She then turned to me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ellie, no more jokes, now.” “Of course, Mother,” I said with a grin. No one took me seriously, but I had successfully derailed my siblings’ plans. They left in a huff, each one muttering threats as they passed me. “Ellie, you don’t even have a shot. Why are you acting so crazy?” “Just wait until I’m on the throne. You’ll be sorry!” “You? On the throne? Father would give it to Ellie before he gave it to you!” “What did you just say to me?!” Within seconds, they were at each other’s throats again. Mission accomplished. 3 The next morning, the battle resumed in the royal classroom. Our tutor was the brilliant and handsome Julian Croft, a rising star in the court whom the King had appointed to educate his children. He was smooth, never showing favoritism, which made him a key ally to win over. My siblings tried their best. The brainy ones impressed him with eloquent essays and poetry. The less-than-brainy ones tried to bribe him with expensive art and rare books. I was broke and not particularly bright, so I decided my best strategy was to just annoy him to death. If I could make him quit, all their efforts would be for naught. Heh. After class, I was the only one held back. The jealous glares from my siblings could have drilled holes in me. They couldn’t fathom how I’d managed to get such exclusive time with our tutor. Of course they couldn’t. It involved getting my head whacked repeatedly. Julian held a thick bamboo scroll and used it to rhythmically tap my skull. “Ow, ow, ow!” I yelped. He paused, looking thoughtfully at the scroll. “First time I’ve ever heard a scroll cry out.” “I’m sorry, Tutor,” I said, rubbing my head. “I promise, when I’m Queen, I’ll pay attention in class.” Heh, sucker. The first thing I’ll do when I’m Queen is have you executed. Julian sighed. “You becoming Queen would be the greatest insult to my teaching career.” “Tutor, please listen. I’m just so worried about my father’s health, I can’t concentrate.” “If you were truly worried about your father, you wouldn’t have produced a translation like this.” I looked down at my work. The text was a classic proverb: While your parents are alive, do not wander far. If you must, have a clear destination. My translation: Your parents are my hostages. You won’t get far. And even if you do, I have ways of dragging you back. What was wrong with that? The look on his face told me I wasn’t getting his endorsement. My frustration boiled over. I gave him a cold, threatening smile. “Tutor, I suggest you be nicer to me. Otherwise, when I’m Queen, the very first thing I’ll do is make you my personal plaything. And when I’m bored with you, I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.” Julian’s long eyelashes fluttered. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper by my ear. “And what if I am nicer to you? How will Your Majesty reward me?” He smelled amazing, a scent completely different from the other stuffy courtiers. My mind went a little fuzzy. “I’ll make you my King Consort!” I blurted out. Thwack. Another hit to the head. I whimpered, looking at him pitifully. Yeah, definitely executing him. Julian just smiled his gentle, infuriating smile. “Go copy the Royal Code of Conduct. Ten times.” 4 That afternoon, I left the palace, books in tow. My escort was Captain Marcus Thorne, the head of the Royal Guard. The King, worried about his children assassinating one another, had ordered that a guard escort was mandatory for any royal leaving the palace grounds. This made Marcus, with his control of the military, a very important person. For me, however, who made daily trips to the city’s finest purveyor of trashy romance novels, it was just awkward. It had taken me a month to go from embarrassed to shamelessly proud of my literary tastes. It took Marcus only three days to go from respectful to disgusted. The first day, it was “Your Highness.” By the third, it was “Alright, smut-peddler, had enough yet?” Today, he greeted me with a deadpan expression. “Smut-peddler. I did some recon yesterday. The book you want, Reborn: I Was a Monk in the Royal Palace, is on the first shelf, third row, tenth from the left. Grab it and let’s go.” I hesitated. “But… there are other books I wanted to get…” “Name them.” “My Husband Ran Off With My Bun in the Oven and Gave Birth to Ten Babies.” Marcus’s face twitched. “Third shelf, first row, seventh from the left.” “A Eunuch’s Tale: The Nine-Thousand-Year-Old Virgin’s Conquest.” “Third shelf, sixth row, fifth from the left.” I stared at him, impressed. My first act as Queen would be to appoint him Royal Librarian. At the bookshop, I met up with my two best friends and partners-in-crime: the Prime Minister’s daughter, Clara, and the Grand Tutor’s son, Leo. Under Marcus’s death glare, I quickly made my purchases and we retreated to a nearby tea house. The Prime Minister was backing my third brother. The Grand Tutor was backing my fourth sister. Their delinquent children were backing me. Completely useless. “I really want to be Queen,” I sighed dramatically. “I really want to marry my darling Caspian,” Clara sighed back. “But he’s just an actor…” I couldn’t bear to see her so sad. “Clara, don’t worry. When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married.” “Me too!” Leo chimed in. Clara shot him a suspicious look. “You’re in love with Caspian too?” “No! I’m in love with his co-star, Julian.” That was… also not ideal. But he was looking at me with such hopeful eyes. I couldn’t play favorites. “When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married as well.” Leo dropped to his knees. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” Marcus looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “I think all these books have rotted your brain.” I suddenly remembered he was there. Everyone gets a prize. “Captain Thorne, is there anyone you have your eye on? I could arrange a marriage for you too.” “There was,” he said grimly. “But then I saw these books.” I guess the Captain was a man of high literary standards. I laughed. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m quite fond of you. When I’m Queen, I’ll make you my King Consort, and we can read together!” Marcus’s face went through several shades of red, white, and green. He finally settled on green and ground out one word: “Smut-peddler!” 5 I was just joking with my friends, but they took me seriously. They insisted I go see the Royal Seer to pick auspicious dates for their weddings. I was hesitant. The Seer held a special, powerful position in the court. If I was seen consulting him, my siblings might actually think I was a contender for the throne. Which, I mean, I was. I hurried over to the Seer’s temple before it got dark. The Seer himself, a man named Sterling, stopped me at the entrance. “Before you enter, take out what you’re hiding.” I patted myself down. “I’m not carrying any weapons.” Sterling gave me a cool, appraising look. “What you have is more dangerous than any sword.” I pulled out the book from my coat: My Nights of Captive Passion with the Ice-Cold Royal Seer. He didn’t even glance at it. He just turned away. “Burn it.” I reluctantly tossed my beloved book into the brazier. I didn’t get it. What was so dangerous about a book? Finally inside, my first question was, “Master Seer, can you tell me what day would be most auspicious for my coronation?” “Today would be an excellent day for Your Highness to ascend… to the heavens.” That wasn’t the kind of ascending I had in mind! “Fine,” I pressed on. “Then can you tell me when the old man is going to kick the bucket?” Sterling frowned. “Your Highness, the King is your father.” I didn’t say he wasn’t. “Okay, fine. You can’t do that, you can’t do this. Can you at least give me two auspicious dates for a wedding?” “Your Highness, I am the Royal Seer. I only read the heavens for the monarch.” To the dungeon with you! Sterling sat in the courtyard, brewing tea. His profile was elegant, his aura cool and distant. Before he became the Royal Seer, I used to visit him all the time. I’d ask him to tell me when my mother would come back, when my father would remember I existed. He’d done the calculations and told me I was fated for a lonely, difficult childhood, unloved by both parents. I’d thrown a fit and told him he was a terrible fortune-teller. The next day, he was appointed Royal Seer, which just infuriated me more. I sighed. “I’m kidding. But if I made you my King Consort, could you just find me two good dates for our wedding?” His hand, pouring the tea, paused. He stood up abruptly. “Wait here.” He disappeared into his chambers and didn’t return until nightfall. He looked pale and exhausted. He handed me a stack of ten slips of paper. “These are ten auspicious dates for a wedding. Take them. I will continue my calculations tomorrow.” I stared at the stack of dates, bewildered. Okay, now even I’m starting to ship us. Barely two weeks later, the King was fading fast. He summoned all of us to his bedside.

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After retiring, my mom became a full-time travel blogger, posting a dozen times a day. One afternoon, scrolling through her feed, I saw my ex-boyfriend. In the video, the two of them were chatting like old friends. My mom was clearly charmed by him. I immediately texted her, trying to be subtle. “You know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I died. My ex-boyfriend was apparently the son my mom had with her first husband. Still in denial, I texted back, “So… are you trying to set up some kind of weird family reunion, Mom?” Her response: “No, but it looks like you’re trying to set yourself up for a trip to the emergency room.” 1 The day my mom finalized her retirement paperwork, she booked a solo trip to Italy. No me, no stepdad. My dad and I still had jobs. Before she left, she patted us both on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said solemnly. “I’ll be sure to share all the fun with you two.” My idea of “sharing the fun” involved delicious souvenirs. Her idea of “sharing the fun” involved a twenty-post-a-day, minute-by-minute travelogue on social media. She’d post sixteen updates during a thirty-minute hike. Even the MLM huns in her friends list couldn’t keep up and started unfollowing her. I dutifully liked every single post, because if I missed one, she’d repost it in the family group chat and tag us. “@Me @Dad, why no like on this one? Is the composition off? Hmm?” We’d plead our case. “Mom, it’s not you, it’s the algorithm! It’s hiding your posts from us!” She’d get scammed by a street vendor into buying some ridiculously overpriced bracelet and send us a picture, asking if she should get it. We’d say no. She’d buy it anyway. Her desire to share every moment of her life with us was relentless, but honestly, my dad and I kind of loved it. Her posts were so full of life. On a tough day at work, I’d scroll through her videos and live vicariously through her adventures. One day, I was scrolling through her latest ten-video dump and one thumbnail caught my eye. Not randomly, I’ll admit. I saw the profile of a handsome guy. I grinned. At least Mom was posting some quality content. But when I clicked play and saw his face, my smile froze. It was my ex-boyfriend, Daniel. 2 In the video, my mom and Daniel were eating pasta, talking animatedly. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I could understand his face—still handsome enough to stop your heart. I never thought I’d see him again like this. I watched the fourteen-second clip over and over, a knot of complicated feelings in my stomach. The longing for him that I had so carefully suppressed came rushing back. The truth is, the biggest regret of my life was breaking up with him. I’d had a massive crush on Daniel in college. He was smart, gorgeous, and completely aloof. He dealt with any girl who showed interest by immediately blocking her. The first time I asked him out, he rejected me and, true to form, blocked my number. But I had a burner phone. I was young, shameless, and convinced I could win over any guy. Even my friends were on my side. “His last name is Rivers, your last name is Banks,” they’d say. “It’s fate.” I bought into the cheesy poetry of it all and pursued him relentlessly for three years. Finally, in our senior year, he gave in. We interned at the same company in Chicago that winter. It was freezing. We huddled together in a drafty little apartment, kissing, touching, learning each other. He started to open up, his initial shyness melting away. He’d kiss me awake in the mornings and whisper things that made me blush. He learned to cook because I hated takeout, blew my hair dry for me, and even after working late, he’d insist on doing our laundry before bed. He told me about his family. His mom had died when he was young, and his dad was an alcoholic gambler. He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, a story of strength and resilience that made me cry. I held him tight and promised, “It’s okay. I’ll always love you.” But I overestimated myself. After the internship, I planned to introduce him to my parents. I had a happy, stable family, and I wanted to share that with him. But one night, at dinner, my mom was ranting about some trashy reality show. A girl had cut off her family to marry a guy with nothing, only to be killed by his drunk father. The guy then faked a mental illness to get his dad off the hook. My mom slammed her fork down. “If our Clara ever brings home some guy with no breeding and a dysfunctional family, I swear, I’ll disown her.” I froze mid-chew. Daniel didn’t have a mother. And his father… It wasn’t his fault, but… I meekly raised my hand. “Mom, Dad… what if my boyfriend’s mom had passed away, and his dad was… an alcoholic?” “Then you can get out right now,” they said in unison, their eyes like daggers. I shut my mouth. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of my parents never accepting Daniel was unbearable. I was falling deeper in love with him every day, and I was terrified. So, when we graduated, I broke up with him. 3 Two years hadn’t dulled the memory of him. If anything, the longing had grown stronger. I missed his kiss, his laugh, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. On lonely nights, I hated myself for not being braver. What if we really were meant to be? I snapped back to the present, watching the video again. Daniel looked more mature now, but he still nervously tugged on his earlobe when he was talking. At the end of the clip, my mom asked him if he had a girlfriend. He gave a shy smile, and the video cut off. I took a deep breath and tried to be rational. My mom was clearly smitten with him. She was asking about his relationship status, which meant she was trying to set me up. The fact that she posted this where I would see it was a clear sign. Daniel was destined to be my mom’s son-in-law. Fired up by my flawless logic, I texted her. “Mom, you know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I’m sorry, what? My son? Your brother? The words didn’t compute. I didn’t have a brother. She didn’t have a son. Then, a memory surfaced. My dad, during an argument with my mom, shouting, “I don’t even want to talk about your ex-husband!” My mom had been married before. My aunt once told me she’d been married for three years and was even pregnant. But the man had hit her during a fight, and she’d left him immediately, giving up the baby. My parents never talked about it, and I never asked. They were happy now. That was all that mattered. Except now, I wasn’t so happy. If only I’d asked. Then maybe my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be my mom’s long-lost son. This was a horror story. I had a half-brother I never knew about, and he was the guy I’d slept with, cried over, and dreamed about for the last two years. Was this even legal? Probably not. Still in denial, I forwarded the video to my dad. Who is this? I asked, praying for a different answer. His reply: “That’s Daniel Rivers, your mom’s son. Wow, he grew up handsome. You know, your mom picked out both your names. Pretty cool, right?” I closed my eyes. It was over. I thought Banks and Rivers was a poetic, romantic coincidence. Turns out, they were just matching sibling names. But at least I had broken up with him. As much as it had hurt, it was the right thing to do. I made a vow to myself to take this secret to the grave. 4 Just when I was feeling relieved about my decision, my mom, the prodigal traveler, returned. And Daniel was with her. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. “Daniel’s on vacation, so he’s going to stay with us for a few days,” my mom explained. “Be nice to him.” She nudged me. “Don’t just stand there. Go say hi to your brother.” I wanted to refuse, but under my mom’s watchful eye, I forced a smile and reached for his suitcase. “Hi… brother.” Daniel’s face was a blank mask. He avoided my eyes and pulled his suitcase away. “Hello,” he said coolly. Thank god. He was just as eager to keep his distance as I was. We could do this. We could pretend to be strangers. For the first few days, it worked. We were polite but distant, and my parents didn’t suspect a thing. I just had to hold on until he left. Then, my best friend Sarah came over to borrow some sugar. She saw Daniel walking out of his room, and her jaw dropped. “Oh my god! Clara! Isn’t that… your ex? The one who was so good in… you know?” she stage-whispered. “You were just crying about him yesterday, and now you’ve got him in your house? You’re my hero!” I lunged at her and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up! He’s my brother! My actual, biological brother!” Sarah’s eyes widened even more. “What? Are you guys into some weird role-playing thing now?” Just then, my mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “What was that about an ex? And role-playing?” 5 My mom’s voice was sharp with suspicion. I wanted to glue Sarah’s mouth shut. Three deadly questions, and I couldn’t answer a single one. I shot a desperate look at Daniel, hoping he would use his signature aloofness to ignore the situation. But he didn’t. He slowly turned his gaze from Sarah to me, a smirk playing on his lips. It was a look that said, “Go on. Lie your way out of this one.” My brain went into overdrive. Just before it short-circuited, I came up with a brilliant, if utterly insane, explanation. I threw an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and gave my mom a winning smile. “Mom, it’s just internet slang.” “‘Ex’ is what you call a guy who’s so hot, you’d marry him and then divorce him, just for the experience.” “And the role-playing thing, that’s just… a compliment! It means my brother is so handsome, looking at him makes you weak in the knees. You might trip and fall and have to go to the orthopedist!” “So when we say he’s ‘good,’ we mean he’s good at sending people to the doctor!” I finished my breathless explanation and held my breath. My mom squinted, clearly skeptical. But Sarah, bless her heart, jumped in. “Yes! That’s exactly it, Mrs. Banks! Your son is so handsome, he’s a walking workplace hazard!” My mom’s attention shifted. She looked at Daniel’s admittedly perfect face and actually bought it. She puffed out her chest. “Well, of course. Look who his mother is.” Crisis averted. I dragged Sarah outside. “You almost got me killed!” I hissed. “What is going on? How is he your brother?” I gave her the whole sordid, soap-opera-worthy story. She listened, her mouth hanging open. “So… half-siblings? For real?” “For real.” “So you guys…” She looked down, her meaning clear. “We’re innocent!” I insisted, then amended, “Legally innocent, anyway.” “Okay, well, legally or not, you need to forget about him,” she said seriously. “Incest is a crime, you know.” I sent Sarah on her way and went back inside, emotionally drained. My parents were showing Daniel old family photo albums, the picture of domestic bliss. “Look, Daniel, this is Clara as a baby. So ugly she was cute,” my mom said, pointing to a picture of me with a runny nose. “Yeah, she was always a little dopey,” my dad added. Thanks, guys. Daniel’s eyes lingered on the photo, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He looked up, his eyes met mine, and then he quickly looked away, his cool mask back in place. “Clara, come look with your brother,” my mom said. I sat down next to her, leaving a mile of space between myself and Daniel. My mom pushed me closer. “He’s not going to bite. Go get your brother a glass of water.” I reluctantly got up. As I passed Daniel, I caught the scent of his mint body wash, the same one he used when we were together. My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled, and he instinctively reached out to steady me, his warm hand on my arm. The touch was electric. I pulled away as if I’d been burned. “Thanks,” I mumbled, not looking at him. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice flat. The awkwardness was suffocating. I fled to the kitchen and chugged a glass of cold water. Get a grip, Clara, I told myself. He’s your brother. It’s over.

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I was publicly crucified on Instagram by my boss’s wife. She tagged me by name, accusing me of seducing a married man. “Sliding into his DMs late at night, and you still pretend to be so innocent?” Her next story was a picture of me walking into the office. “Just an intern, carrying a fifteen-thousand-dollar bag to work. I wonder where that money came from?” When I confronted my boss, he just laughed. “My wife is just… passionate. She loves me a lot. You shouldn’t be so sensitive, kid.” The next morning, when he was handed his termination notice, I smiled sweetly. “Don’t take it to heart. My dad just loves me a lot.” 1 It was 11 PM on a Tuesday. I was doing a final review of the “Project Apex” contract when I found a fatal flaw someone had overlooked. The payment terms. They had been extended by a full sixty days from the initial draft. A tiny change in a single number. It was enough to completely derail the company’s cash flow down the line. I immediately sent the file to my direct supervisor. [Mark, urgent issue with the Apex contract. Please call when you see this.] A minute later, my phone lit up with an unknown number. I answered. It wasn’t my boss, Mark Thompson. It was a woman’s sharp, angry voice. “Who is this? What kind of shady business do you have with my husband in the middle of the night?” I frowned. “Hello, this is his colleague from the office, Gra—” She cut me off. “I don’t care who you are! Texting a married man this late? Are you trying to sleep with him? Have you no shame?” I lowered the volume on my phone. “There’s a critical issue in clause 7.3 of the contract. It’s a Category A risk. If Mark is unavailable now, I will report this directly to the CEO’s office in the morning.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, her voice returned, dripping with scorn. “You think I’m stupid? How many little homewreckers use ‘work’ as an excuse to lure a man out at night?” “You just wait,” she hissed, and hung up. 2 The next day, I had barely sat down at my desk when a woman stormed toward me. Her eyes were bloodshot. She slammed her hand on my desk and pointed a finger in my face. “It’s you! You’re the one! The little tramp sending my husband suggestive texts at midnight.” “You look all sweet and innocent, but does your mother know you spend your days trying to seduce your boss?” Her shrill voice cut through the office chatter, and everything went dead silent. My face burned with embarrassment. I quickly composed myself. “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood. Yesterday was about the contract—” “Misunderstood what?” Her eyes raked over me, full of malice. “I hear you’re just an intern?” “Where does an intern get the money for a fifteen-thousand-dollar bag to come to work? It’s not clean money, is it?” Every eye in the office was on me, a mix of morbid curiosity and office gossip. Mark finally showed up, an expression of artful distress on his face. He grabbed his wife’s arm. “Jessica, please, not at the office.” She yanked her arm away, her voice rising to a shriek. “Am I making a scene? Or are you just trying to protect her?” She shot a venomous look at me. “Let me tell you something, little intern. My husband is not for you.” Mark sighed and let her go. He walked over to my desk and patted my shoulder, a little too familiarly. “Grace,” he said, his voice low, a fake smile plastered on his face. “My wife is just… passionate. She loves me a lot. Don’t be so sensitive.” I brushed his hand off my shoulder and looked coldly at the couple. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady. “If being ‘sensitive’ is the term for having a normal human reaction to public slander and workplace harassment, then I suggest you reread the company’s HR policies.” I paused for a beat, adding, “And for the record, my bag was a graduation present. From my father.” 3 Mark’s face turned purple. He dragged his still-fuming wife away. The silence in the office lasted for three seconds before erupting into a flurry of whispers. “That bag… is it real? I just looked it up. It’s a limited edition Céline. Fifteen grand.” “For an intern? Tsk, I guess Mark’s wife wasn’t lying.” I glanced up, and the colleagues who had been whispering furiously bent their heads over their keyboards, pretending to work. No one spoke to me for the rest of the day. When someone needed a stapler, they walked all the way across the office to avoid asking me, as if I were contagious. Just then, a hot cup of coffee was placed gently on my desk. It was Lily from Accounting, her face a mask of concern. “Grace, don’t listen to them. I know Jessica.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “She’s not a bad person, she just has a quick temper.” She continued, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “And… people aren’t trying to be mean about your bag. They’re just curious. I mean, we all know what the intern salary is… Ugh, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She slapped her hand over her mouth in mock-regret. I looked at her. Her eyes were full of fake pity, but underneath, I could see a flicker of satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide. I didn’t touch the coffee. “Thanks,” I said coolly. “But I don’t drink instant.” A crack appeared in her sweet, friendly facade. 4 I stood up and walked straight to Mark’s office. When he saw me, a glint appeared in his eyes. “Grace! Come in, have a seat.” I walked up to his desk, my voice like ice. “Mark, I expect a public apology from your wife, Jessica Thompson.” His smile faltered for a second before returning. “Grace, come on. Why take it so seriously? You know how women are. They get jealous.” He got up and walked around his desk toward me. I instinctively took a step back. He reached past me and locked the office door. He turned back, his eyes roaming over my body. “Grace, you know, my wife has a point. An intern with a bag like that…” “Instead of some old rich guy, why not bet on a winner like me? You know?” He leaned in, and the greasy smell of his cologne washed over me. I fought back the urge to gag. “Mark,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I suggest you show some respect. Otherwise, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.” He paused, then a smug, knowing smile spread across his face. “Grace, you need to think carefully.” “Stick with me, and you’ll go far. Much further than some little intern who might not even get a full-time offer at the end of this.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Mark, is that a threat?” He shrugged. “I’m just giving you an opportunity. A chance to change your life.” I looked at him, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Okay, Mark. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Let me consider your… generous offer.”

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My best friend of eight years, drunk off his ass, blew up my phone with five consecutive calls in the middle of the night. When I finally called back, he confessed his undying love for me through a series of blubbering sobs and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. I said yes. The next day, he took me out to lunch and, with a completely straight face, tried to set me up with one of his friends. “My buddy is rich, handsome, and a little socially awkward. You two would be perfect for each other.” I squeezed my chopsticks, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “Liam,” I said. “Are you fucking with me?” 1. The fifth time my phone vibrated across my desk, I was deep in the throes of writing my senior thesis. The name “Liam” flashed on the screen like a bad omen. I was annoyed. He had to call now? Right when I was in the zone, my fingers flying across the keyboard? I silenced the call, figuring I’d get back to him when I finished the chapter. Liam was a goofball, but he wasn’t usually this persistent. Five calls in a row meant something was probably wrong. By the time I finally finished my thought and picked up my phone, it had been half an hour. Five missed calls stared back at me. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if something had actually happened? Alcohol poisoning? A bar fight that landed him in jail? The guy had a history. The more I thought about it, the more I panicked, and I quickly called him back. The phone rang, each ring echoing my frantic heartbeat. Just as I was about to hang up and drive to his apartment, he answered. “Hello?” His voice was a slurred, nasal mumble. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and immediately launched into a tirade. “Liam, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What’s with all the calls? I thought you’d been kidnapped and sold for parts!” “…Chloe?” His voice was small, hesitant. “Who else would it be? Your mom?” I snapped. He giggled, a dopey, drunken sound. “I knew you’d call me back.” I could tell he was completely wasted. “Were you out with Matt and the guys again? How much did you drink? Where are you?” “I’m not anywhere… I’m just at home…” he stammered. “I just… I just missed you…” My heart did a little flip. Liam and I had been friends for eight years. We’d gone from awkward freshmen in ill-fitting school uniforms to jaded seniors, just trying to make it to graduation. We were best friends, partners in crime, a platonic dynamic so solid it was practically bulletproof. I’d helped him through breakups; he’d helped me cram for finals. I could show up at his place with no makeup and my rattiest sweatpants, and he could complain to me about which sorority had the hottest girls. Our friendship was clean. At least, that’s how he saw it. Only I knew when the lines had started to blur for me, when I started having trouble looking him in the eye, when my breath would catch in my throat if he stood too close. “…Chloe…” he mumbled again. “Why did you call me five times?” His voice was thick with emotion, like a lost kid. I was stunned. What? Who called whom five times? Was he hallucinating? Before I could correct him, he continued, his voice cracking. “Did you know I was drunk? Were you worried about me?” “Oh, Chloe, I’m so touched…” “That’s it. You definitely like me too. You should be my girlfriend.” My brain short-circuited. All I could hear was that last sentence, ringing in my ears. Was this a drunken confession? Or just another one of his stupid jokes? I clutched my phone, my fingers cold, my breathing shallow. “Chloe? Are you there?” His voice was laced with a new vulnerability. “You don’t want to, do you? I knew it…” “I do.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. My face flushed. I knew he was drunk. I knew he probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. I knew this was probably just wishful thinking on my part. But I couldn’t help it. Eight years of a secret, one-sided crush, suddenly watered by his drunken confession, had burst through the surface. I took the gamble. I bet that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking, that somewhere deep down, he felt the same way I did. The line went silent. So silent I thought he’d passed out. My courage started to waver. I was just about to take it all back when he finally spoke. “…Really?” His voice was a whisper. “Really,” I said, my own voice trembling. “Say it again.” I took a deep breath. “Liam,” I said, each word clear and deliberate. “I want to be your girlfriend.” He giggled again, that same dopey, happy sound that made my heart feel like it was going to burst. “My girlfriend…” he murmured. “Chloe is my girlfriend…” And then he hung up. I just stood there, holding my phone. Had that really just happened? Was I officially in a relationship with my best friend of eight years? I pinched myself. Hard. It wasn’t a dream. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I listened to the five-minute call recording at least fifty times, memorizing the sound of his voice, his ridiculous accusation, his bold confession, his happy, drunken giggle. I couldn’t stop smiling. So this is what it felt like. Not one-sided, but a real, mutual thing. It was sweeter than I ever could have imagined. 2. The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes, but I was buzzing with energy. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who was glowing. The first thing I did was text my new boyfriend. I spent a good ten minutes agonizing over the perfect message. “Good morning, boyfriend?” “Hey, handsome.” A simple kissy-face emoji? It was all so mortifyingly cheesy. Finally, I settled on a cool and casual, “You up?” He replied almost instantly. “Up. Head is killing me.” Followed by a skull emoji. I laughed and typed back, “Serves you right for drinking so much.” “Chloe, I’m sorry,” he texted, with a sad-puppy-dog gif. He’d always called me by my full name when he was being serious. But today, it sounded different. Sweeter. We texted back and forth, a stream of meaningless nonsense. But he never mentioned the night before. My anxiety started to creep back in. No way, I thought. He didn’t actually forget, did he? I decided to test the waters. “Do you… remember what you said to me last night?” The three dots on his end appeared, then disappeared. My heart leaped into my throat. Oh god, he forgot. I was an idiot for believing a drunk guy. I was just about to text him back, to say it was all a joke, when his message came through. “I do.” “I remember every word.” “So, to celebrate our glorious friendship leveling up, can I take you to lunch?” I felt like I was floating. “Sure,” I texted back. I jumped out of bed and ran to my closet. A date! Our first official date! What should I wear? Should I do my makeup? Perfume? He always said he liked me in dresses. I dug out a white sundress I’d bought for my birthday last year and had never worn. I did my makeup, a shimmery, peachy look I thought was irresistible. I looked in the mirror and saw a completely different girl from the usual t-shirt-and-jeans Chloe. I smiled. Liam, you’re not going to know what hit you. We met at a trendy brunch spot near campus. He was already there, looking impossibly handsome in a crisp white t-shirt and a light blue button-down. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, making him look like he was glowing. He saw me and his eyes lit up. “Chloe! Over here!” I took a deep breath and walked towards him, trying to look graceful in my heels. “Have you been waiting long?” I asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “Nope, just got here,” he said, pushing the menu towards me. “My treat.” “Oh, feeling generous?” I teased. “Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a historic day, after all.” He was looking at me with such a bright, open expression that I had to look down at the menu to hide my blush. My heart was doing backflips. He remembered. And he was happy about it. The whole meal was a blur. I kept waiting for him to say it, to make it official. But he talked about our thesis projects, about our post-graduation travel plans, about the latest campus gossip. He talked about everything except us. I was starting to get antsy. Was he just going to leave it like this? Were we in some kind of secret relationship? As we were finishing up, I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Liam.” “Hmm?” he said, currently engaged in a fierce battle with a piece of bacon. “Are we…” He suddenly looked up, as if he’d just remembered something important. “Oh, right. Chloe, I need to talk to you about something.” This is it! I thought, sitting up straighter. He’s finally going to say it. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned forward, his expression serious and sincere. “I have this buddy, Nick. He’s in the computer science department.” Nick? Who the hell was Nick? “He’s a really great guy, just a little shy around girls. Top of his class, got into a great grad program already.” “…And?” I was confused. “Well, he’s seen you in the library a few times and thinks you’re really cute. He’s been wanting to meet you, but he’s too nervous to ask.” Liam grinned, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “He begged me to set you guys up. And I was thinking, you’re both single, your personalities would be a good match. You’re outgoing, he’s quiet. It’s perfect.” “So… what do you think? Should I give him your number?” The smile on my face froze. The sounds of the restaurant faded away. All I could see was Liam’s enthusiastic face, and all I could hear was the word “perfect” echoing in my head. Perfect? So this was his big, historic announcement? He’d dressed up and taken me to a nice lunch to set me up with his friend? What was I? What was last night? A cold dread washed over me. I gripped my fork, my knuckles white. I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Are you fucking with me?” The smile on his face vanished. He looked at me, bewildered. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?” “Are you getting some kind of sick pleasure out of messing with me?” “No, Chloe, I’m not messing with you…” He looked panicked, reaching for my hand. “I just thought Nick was a great guy, and I wanted to introduce you…” “Enough!” I stood up abruptly, knocking over my chair. The other diners stared. I didn’t care. I felt like the world’s biggest fool. Last night, I was on cloud nine. Today, I was crashing and burning. “Do you have any idea what you said to me on the phone last night?” I demanded, my voice shaking. He looked from panicked to confused to… guilty? He avoided my eyes. “I… I was pretty drunk last night,” he mumbled. “I don’t really remember.” He didn’t remember. Of course. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re unbelievable.” I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the restaurant. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him for another second. “Chloe!” he called after me, grabbing my arm. “Don’t be mad. Did I… did I say something I shouldn’t have?” I shook him off. He looked so genuinely concerned, so innocent. It was all an act. A cruel, elaborate game to make a fool out of me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The person in front of me was a stranger. “Liam,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met.” I walked away, ignoring his calls. The tears finally came, hot and fast. I wandered the streets, my mind a chaotic mess of humiliation, anger, and a crushing sadness. My phone buzzed in my bag, Liam’s name flashing on the screen. I didn’t want to talk to him. What was there to say? I finally collapsed onto a park bench, sobbing into my hands. Why? If he didn’t like me, why would he do this? Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a text message from an unknown number came through. It was short, but it made my blood run cold. “Stay away from Liam.” “What he said to you last night wasn’t a drunken confession.” “It was a cry for help.”

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