Author: Momo Chan

1 I spent my entire month’s salary on emergency care after my mother’s stroke. When I didn’t give the money to my wealthy girlfriend instead, she was enraged—my love wasn’t blind enough. She gathered friends to discuss how to teach me a lesson. One suggested blacklisting me from my industry; another proposed cutting off my mother’s life support. Her childhood friend smirked and told her to fake marrying him to make me jealous. Amelia agreed to it all. Spitefully, she turned to him and said, “If loyalty isn’t absolute, it’s betrayal. Since his mother matters so much, let’s get a marriage license and crush him. Let’s see him gold-dig with shattered dreams.” I stood outside the private room, holding flowers, having rushed there to apologize. I heard every word. My heart felt sliced open. When we started dating, she said our backgrounds were too different—I had to pass “tests” to marry her. For seven years, I gave her everything. Yet it all meant less than a joke from the man she grew up with. As I turned to leave, a cool, unforgettable voice cut through the noise: “If you don’t want him anymore, can I have him?” … I froze, struck by lightning. My feet felt nailed to the floor. She was supposed to be overseas. What was she doing here? The room fell silent for a moment before someone tried to smooth things over. “Miss Sterling, what are you talking about? Alex is just a broke, money-grubbing loser. Do you know him?” Stella Sterling didn’t answer. Instead, Amelia’s indifferent, mocking voice filled the silence. “Of course, you can. If you can manage to pry him away.” She was confident that I was hopelessly in love with her, that I wouldn’t look at another woman. The scars I’d earned for her, the blood and tears I’d shed over the past seven years—they were all trophies she proudly displayed. But that didn’t stop her from continuing her “tests.” Or maybe the tests were just an excuse, a way to wait for me to mess up so she could shamelessly favor her childhood friend, Liam. Liam chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand, everyone. Stella only wants to get to know Alex because of me.” He shot her a playful, admonishing look, his eyes full of pride. “Stella, you really took what I said to heart. Alex did bully me once, and it’s sweet of you to want to stick up for me, but don’t do anything too drastic!” The realization dawned on the others, and they immediately started showering him with praise. “So that’s why the heiress of the Sterling family came to our little get-together right after returning to the country! It was all for you, Liam!” “You’re really something, Liam! Even a goddess like Miss Sterling is falling at your feet!” My clenched fists slowly relaxed. Right. It had been so many years. Stella probably didn’t even remember who I was. But Amelia’s composure had vanished, replaced by a tense, guarded hostility. “Miss Sterling, if you want to pursue Liam, have you asked for my permission?” The group chuckled knowingly. “Amelia, we all know you two were childhood sweethearts. You’ve seen him as your future husband since you were kids. Don’t be so possessive!” No one took Stella’s words seriously. I couldn’t listen anymore. I threw the crushed bouquet into a nearby trash can and headed back to the hospital. My mom, lying in her bed, seemed to sense my presence. She struggled to open her eyes and weakly fumbled for a bank card. “Alex, honey, this is my pension. Take it and give it to Amelia as your ‘salary.’ Don’t let her be angry.” A lump formed in my throat. My mom knew I had to hand over my salary to Amelia every month as a sign of my devotion. For the sake of my happiness, she had never asked me for a cent, working well past retirement age until she collapsed from a stroke. I was a terrible son. The thought that Amelia might actually harm my mother made my blood run cold. I wiped my face and tucked the card back under her pillow. “Mom, it’s okay. We’re not right for each other. I’m going to transfer you to another hospital. We’re leaving this place.” My mom had always been proud of me and trusted my judgment. When I went back to my apartment to grab some things for the hospital stay, I found someone was already there. Amelia was tearing the place apart, packing her things into a massive suitcase that stood at her feet. Liam was leaning against the doorframe, his tone dripping with disdain. “Amelia, this is the kind of place Alex makes you live in? You deserve so much better.” I looked down. If I lived alone, I would have found a basement apartment for a hundred bucks a month. But for Amelia, I had gritted my teeth and rented this place for a thousand. She complained that the salary I handed over was too little, but she had no idea I was already running on empty. The soft click of the door opening startled them. Liam turned, a wide, malicious grin on his face. “Alex, I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. You’d better apologize and beg for her forgiveness. Now.” Amelia didn’t turn around, but her packing slowed. I opened my mouth, wanting to talk things through one last time, to give our seven years a proper ending. “You’re leaving me just because I used my salary to pay for my mom’s medical bills?” She threw a shirt down and spun around, a cold sneer on her face. “You make it sound so simple! Alex, you could have given me the money first and then asked to borrow it back for your mom. But you couldn’t even give me that much trust. Maybe we should just break up!” Ever since Liam’s family went bankrupt and he started clinging to her, she had been using the word “breakup” like a punctuation mark, constantly finding fault with me. But what had I done wrong? My own salary, after passing through her hands, had somehow become a debt I owed her. My voice was hollow. “I do trust you. But when I had acute appendicitis and asked you for five hundred dollars for the surgery, you listened to Liam and used it as another ‘test.’ You made me wait for a whole day and night. I lost a part of my intestine because of you. Amelia, how can you expect me to put my mother’s life in your hands?” Amelia’s face flushed. “Don’t you dare drag Liam into this! That was an accident! Alex, it was just a few thousand dollars. One of my earrings is worth more than your entire salary. What hurt me was your attitude!” Attitude, attitude! I was so sick of hearing that word. Every time Liam’s name came up, she would twist everything around. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I pressed my fingers to my temples and asked coldly, “So because of this, you’re determined to break up with me?” “Yes!” she snapped, certain I would back down and grovel like I always did. I just smiled, a sense of release washing over me. “Fine. Then we’re broken up.” 2 It turned out those words weren’t as hard to say as I’d imagined. Amelia’s expression froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. I pushed past her and started helping her pack. Years of doing all the housework meant my movements were swift and efficient as I folded her clothes into the suitcase. Liam sneered from the sidelines. “Alex, how could you? It’s your fault, but you’re raising your voice at Amelia. You need to be patient with your girlfriend. How do you expect to marry into a rich family with an attitude like that?” I ignored him, focusing on gathering everything that belonged to Amelia. The matching mugs, the matching slippers, the matching pajamas… As I separated each item, Amelia’s eyes grew redder and redder. When I opened a drawer and my fingers brushed against a thick stack of love letters, I paused. A sharp pain shot through my heart, a physical ache that was impossible to ignore. Seven years ago, she had fallen for me at first sight while I was working as a waiter to pay off my family’s debts. She was like a ray of sunshine in my dark life. She was sweet and beautiful, with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and dimples that appeared on her cheeks. To be with me, she had endured dozens of lashes from her parents’ whips, kneeling on the floor for three days and three nights. Even in the ICU, she had defiantly threatened to pull out her IV if they didn’t let her be with me. When she tearfully told me her parents had relented but insisted on testing me, all I felt was relief. Later, when she started showing a clear preference for Liam, I pretended not to see it. I didn’t want to believe that the bright, vibrant girl who had loved me so fiercely could have changed so much. Seeing my hesitation, a flicker of triumph crossed Amelia’s face. She snatched the letters from my hand, marched into the kitchen, turned on the gas stove, and tossed the letters into the flame. The fire leaped up, licking at the paper like tiny blue teeth. “Alex, you wanted to break up, right? Fine. You’re not keeping a single one of the love letters I wrote you. I was wrong about you!” The acrid smell of burning paper filled the air. The bright flames danced in my eyes. The last embers of warmth I felt for Amelia were turning to ash. I walked over to the stove. But instead of frantically trying to salvage the letters as she expected, I reached out and turned the gas up to its highest setting. My voice was ice. “Amelia, since we’re settling accounts, how about you give me back my seven years of salary?” I wanted to be magnanimous, to say I was writing it off as a bad investment, to quote some proverb about fortunes turning. But my mom’s recovery would be expensive. I had to be realistic. Amelia was trembling with rage. She slapped me across the face. “Alex, so your true colors are finally showing! I’m so glad I listened to Liam and tested you for a couple more years. Otherwise, you would have bled me dry!” Liam gave me a shove. I lost my balance and fell toward the stove. The flames instantly caught on my shirt, climbing up my chest. The searing heat made me cry out in pain. For a second, panic flashed in Amelia’s eyes. She rushed forward, trying to pat out the flames. I shoved her away and stumbled into the bathroom. “Get away from me!” The cold water extinguished the fire, cooling my burning skin and leaving an angry red patch that was already starting to blister. When I emerged, shaken, the apartment was a mess, as if it had been ransacked. A bank card lay on the table next to a note, the words pressed so hard into the paper they were almost torn through: “Alex! You told me to get lost?! Stop playing the victim. You just wanted money, right? Here, take it. But don’t you ever expect me to forgive you!” I looked down, my hand closing tightly around the card. The girl who once cried because a tiny speck of hot oil splattered on my arm while I was cooking for her was now accusing me of playing the victim. Don’t worry. I won’t forgive you either. The next morning, I went to my office to resign. Before I could say a word, my boss slapped a piece of paper against my chest and started yelling. “Alex, your mom has a minor surgery and you need to take time off? If everyone was like you, how would this company stay in business? You’re fired! And don’t even think about asking for severance. You’re lucky I’m not suing you!” Before I could process what was happening, Amelia and Liam emerged from the conference room, dressed in sharp business attire. Amelia’s eyes were full of scorn. “Alex, cat got your tongue? I can crush you with a single finger. Do you regret it now?” Liam chimed in with fake sympathy. “Alex, just stop fighting with Amelia. Apologize properly, and this will all be over.” The burn on my arm throbbed. I remembered what Amelia had said in the private room. She really was going to blacklist me. And she had moved fast. My colleagues were all watching, enjoying the show. My boss was bowing and scraping before Amelia. “Ms. Ashford, I did as you asked. I tested this Alex guy, rejected his promotion applications, and gave him the heaviest workload to build his character. Who knew he was such a lost cause? He should have been fired long ago!” A shiver ran through me, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Amelia was the company’s mysterious chairman. No wonder… every time I was ostracized at work and wanted to quit, she would impatiently tell me I lacked perseverance, that it would reflect poorly on me in her parents’ eyes, and that I had to work harder. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was that she never wanted me to succeed. She enjoyed the power she had over me. I did have regrets. I regretted not seeing her for the arrogant, self-righteous person she truly was sooner. I laughed coldly. “If I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice. Amelia, I can’t fight you, but I can stay away from you. Don’t worry, you’ll never see me again.” I turned and walked away. As soon as I stepped out of the building, a text message came in from a number I knew by heart. “You were fired? I’d like to hire you as my vice president. Annual salary of five hundred thousand. Interested?” 3 I deleted the message without a flicker of emotion. When Stella Sterling left without a word all those years ago, I had a broken leg but refused treatment, spending all my money on phone credits to call her a thousand times. Every call went straight to voicemail. Whatever her reason for contacting me now, this message, eight years too late, just made me feel sick. In the few seconds I hesitated, Amelia caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “What did you mean by that? What do you mean I’ll never see you again?” Her fingers dug into my burn, and I hissed in pain. She quickly let go, a look of surprise on her face. “It’s really hurt?” Before I could answer, a strange noise came from above. I looked up. A large billboard on the skyscraper was swaying precariously, about to fall directly onto Liam, who was strolling out of the building. Amelia’s eyes widened. Without a second’s hesitation, she shoved Liam out of the way. The next second, there was a deafening crash. The billboard slammed into her back, and she collapsed in a pool of blood. Liam was in shock, frozen to the spot. I, on the other hand, was eerily calm. I knelt down to check on her. She was still breathing. Her hand reached out and clutched the hem of my suit jacket, her face pale as she whimpered in pain. I was about to call 911 when she whispered weakly, “You care about me this much… why won’t you just apologize…?” I gave a sarcastic laugh. “I’d save a dog if it were lying here. Don’t flatter yourself.” I used to cherish her, doing all the housework, all the cooking. I was so afraid of tiring her out that I’d stay up late to finish her work reports for her. She took my devotion for granted, even making me go to business dinners in her place, where I would drink until my stomach bled. If I ever showed the slightest hesitation, it meant I didn’t love her anymore. And now, the woman I had so carefully nurtured had thrown herself in front of a falling billboard for Liam. It left a disgusting taste in my mouth, like I’d swallowed a fly. Just as I was about to dial for an ambulance, my phone rang. It was Stella. I assumed she was calling about the vice president job and declined the call. She called again. I answered, annoyed. “What?” “Alex, something’s happened to your mom. Get to the hospital, now!” Stella’s voice was dead serious on the other end. Her tone transported me back in time, to the day she had looked at me with cold eyes and said, “Alex, I see breaking one of your legs wasn’t enough. I should have sewn your mouth shut. Don’t ever come looking for me again, and don’t you dare say you love me.” A jolt went through me. Amelia, thinking my pale face was due to worry for her, whispered, “Playing hard to get…” But I ripped my jacket from her grasp and strode into the street to hail a cab, tossing her aside like a piece of luggage. Liam was there. She wouldn’t die. Behind me, Amelia stared at her empty hand, a powerful wave of panic washing over her. She struggled, pinned under the billboard, and shrieked, “Alex! How could you leave me? Come back!” She even pushed Liam’s hand away. … When I reached the hospital, my mom was already in surgery. “Someone cut your mother’s oxygen tube, causing a cerebral hemorrhage. I’m sorry, I got here too late—” Stella said, her face full of guilt. My head was spinning. My knees buckled, and I almost collapsed, but she caught me. Amelia had actually tried to kill my mother. A living, breathing human being. “Alex, she’s going to be okay,” Stella said softly, crouching down to comfort me. Time hadn’t changed her. She still had that same delicate, beautiful face, her thin lips pressed together, her amber eyes fixed on me. My senses suddenly returned. I shoved her away and stood up straight. Her fingers curled slightly. “I know you hate me. About what happened back then… I had my reasons…” My head was pounding. “Miss Sterling,” I said, my voice strained, “thank you for saving my mom. You’re a busy woman. I won’t keep you. You should go.” Her breath hitched. She saw my rejection and didn’t say another word. Time ticked by. Thankfully, my mom’s surgery was a success. Stella refused to leave the hospital room, insisting that I, as a man, wouldn’t be attentive enough to care for my mom properly. A nurse saw me trying to get her to leave and rushed over to stop me, praising her for being such a filial daughter-in-law and telling me to be nicer to my wife. Stella glanced at me, a flicker of hope in her eyes. I pretended not to see it and went to pay the bills. On my way back, I was so preoccupied with how to get rid of Stella that I wasn’t paying attention and bumped into someone. “Sorry—” I looked up and froze. 4 The person in front of me was Amelia, wrapped in bandages. She had clearly been treated. Her injuries must not have been serious if she was able to stand here, waiting for me to run into her. She was leaning on Liam, a smug look on her face. “Playing hard to get? If you’re going to pretend to be cold, at least see it through. Weren’t you just secretly coming to check on me? Alex, if you promise to do everything I say from now on, I might consider forgiving you. Where else are you going to find a girlfriend as generous as me?” She clutched the corner of her shirt and cleared her throat. “Let me ask you, if your mom and I both fell into a river, who would you save first?” I knew this was her way of offering me an olive branch. If I just said I would save her, everything would go back to the way it was. But my mom had just been pulled back from the brink of death. I was in no mood to play her games. “Amelia, why do you always have to have it out for my mom? Why did you try to kill her?” She stared at me, stunned. “What are you talking about?” A dark glint flashed in Liam’s eyes. He pointed a finger at me. “Alex, what does your mom’s stroke have to do with Amelia? Amelia got hurt, and not only are you not taking care of a her, you’re here interrogating her?” Amelia nodded, huffing coldly. “Exactly. Your mom is so old, but she’s still clinging to her son, even faking being sick to get your attention. She’s clearly not a respectable woman—” SLAP! I couldn’t control the rage that surged through me. I slapped her across the face. “Amelia, don’t you dare talk about my mother like that! The world doesn’t revolve around you. You want me to put you first, but where do I rank in your heart? This slap is a lesson. Do whatever you want to me, but leave my mother alone!” Amelia stared at me, her hand covering her reddening cheek, her voice choked. “You hit me?” Liam frowned, about to speak. Just then, Stella found me and rushed over, whispering, “Your mom’s awake!” My heart leaped. I turned to go to my mom’s room. Liam’s face lit up when he saw Stella. “Stella, how did you know I was here? Did you come looking for me?” Amelia bristled like a threatened porcupine, grabbing Stella’s arm. “Liam and I are childhood sweethearts. Stella, stop chasing after him. Haven’t you ever heard of first come, first served?” When it came to Liam, her emotions were always all over the place. Fine. Let them sort it out. Back in the hospital room, the doctor told me my mom’s condition was stable. We could arrange for a private medical flight to a better hospital tomorrow. And by some stroke of luck, I had won a discount that made the flight affordable. As I was discussing the transfer, Amelia and Liam burst in. Amelia’s face was hard as she slapped a thin invitation against my chest. “Alex, I gave you enough chances, but you refuse to see reason. Tomorrow, Liam and I are getting married. You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!” She turned and left, her posture proud. It seemed she thought her previous tactics weren’t working and was now resorting to marrying Liam to provoke me. Liam clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I haven’t agreed to actually marry her. If you come and crash the wedding tomorrow, I’ll let you have her. What can I say? The heiress of the Sterling family is after me too. You should be glad you don’t have such sweet burdens.” When Stella entered the room, I was staring at the invitation, lost in thought. She saw my expression, turned, and quietly left. She didn’t know the real reason for my deep concentration. If they were getting married tomorrow, they wouldn’t be able to stop me from leaving with my mom. The next day, as Amelia and Liam were about to exchange rings, I was still a no-show. As if by telepathy, neither of them reached for the rings, both frowning as they scanned the crowd. The person they were waiting for hadn’t come. The atmosphere in the venue grew awkward. Suddenly, a gasp went through the guests. They all pulled out their phones, murmuring as they watched the same video. Amelia was confused until she heard a voice from one of the phones, loud enough for everyone to hear: “Alex, for your mother’s sake, can you please not refuse my help? Besides, if you really don’t love me anymore, why were you with Amelia, who looks so much like me, for seven years?”

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After we got back together, I shed all the bad habits Seraphina hated. The constant check-ins, the baseless jealousy, the petty score-keeping—all gone. I was a new man. So new, in fact, that when I found a pair of lace panties that weren’t mine on the passenger seat floor, I just calmly picked them up and set them aside for her. But Seraphina’s face hardened, and she slammed on the brakes, the car lurching to a halt. 1 Seraphina Rankin was a striking woman. With her sharp, aristocratic brow and vividly beautiful features, she radiated an alpha’s intensity. But right now, pinching the bridge of her nose, she just looked exhausted. “They’re Gilderoy’s,” she said, her voice strained. “The client dinner ran late last night. He took a few drinks for me and was in no state to drive, so I gave him a ride.” She paused, forcing herself through an explanation she clearly disdained. “He got sick in the car, so he changed in here. I keep a spare set of clothes in the trunk.” She looked at me, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve told you a million times, Asher. He’s the son of a family associate. I have to look out for him. That’s it. There was never anything between us, there isn’t now, and there never will be.” My silence seemed to unnerve her. A rare crack appeared in her usual composure, a flicker of helplessness I’d never seen on her face before. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?” “I do believe you,” I said calmly. “I’m not mad.” My words landed like a fist punching a cloud. Her expression went blank for a split second. “…Then why have you been quiet this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, mentally calculating the time to the airport. “You once said you hated pointless chatter,” I deflected. “And I’m about to be late for work. Why don’t you just drop me off at this corner?” My eyes were on the traffic, completely missing the way her face darkened. “You always get off at the next light.” Her voice was low, suspicious. “The office is still two miles from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. Trapped, I met her searching gaze. “It’s early. If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the doubt in her eyes began to crystallize… Ding—! The custom ringtone. Gilderoy’s ringtone. Seraphina’s interrogation instantly ceased. Her eyes darted away, a tell-tale sign of guilt. “It’s a work call. I need to take this.” She immediately unlocked the doors, all suspicion of me forgotten. “You can get out here.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but she stopped me. “Don’t be so reckless. Watch the road when you’re walking.” Her voice softened, taking on a placating tone she sometimes used. “That restaurant you wanted to try? I made a reservation.” Her gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary. Happy seventh, Asher. I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. Last year, on our anniversary, she’d left me for Gilderoy. The memory, once a source of searing pain, now felt distant, stirring nothing within me. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. “Don’t keep him waiting.” After all, Gilderoy couldn’t be kept waiting. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary… this year, next year, and every year after, I would be absent. 2 I made it to the airport just in time. Once seated on the plane, a wave of dizziness washed over me; I’d skipped breakfast in my rush. My hand instinctively went to my pocket, and sure enough, my fingers closed around three small chocolates. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar once, a long time ago, Seraphina had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness began to fade. But it was quickly followed by a lingering, cloying bitterness that coated my throat. Seven years together. How had Seraphina and I ended up here? At first, I truly believed Gilderoy was just a nepotism hire she had to accommodate because of his family connections. I told myself that was why she was so strictly professional with me at work while giving him special treatment. Rhonda, a senior manager in our department, constantly made my life hell with no consequences. But the moment she was slightly rude to Gilderoy, she was fired. Behind my back, everyone—knowing I was Seraphina’s secret boyfriend—had a nickname for Gilderoy: “the future Mr. Rankin.” I forced myself to accept her reasons, but then the “special treatment” bled into our home life. Time and again, she would drop everything we were doing to answer his call, to go to him. The explosion finally came one night. I was scrolling through a private work chat when a photo popped up. It was Seraphina, who had told me she was working late, with Gilderoy at a midnight movie screening. It was the very movie I had begged her to see with me, only to be flatly rejected. I had cupped her face, my eyes shining with hope. “Everyone says you’re supposed to see this with the one you love! Your one true love! We have to go.” Seraphina hadn’t even bothered to look up from her laptop. “Watching that kind of sappy romance is a waste of life,” she’d said. But in the photo, she was the picture of tenderness, smiling warmly at him, without a hint of impatience. The messages in the chat flew by, blurring before my eyes. When Seraphina came home, I asked her, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was The Last Vow?” A flicker of surprise—or maybe I imagined it—crossed her eyes. More likely, it was nothing. Indifference. “Were you following me?” My heart felt like it was being smothered by a heavy, wet towel. I couldn’t breathe. “Do I need to? That sweet little picture of you two is already making the rounds in the company group chat!” My chest heaved, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Seraphina, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” Her expression didn’t change. She was as calm as a spectator at a play. “If you don’t have even the most basic trust in me, then there’s nothing more to say. I’ve had a long day, Asher. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my wretched state, she was the epitome of grace. She even remembered to carefully place the paper bag she was holding on the table. The words “The Last Vow” on the bag were like razor-sharp shards of ice, stabbing straight through my heart. Every suppressed emotion, every ounce of resentment, crashed down on me at once, finally snapping the last thread of my sanity. I snatched the bag and, in a fit of rage, hurled it to the floor. It wasn’t sealed. The contents scattered, rolling across the hardwood with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t even look. My eyes, red and burning, were locked on hers. We stared at each other, locked in a silent standoff. A moment later, she turned and slammed the door behind her. I stood frozen, a statue of despair. It wasn’t until something small rolled to a stop against my foot that I finally moved. I looked down, my breath catching in my throat. It was chocolate. The floor was covered in round, handmade chocolates. 3 My resolve softened. I wanted to talk to her, to fix this. But for three whole days, Seraphina didn’t answer my calls. She didn’t come home. Swallowing my pride, I sent her a text. “I was wrong to lose my temper without talking to you first.” “But it’s also true that you said you were working late, but you were with him at the movies.” “Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.” “Can we please just sit down and talk this out?” I waited from morning until night, but she never came. As the clock neared eleven, I decided I had to go to her. I would find her at the office. On my way there, I ran into Rhonda, the manager Seraphina had fired over Gilderoy. She grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “That bitch! I don’t dare touch Ms. Rankin’s precious boy, but I can sure as hell touch you!” My unanswered calls, my desperate cries for help—they were all useless. If a bystander hadn’t happened to pass by and scare her off, I would have been left with far more than a bruised face and a split lip. When my phone suddenly rang, I screamed, a raw, terrified sound ripped from my throat. I was a cornered animal. But then I saw the name on the screen, and the tension that had held my spine rigid all night finally crumbled. A wave of near-hysterical relief washed over me. “Sera—” I sobbed. “Hello?” Gilderoy’s smooth, cheerful voice came through the line. “Sera’s in the shower right now,” he chirped. “I saw you’d called a few times. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like a hot coal had been shoved down my throat, searing the flesh, melting it away. The pain was so intense I wanted to carve out my own vocal cords. The simple act of hanging up the phone seemed to take every last bit of my strength. I limped to the nearest police station to file a report, a pathetic, broken figure. By the time it was all over, the clock showed 12:01 AM. A new day. That’s when Seraphina finally called. Her voice was as imperious as ever. “Have you learned your lesson?” And in that instant, I understood. She had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting her enough. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging my wounds like acid. When I finally spoke, my voice was a raw, broken rasp. “Seraphina,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was only a second of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t you come crying back to me.” She hung up without another word. She agreed to end it all, without a shred of hesitation. 4 At first, it was just the sleeplessness. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every detail of our life together, terrified I had misjudged her, that I had condemned her unfairly. I reread our old messages, searching for clues, for anything. But the more I looked, the more the pain and resentment grew. I started to hate her. Six years. Six entire years of my life. I hated her for tossing me aside like a piece of trash, for being so utterly unaffected. At 4 AM one morning, consumed by grief, I deleted her from every app, every contact list. I dragged myself out of bed and, in a fury, gathered all her belongings—every last thing that reminded me of her. I stuffed them into giant trash bags and heaved them into the dumpster below. When it was done, I thought I would feel relief. But it was like I had finally swatted a mosquito that had been tormenting me for weeks, only to find that the blood splattered on the wall was my own. I went to work on time, acting as if nothing had happened. But only I knew that a huge chunk of my heart had been gouged out. Seraphina had grown there, but the flesh had turned rotten. To survive, I had to carve that putrid piece of me away. I just forgot that a wound that large is fatal, too. The full force of my emotional collapse hit me when I saw her at a company-wide meeting. Seraphina was as poised and self-assured as ever. In fact, she seemed even more vibrant, more powerful. It was as if losing me had no effect on her at all. Across the room, Gilderoy shot her a look he thought was secret, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. I stopped sleeping entirely. I couldn’t keep any food down. Seraphina didn’t use social media, so I became obsessed with stalking Gilderoy’s accounts, dissecting every post, every cryptic quote for any mention of her. It ended with me collapsing from hypoglycemia at work and being rushed to the hospital. That’s when Seraphina deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. She casually twirled the matching couple’s ring on her finger, admiring her manicure. “You’ve lost weight, Asher.” My gaze was empty. I opened my mouth, a hollowed-out puppet. “I’m sorry.” A triumphant smile spread across her face. And just like that, we were back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip the bandage off quickly. But that doesn’t work for everyone. For someone with a weak will, the best method is a slow, quiet withdrawal. You keep the person in the same place in your life, but you gradually, deliberately, stop expecting anything from them. You boil your own heart, slowly. The process isn’t so difficult that way. The end isn’t so painful. In the beginning, when I first started pretending to be magnanimous, my heart would still ache with a dull throb. But Seraphina seemed pleased with the change. She’d stroke my head, the way you’d pet a well-behaved dog, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’ve grown up, Asher.” After about six months of this self-prescribed therapy, it started to work. I truly became the person she wanted me to be. She’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t call. Whatever she was doing with Gilderoy, I no longer asked. By the time I realized what had happened, that rotten piece of my heart had fallen away on its own, like overripe fruit dropping from a branch. I paused for a moment, then smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France. They’d made me an offer once before, but I’d turned it down to stay with Seraphina. Luckily, they still wanted me. My flight was booked for two weeks from now. I had no intention of telling her. Our relationship had always been disposable to her anyway. The more understanding and agreeable I became, the less happy Seraphina seemed to be. I brushed it off, thinking I was imagining things, and continued working late as usual. One night, I came home, ready for a shower, when she stopped me. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet mine. “Is there anything you want to tell me lately?” I yawned, shaking my head in confusion. “No. What’s up?” “Nothing,” she said, her voice flat. “Go on.” But I soon learned that something was, indeed, up. Later that night, she wrapped her arms around me from behind, her breath hot against my neck. Her whispers were as soft as feathers, but her touch was bruising, like an interrogation. “Gilderoy’s been giving you a hard time at work, making you work all this overtime. Why didn’t you tell me, hm?” Her grip on me was relentless, a punishing rhythm that left me breathless. I had no idea what she was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for mercy. “Work is work… personal is personal… I-I’m being good.” Years ago, my old manager Rhonda—the one who assaulted me—was constantly sabotaging me. Once, she made me the scapegoat for a massive error. In a meeting with hundreds of people, Seraphina had torn into me without mercy. “Even an idiot wouldn’t make a mistake like this.” That night, I’d choked back my frustration. “You can check the email records. Why wouldn’t you even let me explain in the meeting?” Her face was a mask, just as it had been at the office. “Work is work, personal is personal. Asher, I only care about results. At the company, I’m your boss, not your girlfriend. I can’t play favorites.” But two days later, Rhonda was fired. The reason? She had been rude to Gilderoy. I was a top performer, consistently exceeding my targets. When Rhonda was gone, everyone assumed I would get the promotion. But instead, Seraphina promoted Gilderoy, who wasn’t even out of his probationary period. He took Rhonda’s position and became my boss. … Now, here I was, finally understanding my place. I wasn’t causing trouble. I wasn’t emotional. I was keeping work and our personal life separate. At my words, Seraphina’s movements froze. She released me. The light in the room was too bright. I covered my eyes, a physiological tear escaping from the corner. She tried to pull my hand away. I tried to resist, but I was too weak. “What are you doing?” She pried my hand from my face and stared into my eyes, her voice laced with a strange insistence. “You used to look at me.” I had no idea what had gotten into her. Annoyed, I met her gaze. In that instant, a flicker of anxiety, of pure panic, crossed her face. She suddenly covered my eyes with her own hand, as if shielding me from something. Then she leaned down and kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again, a desperate chant. “Asher. Asher.” 6 The next day, Seraphina called Gilderoy into a meeting and demanded a full report on his department’s progress. Of course, I had done all the work, and Gilderoy just stood there, stammering, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even speak to the basic functions of your role,” Seraphina said, her face an emotionless mask, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in it.” The entire conference room was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Gilderoy clapped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, sobbing. After the meeting, the breakroom on our floor was buzzing. “God, did you see the boss’s face today?” “You think the ‘future Mr. Rankin’ is about to be dethroned?” The gossip flew thick and fast. I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Aurora, why so quiet?” My English name at the new company was Aurora. It was a fresh start. Here, back in my old life, I was Asher. The code-switch was jarring. “Man, you’ve got nerves of steel,” the colleague continued. “The way Ms. Rankin laid into you that one time… you didn’t even flinch!” Honestly, I couldn’t care less about their drama. But in a den of gossiping coworkers, silence is betrayal. It would make me a target. So, I played along with a laugh. “Hey, I’m just a corporate drone. How can I compare to the heir apparent? Besides, lovers’ quarrels are just foreplay. A little drama is the ultimate spice for an office romance.” I fumbled with my mug as someone playfully shoved me. “Hey, knock it off.” Lowering my head to steady the ceramic cup, I added for good measure, “They’re a perfect match, honestly. Talented, beautiful… you know what? I’m totally shipping them.” Only after the words left my mouth did I notice the breakroom had fallen into an eerie, unnatural silence. I looked up. And met Seraphina’s glacial stare.

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During the interview, the reporter leaned in. “Robert’s new film has a lot of intimate scenes with his co-star. What are your thoughts on that?” I offered a placid smile. “How sweet for them.” The reporter blinked, momentarily thrown. “Does that affect your relationship? I mean, he’s famous for never doing love scenes.” “No, it doesn’t.” “Why not?” “Because we’re divorced.” The interview exploded. And so did my phone. Robert’s voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. “When the hell did we get divorced? Why am I the last to know?” I knocked on his hotel room door, divorce papers in hand. “Right now.” 1 #RobertHannahSplit #RobertAndLily #LilyTheHomewrecker The interview went viral, dominating the top three trending spots. My phone was a vibrating, ringing brick of chaos. I switched it to Do Not Disturb and leaned back in the seat of the town car, trying to breathe. On the tablet beside me, a behind-the-scenes clip played on a loop: Robert and his co-star, Lily May, in a kiss so intense it practically steamed up the camera. My manager, Jen, stared at me, aghast. “You’re divorced? Since when?” I kept it simple. “He cheated.” Understanding dawned in Jen’s eyes. She switched off the tablet, plunging the car into a silence broken only by my ragged breathing. She sighed, wanting to comfort me but not knowing how. “You and Robert have been together for seven years. Everyone knows you’re the golden couple of Hollywood. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of misunderstanding?” I said nothing, just lowered the window and let the cold night air whip against my face, drying the tears that threatened to spill over. Just last night, I’d received a tip with photos: Robert and Lily, checking into a hotel. I’d shattered. I cried until my body ached and convulsed. Then I called my lawyer and had him draw up the papers overnight. It’s precisely because it was seven years that the betrayal was so absolute, so unforgivable. 2 Arriving at the hotel, I finally answered Robert’s call. His voice was a frantic, strained mess on the other end. “Hannah, what the hell are you doing? When did we get divorced? How come I don’t know about it?” He only ever used my full name when he was truly furious. The last time was when I’d thrown a glass of red wine in Lily May’s face. “Right now,” I said, and knocked. The door swung open. Robert stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, his eyes locking with mine. He was shirtless, a towel slung low on his hips, revealing a chiseled abdomen and the faint, almost imperceptible scratch marks on his arms. “What are you doing here?” I ignored him, pushing past into the suite and slapping the divorce papers onto the coffee table. “Sign them.” Robert picked them up, flipped through them with disdain, and tossed them onto the sofa. A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped him as he raked a hand through his hair. “Because of a few scenes with Lily? That’s part of the job, you know that.” He stepped closer, his voice softening into a weary plea. “Ellie, I’m exhausted. Can you please stop being so unreasonable?” “Robert.” I dropped my gaze, taking a deep breath. “No intimate scenes. That was the rule we agreed on when we got married.” Robert’s possessiveness over me was legendary. He’d either turn down scripts with kissing scenes for me or bully directors into rewriting them. Once, an actor, caught up in the moment, improvised and kissed my cheek on camera. The next day, that actor was replaced, his career vanishing overnight. Robert Thorne had always been a controlling, obsessive monster. But now, for another woman, he had broken his own sacred rule. He’d given Lily a privilege he’d denied everyone else. That was all the proof I needed. A dark look flashed across his face before he masked it with a smile. He closed the distance between us, his arms circling my waist as he nibbled on my earlobe. “This was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again, okay?” His voice dropped to a low, warning purr. “And I don’t want to hear the word ‘divorce’ again. Understood?” I was about to shove him away when a sweet, feminine voice drifted from the other room. “Robert, honey, I think the shower is broken…” Lily May appeared in the doorway. “Oh! Hannah, what are you doing here?” She was wearing a slinky slip dress that barely covered anything, her long hair damp and clinging to her back, revealing a constellation of fresh love bites on her neck. She noticed my gaze and tugged at the hem of her dress, a futile gesture that only highlighted her guilt. Her cheeks were flushed as she bit her lip, the picture of shy innocence. “Hannah, it’s not what it looks like between Robert and me…” Robert’s first instinct was to grab his suit jacket from the sofa and cover her. My first instinct was faster. I whipped out my phone and snapped a series of photos. “Sign the papers,” I said, my voice cold as ice, “or these go public.” I let a cruel smile touch my lips. “Let’s see… ‘Hollywood’s Golden Boy in Steamy Hotel Tryst with Ingénue Co-Star.’ That title has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He let out an impatient hiss. “She got drunk at the wrap party last night. It wasn’t safe for her to go home alone, so I brought her here. Nothing happened.” I ignored his pathetic excuse. “You have three seconds.” “Three.” “Two…” He snatched the papers from the sofa, scribbled his signature with angry strokes, and threw them at me. “There. Are you happy now? Is this little game of yours over?” I nodded, clutching the signed agreement, and turned to leave. His voice stopped me at the door, laced with a weary, wounded tone. “Ellie, you never used to be like this.” “When did you become so difficult?” My footsteps faltered. That’s exactly what he’d said the first time I met Lily May. 3 Lily was a new actress signed by our agency. She bore a striking resemblance to me, so much so that online tabloids had dubbed her “Baby Hannah.” At first, Robert was indignant. He’d hold me and whine, “Baby Hannah? Don’t be ridiculous. My wife is one of a kind. That girl can’t hold a candle to a single strand of your hair.” He was constantly complaining about her riding my coattails. When Lily copied my style, he’d call it a cheap imitation. When she mimicked my makeup, he’d call it tacky and pathetic. But he never noticed how often her name started creeping into our conversations. An “unimportant person” who was suddenly, constantly, there. Even at dinner, he’d bring her up with a pretense of disgust. “Lily hates cilantro too. What a poser.” But how would he know she hated cilantro unless he’d eaten with her? My anger snapped. I threw my chopsticks down on the table. “Can you stop? Is it impossible for you to go five minutes without mentioning Lily May?” I stared at him, my heart pounding. “Robert, are you falling for her?” He immediately swore his loyalty, deleting her number from his phone right in front of me. A few days later, at an industry gala, a sleazy producer started pressuring Lily to drink. In front of everyone, Robert smashed a bottle over the man’s head. He completely ignored me, standing there pale and shocked, and wrapped a protective arm around Lily’s shoulders, his face a thunderous mask. “The talent at my agency,” he snarled, “does not do ‘favors’.” I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. When I came back, Robert was standing there with Lily, whose cheek was red and swollen. His voice was sharp with displeasure. “Take it out on me if you’re angry. Why did you have to hit her?” “Hannah,” he’d said, his voice dripping with disappointment, “when did you become so difficult?” He didn’t come home that night. After a few days of cold war, he showed up with a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry from a European auction, a peace offering. “Don’t be mad, baby,” he’d murmured, fastening the necklace around my neck. “It’s just… seeing her like that, it reminded me of you, all those years ago, when you were forced to drink. I just lost my head.” He couldn’t protect the me from seven years ago, so he had to protect the Lily of today. He took time off work to stay home with me, showering me with attention. I smiled and played along, and he thought the chapter was closed. What he didn’t know was that I had found Lily’s private social media account. An account that documented, in loving detail, the three-day trip they had just taken together to the coast. 4 The way Robert and I met felt like something out of a movie. Back then, I was a nobody, a struggling extra scrounging for work in L.A. He was the rebellious heir to a fortune, defying his family to chase his Hollywood dream. His parents, determined to teach him a lesson, had cut him off completely, even pulling strings to make his life harder. I first saw him on a street corner after midnight. I’d just wrapped a night shoot and was squatting by the curb, eating a hot dog. I felt a pair of intense eyes on me and looked up to see two green orbs glowing from the darkness of an alley. I bought him a hot dog. We sat there, side-by-side on the curb, as he told me he was a fellow dreamer, here to make it in the movies. We talked all night, convinced we were soulmates. After that, we met on that corner every night, sharing stories about our miserable days as extras. Inevitably, we fell for each other. We moved into a tiny, cramped apartment together. We made love on a rickety metal bed in a room that always smelled of grease and mildew, clinging to each other as if our lives depended on it. For three years, we chased the same dream, guarding each other’s backs, clawing our way up together. The night Robert won the award for Best Newcomer, everything changed. His parents finally acknowledged his success, and he confessed the truth: he was the heir to the Thorne empire. I was heartbroken by the deception. I locked him out, refusing to see him. To earn my forgiveness, he stood outside in a torrential downpour all night, collapsing with a fever the next morning. The moment he woke up in the hospital, he tried to rip out his IV to come find me. My heart melted. He gave me a fairy-tale wedding and went public with our relationship at the peak of his rising fame, giving me the world. Everyone called me Cinderella. Over time, I think even Robert started to believe it. He slowly forgot those three desperate, confusing, painful years we spent in that suffocating, 200-square-foot room. 5 Leaving the hotel, I finally looked at my phone. The hashtag calling Lily a homewrecker had already been scrubbed from the internet. Robert had posted a clarification: [Not divorced. The wife is just throwing a tantrum. Currently in the process of winning her back.] The comment section was a mix of people praising his “devotion” and a flood of hate directed at me. [An intimate scene is not a big deal. Hannah’s jealousy is terrifying. Robert has been a saint for her on screen for years. Her controlling nature screams insecurity.] [Honestly, Hannah is so classless. She should just be grateful she has a rich, famous husband. An actor has to act, why does he have to walk on eggshells around her? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.] [My heart breaks for our sweet Lily. A poor girl with no connections gets a big break because of her talent, and she gets bullied like this by the jealous wife. It’s disgusting.] [Just an outsider’s opinion, but doesn’t Lily seem like a much better match for Robert?] [OMG YES! THANK YOU FOR SAYING IT! If Lily does end up with him, it’s Hannah’s own fault for not being good enough to keep her man. Useless!] Normally, Robert would have had his team delete comments like these in seconds. This time, I supposed it was part of my punishment. Not only did he leave them up, he even liked a few. Jen was on the phone, scrambling to get our PR team to do damage control. I was too tired to care. I fell asleep in the back of the car. When I woke up, it was nearly midnight. My phone was flooded with dozens of unread messages. As I started to scroll through them, a call came in. It was Robert. “Ellie, where are you? Why didn’t you come home?” I stayed silent. After a few seconds, I could hear his heavy breathing on the other end. He sighed. “Ellie, you don’t really think that piece of paper means we’re actually divorced, do you?” His voice was low, condescending. “I was just playing along. Now be a good girl and come home.” He was right. Divorcing a Thorne wasn’t that simple. In his eyes, that legally binding document was just a prop in my little drama. He saw this whole thing as him indulging a pet throwing a tantrum. “Robert,” I said, my voice calm and even. “You don’t really think there’s an ‘us’ after this, do you?” The papers might not be enough on their own, but they were a declaration of war. It was over between us. Even if it ended in blood, I was getting this divorce. A cold chuckle came through the phone. “Ellie,” he said, his tone languid and dripping with menace, “don’t joke like that. You know exactly what happens when you make me angry.” I could hear the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers on a table, a dull, ominous beat in the silence of the night. He was truly angry now. A slow smile spread across my face. “I can’t wait to see,” I whispered, and hung up before he could respond. My reflection stared back at me from the dark window—hair a mess, face etched with fatigue. This was the last night I would ever waste my energy on a rotten man and a dead relationship. I knew the disgusting, underhanded tactics Robert would resort to when he was angry. But I wasn’t afraid. I would not back down. I would be the one left standing at the end of this war. I had to be. 6 Robert’s warning shot came quickly. I was set to star in a major historical drama, a role I had fought hard for. A week before filming, I was replaced. By Lily May. With Lily’s recent surge in popularity, her resemblance to me, and the immense pressure from Robert, the director didn’t dare object. On the first day of shooting, Robert showed up. As a key investor, he was treated like a king. An assistant held a parasol over his head while another aimed a personal fan at him, a fresh Starbucks cup always within reach. During a break, Lily cozied up to him, chattering animatedly about her “process.” Robert just gave her vague, distracted replies, his dark gaze fixed on me across the crowded set. I ignored him, studying my script under the shade of a prop balcony. My young assistant fanned me, whispering, “Isn’t Mr. Thorne here to see you, Hannah? Why aren’t you sitting with him? You’re not still trying to hide your marriage, are you?” There was an empty chair next to Robert. My assistant didn’t know the whole story; she just assumed he was here for a surprise visit. I knew he was offering me an olive branch, a chance to crawl back. But if he was truly sorry, would he be letting Lily hang all over him like that? And besides, he had stolen my role. Using my career to threaten me was a low blow. Unforgivable. Sensing my irritation, Robert waved over an assistant. “Lily loves that brand of plum juice,” he announced loudly. “Get some for the entire crew.” The crew members immediately began fawning over them, cooing about what a great couple they made. Lily blushed prettily, darting a triumphant little glance in my direction. “Oh, you guys, stop,” she giggled. “You’ll make Hannah uncomfortable.” Only then did everyone remember that I, the actual wife, was still present. A blanket of awkward silence fell over the set. 7 The atmosphere was thick with tension. It reached its breaking point when we started filming the next scene. In it, the heroine discovers that the female villain (my new role) has been plotting against her all along. The confrontation culminates in a resounding slap. It was supposed to be a major payoff moment for the audience, and the script explicitly called for it to be real and hard. I slipped into character, my eyes spitting venom at Lily. “So you know it was me,” I sneered. “What are you going to do about—” Before I could finish my line, Lily’s hand flew, cracking across my face with such force that I stumbled backward. My cheek instantly started to burn and swell. Lily’s eyes welled up with tears, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Hannah, I’m so sorry!” she cried, her lower lip trembling. “Your performance was just so powerful, I got lost in the moment…” The director yelled, “Cut!” My assistant rushed over with an ice pack, shooting daggers at Lily. “If you were so ‘in the moment,’ why didn’t you finish the scene?” I didn’t say anything. I just covered the swelling with a thick layer of powder and told the director I was ready to go again. Over the next hour, Lily slapped me six more times. She forgot her lines. She wasn’t “feeling the emotion.” She improvised new blocking. Each mistake earned her another chance to strike me. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I swallowed it down, the bitter saliva burning a hole in my chest. And through it all, Lily kept up her pathetic act. “I’m so sorry, Hannah,” she’d whimper. “I know you’re a true professional. I’m just so new to this. I need you to guide me through it a few more times to really get there.” The director just laughed nervously. In his eyes, I was the investor’s wife, and Lily was the investor’s rumored mistress. He couldn’t afford to offend either of us until he knew who the real favorite was. “Right, well, maybe we should move on to the next scene for now. We can rework this one a bit.” Robert, who had been silent this whole time, cleared his throat. His eyes met mine, a challenging glint in them. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break. To look at him. To beg. I turned my gaze back to the director. “Let’s keep going.” The director shot a nervous glance at Robert’s thunderous expression. “Well, perhaps… perhaps we could fake the slap for this take? Use a camera trick?” After a few tense seconds of silence, Robert spoke, his voice dangerously smooth. “No need.” The director breathed a sigh of relief, about to call action, when Robert added, “No need for camera tricks. Hannah is such a dedicated artist. I’m sure she would find such unprofessional methods beneath her.” His words put me in a cage. I suddenly remembered a rumor I’d heard a few weeks ago. Lily had been slapped for real by an actress on another set and had cried her eyes out. Robert had stormed into the actress’s dressing room with Lily in tow, held the woman down, and made her let Lily slap her back. He had said something similar to me once. Years ago, a director had slapped me, claiming I wasn’t “giving him enough emotion.” That night, Robert had gently pressed a warm cloth to my face, his voice a furious whisper. “Don’t worry, Ellie. Soon, I’ll be powerful enough to let you slap him back.” And he had. He didn’t just get me that slap back; he made sure that director never worked in this town again. The memory sent a sharp, twisting pain through my gut. I pressed a hand to my heart, taking a few deep breaths. It’s okay, Hannah. You never needed him to fight your battles anyway. You can get that slap back on your own. It was just a matter of time. Just like now. After Lily used “forgetting her lines” as an excuse to slap me one last time, she called for another take. Just then, the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels echoed through the silent set. A cold, imperious voice drawled: “And which back-alley nobody did you find to play my leading lady?”

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1 When the doctor handed the organ donation consent form to Julian Chase, his hand didn’t tremble. “Mr. Chase, Ms. Archer is brain-dead. There’s nothing more we can do. But her heart… it’s a perfect match for Ms. Langford.” Julian’s gaze fell on the name “Sienna Archer” printed on the form, his expression unreadable. He asked only one question. “If I sign this, what are the chances of a successful surgery for Clara?” “Ninety-nine percent,” the doctor replied. “Good.” He picked up the pen. With two sharp, decisive strokes, he signed his name. The black ink bled into the paper, the scratch of the nib a cold, final sound. That name, Julian Chase, was the one Sienna had written a thousand times in her diary, the one she’d whispered in her sleep, the one she’d carved into her heart for ten years. Now, that name was on her death certificate and organ donation form. Like a merciless god, he had sealed her fate. I, Sienna Archer, lay in the intensive care unit next door. My body was still warm. The machines beeped in a steady rhythm, a fragile thread holding onto the last vestiges of my life. But I knew I was already gone. My soul hovered in the air, watching Julian, the man I had loved for a decade. Ten years. From twenty to thirty, the brightest, most vibrant years of my life, I gave them all to him. I learned to cook the dishes he loved, only to find out later they were the favorites of his one true love, Clara Langford. I wore the white dresses he liked, only to learn that white was Clara’s signature color. I nursed him through his chronic stomach pains, cured his insomnia, and turned his cold, sterile apartment into a warm, inviting home. I thought even a stone could be warmed. But when news came that Clara’s heart was failing, that she needed a transplant, I finally understood. I wasn’t the fire meant to warm the stone. I was just another stepping stone. Julian had gone mad searching for a donor for Clara. He’d exhausted every connection, thrown money at every possible solution, praying for a miracle. And then, I had a car accident. How convenient. So convenient, it felt like a scene from a meticulously crafted play. As I lay on the operating table, my consciousness fading, I saw Julian burst in. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of a terror I’d never seen before, mixed with a chilling, unmistakable… elation. He wasn’t worried about me. He was ecstatic that Clara would be saved. My surgeon, a friend of Julian’s, looked at him, his expression troubled. “Julian, are you absolutely sure? Sienna, she…” Julian cut him off. “I just want Clara to live.” His voice was quiet, but each word was a blade of ice, plunging into my soul. I watched him sign the papers, handing the document that legally declared my death back to the doctor. He never once glanced in the direction of my room. He turned and walked straight to Clara’s. His back was still so straight, so handsome. For ten years, I had chased that back, and not once had he ever stopped for me. Now, I didn’t have to chase anymore. And that was a relief. So why did my soul still feel so cold? Cold, as if I had fallen into a black, bottomless lake that would never freeze over. 2 The surgeries began. Two operating rooms, at opposite ends of the same sterile corridor. At one end, a life was being dismantled. At the other, a life was being extended. My soul drifted in the space between. I watched a team of green-gowned surgeons enter my room. They nodded at the still-beeping machines, and then someone picked up a scalpel. A long, piercing beep. The monitor connected to my body flatlined, the jagged peaks and valleys of my life smoothing into a single, unwavering line. Sienna Archer, age thirty, was officially dead. A sterile cloth was draped over my face, leaving only my chest exposed. The overhead lights were blinding. The lead surgeon made a long, clean incision down the center of my sternum. Strangely, my soul felt no pain. Perhaps my heart had already been hurt so much, it had simply gone numb. I watched as they carefully, reverently, lifted the still-beating heart from my warm chest cavity. It was a strong heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It had beaten for Julian for ten years. It beat faster whenever he came home. It threatened to burst whenever he gave me a rare smile. It would shrink into a tight, painful knot whenever he was cold to me because of Clara. Now, it was free. A nurse placed it in a cooler filled with ice, snapped the lid shut, and hurried out of the room, running toward the other end of the hall. There, Clara lay on another operating table. And Julian stood guard outside her door. He leaned against the wall, head bowed, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked exhausted, tense. His friend, my surgeon, came out, wanting to say something. “Julian, it’s… it’s over. For Sienna.” Julian just grunted, his eyes glued to the red “IN SURGERY” light above the door, as if it were the center of his universe. “Aren’t you… going to see her? One last time?” his friend asked, unable to stop himself. Julian was silent for a long time. So long, I thought he might actually nod. But in the end, he just shook his head, his voice raspy. “No. Let her… let her have some dignity.” Dignity? My soul, floating in the air, began to tremble with laughter. He had subjected me to the greatest indignity imaginable, and now, in a final act of hollow charity, he was pretending to grant me a shred of it. The cooler was carried into Clara’s operating room. My heart would soon be beating in another woman’s chest. It would live on for me. It would watch for me, as Julian loved the woman he was always meant to love. How cruel. Not even death could grant me peace. The red light stayed on for eight hours. Julian stood outside for eight hours, a statue of vigil. When the light finally turned green and the surgeon emerged, smiling, to tell him, “The surgery was a complete success,” the tension in Julian’s face finally broke. He slid down the wall, sinking to the floor, and covered his face with his hands. I couldn’t see his expression. I could only see his shoulders, shaking. Was he crying? Tears of joy for Clara’s new lease on life. My soul began to fade, turning translucent at the edges. It was for the best. Why should I watch the man who didn’t love me cry for someone else? Goodbye, Julian. This heart… is no longer mine. 3. He Won, But He Didn’t Seem Happy Clara was moved to a private recovery room. My heart, now hers, began to beat with a steady, powerful rhythm inside her chest. All her vitals pointed to a perfect, textbook transplant. Julian had won. He had traded my life for his true love’s. In the silent, decade-long war between me, him, and the woman in his heart, he was the victor. He should have been happy. But he didn’t look happy. Clara was still unconscious, and Julian sat by her bedside, a loyal sentinel. He gently wiped her face with a damp cloth and tucked the blankets around her, his movements so tender they seemed to ache. It was a tenderness I had dreamed of for ten years but never received. But there was no smile on his face. Only a profound weariness, an unsettling… emptiness. His friend, the doctor, brought him a meal. “You should eat something. You haven’t slept in two days.” Julian shook his head. “Not hungry.” “You saved her. Why the long face?” The doctor sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. “I know. Sienna’s death… it can’t be easy on you.” Julian said nothing, his gaze fixed on Clara’s pale face. “Look,” the doctor continued, “Sienna’s injuries were severe. Even without the transplant, she… she wouldn’t have made it much longer. Don’t blame yourself too much.” He was trying to comfort Julian. Even he thought Julian should feel guilty for my death. But Julian’s reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “I have nothing to blame myself for. This was the best possible outcome for her.” His words sent another chill through my soul. The best possible outcome? Becoming spare parts to save his lover was my “best outcome”? The doctor stared at him, at a loss for words, his attempt at comfort turning into a heavier sigh. “What are your plans for… the arrangements?” “Have her cremated. Scatter the ashes… at sea,” Julian said, as if discussing the disposal of an inconvenient object. “You’re not keeping them?” “What for?” Julian shot back, a hint of irritation in his voice. “She’s dead. What’s the point of keeping a pile of ashes?” The doctor finally snapped. He stood up, his voice rising. “Julian! It’s not a pile of ashes! It’s Sienna! She was with you for ten years!” “So what?” Julian stood too, his eyes blazing with bloodshot fury, his composure finally cracking. “Did I force her? It was her choice to stay with me! Now she’s gone, and her heart saved Clara. Isn’t that a good thing? At least her death wasn’t for nothing!” “You bastard!” The doctor’s fist connected with Julian’s jaw. Julian didn’t even try to dodge it. He stumbled back, hitting the wall, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away, his eyes growing even colder. “Are you done? If you’re done, get out. Clara needs to rest.” He had dismissed him. The doctor pointed a trembling finger at Julian, speechless with rage, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Silence returned to the room. Julian sat back down, picked up a cotton swab, dipped it in water, and began to gently moisten Clara’s dry lips. His movements were still so gentle. But in his eyes, I saw a wasteland. It was the desolation of a man who had won the world, only to find it utterly meaningless. He thought he had won a war. He didn’t realize he had just personally, methodically, destroyed the only world that had ever let in the light. 4. Her Funeral Had No Tears for Her My funeral was quick and simple. Julian didn’t hold a service. He said I had no family to speak of, and few friends, so there was no need for such formalities. He took me straight to the crematorium. The sky that day was a flat, miserable gray, a cold drizzle falling from the clouds. The crematorium was empty, save for Julian and his doctor friend, who had apparently come along out of a sense of duty. Julian chose the cheapest urn. “It’s all going into the sea anyway,” he said. “The box doesn’t matter.” I watched as my body was slid into the cold, black furnace. My soul couldn’t feel the heat of the flames, but I felt something deep within me turn to ash. It was the last trace of Sienna Archer, the woman who had loved Julian Chase, being erased from existence. Two hours later, a worker handed the cheap wooden box to Julian. It was so small, so light. Thirty years of life, ten years of love, all reduced to this. Julian held the box, his face a blank mask. The rain fell harder. His friend held a black umbrella over him. “Where to now? Straight to the coast?” Julian shook his head. “No. I’ll keep it at my place for now.” “I thought you were going to scatter them,” his friend said, surprised. “Clara’s not strong enough yet. When she’s better, we’ll go together.” His reasons always, always came back to Clara. Even my final resting place was dependent on the whims of his true love. His friend said no more. He drove Julian back to the apartment we had shared for five years. The place I had once thought was home. As soon as he walked in, Julian placed my urn on the shoe cabinet in the entryway, as casually as if it were a set of keys or a wet umbrella. Then he began to walk through the apartment. He opened the closet and looked at my clothes. So many white dresses, all chosen to mimic Clara’s style. He opened the fridge. Inside were the dumplings I’d made for him, his favorite comfort food for his bad stomach. He walked out to the balcony and saw the succulents I’d been tending to, now wilting from neglect. The apartment was saturated with me. With the presence of the living, breathing Sienna who had loved him for a decade. But now, the mistress of the house was a cold, wooden box on the shoe cabinet. For the first time, an emotion I couldn’t decipher crossed Julian’s face. It wasn’t sadness, or nostalgia. It was… a profound disorientation. Like someone accustomed to a constant background noise, who is suddenly plunged into a silence so absolute it becomes deafening. He tugged at his tie, a restless energy about him, and then he began to act. He ripped all my clothes from the closet and stuffed them into black trash bags. He emptied the fridge of all the food I had made and threw it away. He took my succulents, pot and all, and tossed them into the dumpster below. He was systematically erasing every trace of “Sienna” from the apartment, as if cleaning out the belongings of a dismissed maid. His friend couldn’t watch anymore. “Julian, do you have to do this?” “What else am I supposed to do?” Julian didn’t even look up. “Clara will be discharged soon. I don’t want her to come back to this, to be reminded.” He always had a reason. It was always for Clara. The doctor exploded. “Reminded of what? Reminded of who? Sienna is dead because of you! Even if you were made of stone, you should have some semblance of a heart!” Julian stopped. He turned to face his friend, his eyes filled with a terrifying, hollow calm. “You’re wrong,” he said. “She didn’t die for me. She died for Clara.” “Her death saved Clara’s life. That was her purpose. Her honor.” With that, he took the last remaining item—a framed photo of me—and threw it face down into a trash bag. In that moment, I heard the glass shatter. And I felt my soul shatter with it. 5. Her Things, Like Her, Were Bagged and Thrown Away Julian’s purge was brutally efficient. In less than a day, the apartment that had once been filled with the warmth of my life was transformed into a sterile, impersonal show home. My clothes, my makeup, my books, the scarf I had secretly knitted for him—everything was packed into black trash bags, piled by the door like a small mountain of refuse. When he was done, Julian seemed to have expended all his energy. He sank onto the sofa, staring at the empty room, his eyes vacant. His friend, likely too angry to speak, silently carried the bags of “trash” downstairs. I followed them. I watched as a garbage truck swallowed them whole, its compactor groaning as it crushed my life into a neat, disposable block. Ten years, reduced to garbage, compacted, and discarded. Not a trace left behind. When the doctor returned, Julian was still staring into space. “It’s all gone,” his friend said, his voice hard. Julian grunted in acknowledgment. “There’s one more thing.” The doctor reached into his pocket and tossed a small object onto the coffee table. It was a small, locked diary.

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I fronted $5,600 for a project. When I submitted my expenses, they were gutted. I got $500 back. Faced with a $5,100 loss, I didn’t scream. I didn’t curse. I laughed. My boss sneered at me. “See? So much better when you don’t make a scene. Young people need to learn how to take a loss.” I nodded in agreement, my gaze steady. Two days later, an urgent, multi-million-dollar project required an immediate cross-country flight. The work order was assigned to me. I clicked “Do Not Accept.” The ticket was then pushed to the department’s open pool. No one touched it. No one was stupid enough to gamble another five grand on the company’s conscience. The finance director’s call came quickly. She was frantic. “That $5,100 from the other day—I’ll approve the full amount right now. Just take the assignment.” 1 At three in the afternoon, the air in the finance office was thick enough to choke on. I walked in and placed a thick stack of receipts carefully on Ms. Finch’s desk. That stack of paper represented two weeks of running myself ragged and a full month’s salary: $5,600. It was all money I had fronted for the company’s urgent “Project Sirius.” Ms. Finch, a woman in her forties with a face devoid of expression, wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, her eyes were like two cold, polished stones. She picked up the receipts and flicked through them, the crisp rustle of paper sounding like a mockery of my naivete. Her expression shifted from procedural scrutiny to undisguised impatience. “Leo, are you new here?” she asked without looking up. “Ms. Finch, I’ve been with the company for a year,” I replied calmly. She snorted, pulling out a hotel receipt. “This is over the limit. Company policy states that standard employees on business travel have a lodging cap of three hundred dollars per night.” “But the situation was urgent. There was a major convention in Stanton City, and every hotel under three hundred was booked solid. I cleared this with Mr. Davis before I left. He approved it.” I pulled a printed email from my folder—an internal approval request—and slid it in front of her. It clearly stated I was requesting an exception for real-cost reimbursement due to special circumstances. Mr. Davis was CC’d. He hadn’t replied to the email, but he’d told me over the phone, “No problem, the project is the priority. Get it done.” Ms. Finch glanced at the email, a disdainful smirk playing on her lips. “Verbal approval?” She let out a dry, grating laugh. “Verbal approvals don’t count. It’s policy.” Right in front of me, with a crisp, deliberate rip, she tore my copy of the hotel receipt in two and tossed the pieces into the trash can by her feet. My heart felt like it had been ripped in half along with it. She continued her review, a red pen striking through every receipt she deemed “non-compliant.” A dinner with the client: “Over budget.” A car service I took to make a deadline: “Non-compliant. Why didn’t you take the subway?” An invoice for emergency replacement parts: “Purchasing protocol wasn’t followed beforehand. Denied.” I could feel the blood draining from my face. The arguments died in my throat because, through the glass wall of the finance office, I could see my direct supervisor, Mr. Davis, sitting in his plush executive chair, casually sipping tea. He saw me. He saw what Ms. Finch was doing. He simply raised an eyebrow and did nothing. “Ms. Finch,” I said, my voice tight, “these were all necessary expenses to ensure the project’s success. Every single one is documented.” “Your documentation is irrelevant. Company policy is what matters.” She finally stopped, tapping furiously at her calculator. At last, she scribbled a number on the reimbursement form and pushed it toward me. “Approved Amount: $500.00.” The number felt like a dagger in my eye. Out of $5,600, I was getting back $500. A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, as if I’d been hit with a sledgehammer. $5,100—that was a month and a half of my rent and living expenses. It was savings I had scraped together. Gone. “This is unreasonable,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want to speak with Mr. Davis.” Ms. Finch leaned back, crossing her arms with the smug look of a spectator at a gladiator match. She picked up her desk phone and dialed his office. “Mr. Davis, Leo has an issue with the approved amount.” I stared through the glass as Davis put down his teacup. He didn’t even bother to walk over. He picked up his phone, and his cold, oily voice drifted from the receiver, just loud enough for me to hear. “Ah, Leo. Just do as finance says. Times are tough for the company. We all need to show a little dedication.” Dedication? I thought with a humorless sneer. Was my dedication supposed to be funding the company out of my own pocket? I looked at the flimsy approval form, my mind racing, calculating the devastating impact this would have on my life. I also saw, with perfect clarity, the shameless face of the company I worked for. There was no shouting. No pleading. I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed my name on that humiliating document: Leo. Ms. Finch’s face broke into the condescending smile of a victor. She probably thought she had just broken another naive kid. Satisfied, Mr. Davis hung up and strolled out of his office. He walked over to me and clapped me on the shoulder with a hand that was both greasy and adorned with a gold watch. “See? So much better when you don’t make a scene,” he said, his voice oozing with the false wisdom of a mentor. “Young people need to learn that taking a loss is good for character.” His eyes, however, held nothing but contempt. It was as if I weren’t a key employee who generated value for him, but a beggar he could dismiss at will. I felt the muscles in my shoulder tense, the urge to throw his hand off me screaming against the bars of my self-control. But I didn’t. I didn’t even curse. I looked up at Mr. Davis’s smug face, and a strange thing happened. I smiled. It was a perfectly calm, almost pleasant smile. A laugh escaped my lips. It was quiet, but it was cold, utterly devoid of warmth, like frost crystallizing on a windowpane. Both Davis and Finch stared, momentarily baffled by my reaction. Without another glance, I turned and walked out of the finance office, their low murmurs and Davis’s triumphant chuckle following me. I knew they interpreted my laugh as the breaking point of humiliation, the final surrender after a powerless rage. They were wrong. This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. 2 Back at my desk, the atmosphere in the department was tense. My colleagues shot me looks of sympathy, pity, and for some, a touch of morbid curiosity. Davis, never one to miss a chance to make an example of someone, paraded around the office with his teacup. “This is how it is with the younger generation,” he announced to the room. “You have to knock them down a peg or two before they learn their place. Look at Leo, so cooperative. One word from me, and the matter was settled. You should all learn from this. Don’t sweat the small stuff with the company. Think about the big picture!” A few of the guys who usually called me a friend chimed in with agreement, becoming his instant yes-men. I stared at my monitor, my fingers flying across the keyboard, acting as if I were in a world of my own. During the afternoon coffee break, Sara, a junior assistant on the project team, quietly placed a mug on my desk. She was a recent graduate, her eyes still clear and unmarred by the cynicism of the corporate world. “Leo,” she whispered, her voice full of genuine concern. “They really screwed you over. Davis and Finch went too far!” She added, “Be careful on your next trip. Always ask for an advance.” I looked up and offered her a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Sara. I’m fine.” And I was. The anger and humiliation had been compressed and sealed away the moment I signed my name, transformed into a colder, more potent kind of fuel. I wasn’t wallowing in my loss. I was doing something far more important: taking inventory of my leverage. My fingers flew as I navigated the company’s project management system, pulling up the schedule for the next three days. One project code, bold and red, caught my eye: “Project Aegis.” It was an urgent, multi-million-dollar contract with an industry titan. The terms included strict deadlines and crippling penalties for failure. The core technical bottleneck of Project Aegis was an encryption algorithm I had single-handedly developed. The on-site equipment debugging and code implementation had to be done by me. I, Leo, was the only person in the entire company who could solve any sudden issues with this algorithm—remotely or on-site—within 48 hours. I, the “cooperative” young man Davis thought he could handle with a single glance, was the irreplaceable heart of Project Aegis. Next, I reviewed the company’s ticketing system. The rules were clear: urgent tasks were assigned directly to the key stakeholder. Once assigned, the ticket was locked. It couldn’t be reassigned unless the designated person refused it. The penalty for refusal? A single “performance warning” in your file. I looked at that penalty and laughed. For a multi-million-dollar project whose failure could get a regional director fired, a performance warning was a joke. My cold laugh hadn’t been one of surrender. In that moment, I had confirmed two stark realities: First, this company and my boss would, for a mere $5,100, crush a key employee’s loyalty without a second thought. Second, they had gravely, almost stupidly, underestimated my true value. That evening, I stayed late. I quietly organized all my personal work notes, debug logs, and conceptual frameworks related to Project Aegis—nothing that constituted a core company secret. Then, I wrote a simple script and set up a timed email. If I chose to push the button, all of it would be sent to my personal address. It was a contingency plan. If the company chose to burn everything down, I would have the proof of my work and expertise to pave the way for my next job. After I was done, I went to get some water. As I passed Davis’s office, I could hear him laughing on the phone with a client, his voice full of swagger, as if his $5,100 “victory” had put him in a particularly fine mood. I watched his bloated silhouette and calmly did the math. A cash loss of $5,100, plus an immeasurable dose of personal humiliation. To balance that equation, it would take a multi-million-dollar project and the career of a regional director. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message in the work group chat. It was Ms. Finch, and she had tagged me specifically. “@Leo, the $500 reimbursement you applied for this afternoon has been processed. Please confirm receipt.” She followed it up by tagging everyone. “A reminder to all staff: please ensure all expense reports strictly adhere to company financial policy. Leo has confirmed and accepted the outcome of this review. We hope you will all learn from this example.” It wasn’t enough to take my money. She had to use me as a cautionary tale, to publicly crucify me and cement my reputation as a pushover. The chat was silent. No one dared to speak. I looked at the screen, my fingers tapping lightly on my phone. A few seconds later, my reply appeared. “Received. Thanks for the company’s consideration.” Those words landed like a drop of water in a sizzling pan of oil. Seemingly calm, but containing the promise of a violent explosion. Sara immediately sent me a private message: a single, face-palming emoji. I didn’t reply. My patience was the calm before the storm. Now, all I needed was for the wind to blow. And I knew it would, very soon. 3 The wind began to blow exactly when I predicted. The next day at 4:30 PM, just an hour before quitting time, a piercing red alert erupted from the company’s work-order system. It sounded like an air-raid siren, shattering the office’s drowsy peace. A massive, blood-red pop-up dominated every screen. URGENT TASK: ‘PROJECT AEGIS’ CORE ALGORITHM ON-SITE DEBUG LOCATION: STANTON CITY DEADLINE: 48 HOURS PROJECT VALUE: $12 MILLION ASSIGNED TO: LEO My name was lit up like it was on a Broadway marquee. Davis’s office door flew open. His face was a mask of tense excitement as he strode toward my desk. “Leo! You see this? Project Aegis just got fast-tracked! The client’s equipment is down; you need to get on a flight immediately!” His voice was a booming command. In the project group chat, messages were flying. Davis: @Leo, accept the ticket! Now! This is a top-priority mission! The air in the office went still. I calmly looked at the pop-up. Below my name were two large buttons: a green “Accept” and a red “Do Not Accept.” A sixty-second countdown was ticking away above the red button. Those ticking numbers weren’t just seconds; they were Davis’s bonus, the company’s profit, and the rapidly increasing risk of a twelve-million-dollar failure. My hand hovered over the mouse. I savored the moment—the feeling of holding everyone’s fate, including that of the man who had just humiliated me, at my fingertips. “Leo! What are you waiting for? Move it!” Davis’s voice was turning ragged with anxiety. He leaned so close I could smell the stale coffee and nicotine on his breath. I turned my head slightly. Then, as Davis and the entire office watched, my cursor moved with unshakable certainty to the red button. Click. I pressed “Do Not Accept.” Time seemed to freeze. The expression on Davis’s face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and finally, a deep, puce-colored rage. A warning window appeared: [You are rejecting a Level-SSS Urgent Task. This action will be logged and will severely impact your annual performance review. Are you sure?] Without hesitation, I clicked “Confirm.” The work order was instantly kicked back into the system and broadcast to everyone in the project group. A chorus of notification chimes echoed through the office. The ticket’s status changed from “Assigned to Leo” to “Open Task.” And in the ticket’s history, the first entry was a line of glaring red text: [Task rejected by assigned user Leo.] The office was dead silent. Everyone stared at me like I had lost my mind. A few seconds later, something even more dramatic happened. Another chime. [Task rejected by assigned user Mark.] Then another. [Task rejected by assigned user Jessica.] [Task rejected by assigned user David.] The ticket was a hot potato, being tossed around the department with no one willing to catch it. No one was a fool. Yesterday, I had charged into battle for the company and had come back with a $5,100 personal loss and a public shaming. Today, with a high-stakes, high-cost, high-risk project on the table, who would be willing to gamble their own money on the company’s integrity? My refusal was a bomb that had detonated the company’s facade of corporate camaraderie, exposing the bloody reality underneath. Davis’s face was the color of raw liver, a vein throbbing in his temple. His phone buzzed furiously with notifications from the group chat. He glanced at it, then quickly sent me a direct message. Davis: Leo! Are you out of your goddamn mind? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Accept the ticket right now! I could feel his apoplectic rage through the screen. I picked up my phone and slowly typed my reply. Leo: Mr. Davis, my apologies. Leo: As you taught me yesterday, “young people need to learn that taking a loss is good for character.” I find your advice very insightful and feel I need some time to truly appreciate this “character building” experience. Leo: Furthermore, the expenses for this trip will certainly be substantial. As someone who just “took a loss” of $5,100, I simply cannot afford the risk of another financial write-off. On his end, the “typing…” indicator appeared and disappeared several times, but no message came through. He was probably too furious to form words. He looked up and roared at the entire office, “Some people better not get arrogant just because they have a little technical skill! This is deliberate sabotage! If this project is delayed, none of you will be able to bear the responsibility!” His voice echoed, full of bluster and impotence. No one responded. The red ticket hung in the queue, a digital pariah. Each rejection notification was another slap across the face of Davis and the company’s management. I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of the now-cold coffee Sara had given me, and savored the bitter taste. A strange, almost sick sense of satisfaction washed over me. The show was just getting started.

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After I finally conquered the game’s brooding male lead, the System granted me a special perk. 【You can now view the male lead’s location at any time, including his exact distance from anyone else.】 【This way, you’ll never have to be afraid of losing him again! 】 A few months later, the physical distance between the man who was supposed to love me and the woman he supposedly despised was shrinking rapidly. I stared blankly at the numbers on my internal display: [-7 inches], [0], [-7 inches], [0]… “Can I just cash out the affection points and go home?” I asked, my voice flat. 【That’s a negative, Host! You are permanently bonded to the male lead. And besides, he’s crazy about you! He just can’t control his… physiological needs!】 Fine. I pulled out my burner phone and sent a text to my beloved male lead: [Give me $10 million, or I’ll tell your wife you’re cheating.] Seconds later, his distance from the other woman went from [-7 inches] to [10 feet]. The System’s voice crackled with panic. 【What are you doing?】 “Oh,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I’m going to play with him. Until this bond breaks.” Ethan was quick to reply to my burner. [Who is this? What are you to Olivia?] [What cheating? Do you have proof?] Tch. He had me there. I didn’t have anything more concrete to hold over his head. After a few minutes of silence, I figured he was trying to figure out a way to trace me. But then, his distance from Isabelle began to shrink again, and the numbers returned to their sickening rhythm: [-7 inches], [0], [-7 inches], [0]… Seriously? Is he a Pomeranian in heat? As I stewed in frustration, the System regained its smug tone. 【See? You should just give up. Ethan genuinely loves you. His body just enjoys the thrill Isabelle gives him. He can’t help it.】 【How about this? I’ll give you a succubus buff. You can work on making his body so addicted to you that he—】 I ignored it. A spark of an idea hit me, and I walked straight to the garage. The moment I pulled the car out of the main gate, my phone erupted with a frantic call from Ethan. “Liv? Where are you going?” “Answer me. Don’t you forget, you have no one in this world but me. Don’t even think about taking a single step out of my sight.” As the story’s obsessive, controlling male lead, Ethan had implanted multiple trackers under my skin. The second I stepped off the property, alarms blared on his phone. See how inhumane this setup is? The male lead gets to have his body and soul exist in separate zip codes, while the female lead is supposed to sit in a gilded cage and count her fingers. That’s why the moment his affection score hit 100, I made a demand to the System. “I want to be Ethan’s equal.” My intention was to get half of his assets. But this romance-obsessed System, with its corporate-level reading comprehension, assumed I was just jealous. It took the initiative and gave me this “perk” to track Ethan’s distance from other people. And now, I finally understood how to use this supposedly useless ability. I suppressed a laugh, seeing his distance from Isabelle still locked at [-7 inches]. “But, baby,” I cooed into the phone, “you’re with Isabelle right now, aren’t you?” 1 Silence for a few seconds. Then, a disbelieving, sharp laugh. “Liv, how can you even think that? You know how much I despise that woman.” “Hmph!” A faint, feminine pout echoed through the receiver. It was almost imperceptible. Then came the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. The distance tracker updated: [3 feet]. He must have kicked her off the bed. I forced a sob into my voice. “She really is with you?” Ethan’s tone finally tipped into panic. His words came out in a rush. “No, Liv, don’t overthink this. I’m coming home right now to explain. Just don’t leave the house!” The moment he hung up, a transfer notification for $10 million hit my burner phone’s account. [I don’t know who you are, but take the money and stay away from her.] I rolled my eyes. Whenever I’d tentatively asked him for money in the past, his eyes would turn bloodshot, as if I’d triggered some primal defense mechanism. “Your food, your clothes, your entire life is provided by me. What do you need so much money for? Are you planning to leave me?” he’d hiss. “Don’t even think about it, Olivia.” So flexible, that morality of his. Unwilling to spare a dime for me, but happy to drop millions to cover up an affair. Ethan’s 100% affection score was no joke. He drove like a maniac. I hadn’t even made it ten miles before his car cut me off. He wrenched me out of my driver’s seat and crushed me in a fierce hug. “Liv, you’re not going anywhere…” After he’d half-dragged, half-carried me back into the villa, I focused my senses again. The distance between him and Isabelle was [15 feet]. He actually brought her back with him. Did he stuff her in the trunk? As I was pondering this, a cup of tea was placed in front of me. “Here, Liv. Drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.” A suspicious white powder floated on the surface, a blatant insult to my intelligence. … Was he planning to drug me unconscious and then screw Isabelle right next to me? What a sick game. Ethan’s expression was dark as he gripped my chin, his voice dangerously low. “Be a good girl, Liv. I don’t want to force you. We can talk about everything after you wake up.” I silently estimated Isabelle’s hiding spot, then shoved Ethan away with all my might, snatching the teacup and flinging its contents behind the sofa. “Ah!” A disheveled Isabelle leaped out, clutching her head. This perk wasn’t useless at all. It was a god-tier affair-buster and blackmail-assister. My face twisted into a terrifying mask, my eyes locked on the two of them. I mimicked Ethan’s own chilling tone. “Baby,” I whispered, “isn’t having me enough for you?” 2 Ethan was the classic possessive archetype. Before I won him over, he was an untouchable ice king. Afterward, he became a possessive shadow, a ghost haunting my every move. He forced me to quit my job, forbade me from seeing anyone—first men, then eventually, anyone at all. He isolated me until I couldn’t leave his sphere of control. His obsession was so absolute he needed to know the exact schedule of my bathroom breaks. And Isabelle was the classic villainess. In the early stages, she relentlessly tried to frame me, even kidnap me, but Ethan always thwarted her and retaliated brutally on my behalf. I thought that once I’d secured Ethan’s affection, Isabelle would be written out of the story for good. But I was wrong. On the surface, he drove her family to bankruptcy, but behind the scenes, he propped up her new career, funded her design studio, and sent her extravagant gifts on holidays. He acted disgusted by her in public, yet he was helplessly drawn to her in private, their shared animosity fueling a toxic passion. He gave the villainess endless freedom and illicit pleasure, while I, the heroine, was locked away in a cage. This world granted him limitless power and capital. No matter how depraved his actions, he faced no consequences. What was a little infidelity in the grand scheme of things? The only variable was me, the female lead. He was terrified of me dying. A paper cut on my finger was enough to send him into a frenzy. And that was my only leverage. If I treated him the way he treated me—if I became unhinged and suicidal over his every move—how would he react? Best-case scenario, I gain control over him. Worst-case scenario, I actually succeed in ending my own life and get sent back to my own world. Playing the part of the psycho? It was a win-win. 3 Ethan’s arm tightened around me, the pressure almost bone-crushing. “Liv, let me explain. She followed me here, I—” Isabelle, composing herself, ran a contemptuous gaze over me. “Relax, Olivia. I have no intention of stealing him from you.” She smirked. “The CEO and I just have a… mutually beneficial arrangement. I have my own career and my own life. Unlike you, a helpless vine who can’t survive without a man to cling to.” I turned to Ethan, adopting his signature paranoid, whispery tone. “A mutually beneficial arrangement? Is she telling the truth?” Ethan flinched as if I’d stepped on his tail. He whirled on Isabelle, his eyes feral. “Shut your mouth!” He turned back to me, his voice desperate. “Liv, don’t listen to her lies. My heart belongs only to you! My body… that’s secondary…” A distorted smile, a mirror of the one he wore when he was losing control, stretched across my face. “So, your secondary body… that can be given to anyone you please?” I shoved him away with surprising speed, snatched a small, steel letter opener from the coffee table, and without a moment’s hesitation, pressed it to my own throat. “NO!” Ethan’s roar was ragged, torn from his soul. He lunged at me like a madman, his hand clamping around my wrist. The blade’s tip was a hair’s breadth from my skin. His face was ashen, his entire body trembling. “Let me die! Don’t touch me with hands that have touched someone else!” I screamed, throwing his own past accusations back at him. Isabelle stood by, arms crossed, sneering. “Seriously? What is this, the dark ages? The whole ‘I’ll kill myself’ routine? Ethan, is this really the kind of neurotic drama queen you’re into?” “GET OUT!” Ethan, finding an outlet for his terror and rage, spun around and slapped Isabelle across the face so hard she stumbled and fell. “Get the hell out of here, and don’t you ever show your face in front of me and Liv again!” Isabelle cradled her cheek, staring at him in disbelief before scrambling to her feet and fleeing. 4 The villa was suddenly silent, save for the sound of our two ragged breaths. Ethan pried the letter opener from my hand and pulled me into a tight, trembling embrace, still reeling from the shock. “Liv, she was lying. Please, believe me…” I let out a shuddering breath and whispered in the most devoted, heartfelt tone I could muster, “Really? Then from now on, will you share your entire schedule with me? Everything. And don’t you dare lie.” I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a chilling murmur. “If you betray me, I’ll kill you. Then I’ll kill myself.” Ethan’s body went rigid. He looked down at me, and the first emotion that surfaced in his eyes was not fear, but a twisted, ecstatic joy. “Liv… you love me that much?” A beat, then… “Okay. I promise. I’ll tell you everything, wherever I go. I’ll give you all the security you need.” But behind the elation, I saw it. A flicker of fear. It was the look of a predator, accustomed to being the sole hunter in its territory, suddenly catching the scent of an equal. The System’s voice pinged in my head, sounding incredulous. 【Male Lead’s character profile is collapsing by 5%. Current bond strength with Host: 95%!】 He could track my every move. Now, so could I. That’s what I call fair. 5 After “calming me down,” Ethan secretly replied to my burner account. [You have the money. If you interfere in my life with Olivia again, I will find you. Don’t think I can’t.] He couldn’t. This burner account was one I’d used to tip him off back when Isabelle was trying to frame me. Its signal was untraceable, even for him. The System grumbled, [I knew I shouldn’t have given you that feature…] To distract me, Ethan showered me with luxury goods. But his promise to share his schedule never materialized. A master manipulator doesn’t take the demands of his pretty little bird seriously. I played my part, reverting to the obedient, sweet girl he thought he controlled. He stroked my hair, satisfied. “Get ready,” he said. “I’m taking you somewhere special tonight. For your birthday.” That evening, he took me to a lavish ballroom at the city’s finest hotel. The birthday gala was filled with guests, and, just as I expected, Isabelle was there. Under the pressure of Ethan’s glare, she reluctantly approached me, forcing a stiff smile. “Happy birthday, Olivia. I was out of line the other day, just teasing you. The CEO and I have a purely professional relationship. I hope you didn’t misunderstand.” I linked my arm through Ethan’s, my own smile a picture of innocence. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I trust you, and I trust my baby.” I squeezed his arm. “From now on, I won’t doubt you again… unless I see something with my own two eyes.” The fake smile on Isabelle’s face froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so magnanimous. Ethan, however, was delighted by my response. He wrapped an arm around my waist and, in a loud voice, addressed the room. “And on this happy occasion, I have some wonderful news to share. Liv and I are getting engaged!” The hall erupted in applause and congratulations. The hatred in Isabelle’s eyes was practically overflowing, but under Ethan’s warning gaze, she didn’t dare make a scene. Halfway through the party, Ethan was cornered by a group of business partners. I watched as Isabelle shot me a defiant smirk, leaned in close to a slightly drunk Ethan, and whispered something in his ear. Then, one after the other, they slipped out of the ballroom. [Ethan and Isabelle Distance: 15 feet… 3 feet… 0…] I took out my burner phone again. [Snacking on the side again, Mr. CEO? Time to tell your fiancée. The price is $20 million this time.] He was likely in a state of frustrated arousal. His reply was blunt: [Fuck off]. I set down my champagne flute and, following the distance tracker, calmly made my way upstairs to the guest suites. I stopped in front of one of the rooms. “Baby,” I called out, my voice sweet and clear. “What are you doing in there?”

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Rich Blackwood’s younger brother was filming a reality dating show at the family estate. And as it turned out, Rich and I became the unwitting control group for this celebrity couple. At first, the internet mocked me. I was just the wallpaper wife, the bland backdrop to a glittering romance. My husband was distant, my mother-in-law impossible. But then… the comments started to change. Netizens began tagging the show’s producers: [@Showrunners We’re here for Rich and his wife! A million of us are begging you, give them more screen time!] [I live for squinting at the corners of the screen, just to catch a crumb of their sweetness!] [My blood sugar is crashing. I need a dose of the main couple, stat!] 1 Leo Blackwood’s love life was a whirlwind romance, the kind that lit up the gossip columns and trended on social media every other day. His girlfriend was Seraphina Vance, one of the most celebrated actresses of her generation. The infamous playboy was finally settling down. He’d spent a month wearing down his older brother, Rich, until he finally relented and agreed to let them film their new reality show at the historic Blackwood estate. Rich didn’t bother telling me until a week before the cameras were due to arrive. “It’s just for a few segments,” he said, his voice even. “If you don’t want to be on camera, we can move out for the duration of the shoot.” I was sprawled lazily across our bed, the smooth curve of my shoulder and neck a pale glimmer against the cascade of my dark hair. “Forget it,” I murmured. “Too much effort to move.” I’d been married to Rich for three years, and the estate had become my home. The thought of packing up and relocating, even temporarily, was exhausting. 2 The day filming began, I drifted downstairs in a sleepy haze, my eyes still heavy with sleep. Rich had already instructed the crew not to film me without permission. The ground floor was already buzzing with activity. Seraphina stood in the center of it all, a queen holding court, flanked by an entourage. She was already playing the part of the lady of the manor. She caught sight of me descending the grand staircase and, with a flourish of warmth, called out to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, could you please prepare breakfast for my sister-in-law as well?” Mrs. Gable hesitated, her eyes flicking to me for confirmation. I let out a soft yawn and gave a slight nod. Only then did she signal to the kitchen staff. Leo, already at the dining table, greeted me with a cheerful, “Morning, Nora.” I blinked slowly, my mind still foggy. “Morning.” “Rich already left for the office?” he asked. “Hm? I guess so,” I replied, the uncertainty clear in my voice. After all, the man rose with the sun. Even a night of passionate reunion after a week apart couldn’t disrupt his clockwork precision. But that was Rich Blackwood for you. As the heir to the Blackwood fortune, he was the embodiment of discipline and self-control, forged from a lifetime of expectation. He never allowed himself to lose his composure. Even our intimacy was governed by a quiet, unspoken schedule. While I waited for my food, Seraphina suddenly glided over and sat beside me, looping her arm through mine with a practiced smile aimed at a nearby camera. “This is Nora’s first time on camera, so she might be a little shy,” she cooed to her audience. “I hope all my wonderful fans will be gentle with her!” She turned to me, her smile unwavering. “Don’t be nervous, Nora. My fans are the sweetest people.” And just like that, with no makeup and a thoroughly bewildered expression, I made my television debut. Seraphina kept one eye on the live comment feed, her lips curved in a saccharine smile as she cherry-picked questions to answer. “You think Nora looks familiar? Hmm, maybe it’s because she has one of those classic, relatable faces.” “You’re asking her age? Shhh! It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, you know.” After a few more carefully selected questions, she noticed the audience’s attention was still stubbornly fixed on me. With a slight huff, she shifted back to her original seat, trying to reclaim the spotlight. The live chat, however, was still on fire. [So that’s Leo’s sister-in-law? The wife of the Blackwood Corporation’s CEO?] [She really does look familiar! And not in a ‘relatable face’ way. I swear I’ve seen her on TV before!] [Is she trying to ride Sera’s coattails to get famous?] [Sera is too kind, letting her steal the spotlight for free.] [I’m only here for Seraphina! She’s so gorgeous!!!] [Sera is living the dream. A fiancé that handsome, that rich, and he adores her!] And me? I was a million miles away. Tired. I was just so profoundly tired. Rich had just returned from a week-long business trip. The ever-so-proper man had been possessed by a feverish energy the night before, determined to make up for a week of lost time. My body was still paying the price. 3 After breakfast, Leo disappeared into the study to handle some business. This left me vulnerable, and Seraphina, ever the enthusiast, seized the opportunity. She pulled me onto the sofa to help her choose a wedding dress. She and Leo were engaged, with the wedding just around the corner. “Nora, what do you think of this one? Isn’t it divine?” I glanced from her face to the glossy pages of the bridal catalogue. “It’s beautiful.” “And this one?” Another glance. “Also beautiful.” “Nora,” she began, flipping a page with feigned casualness, “I heard you and Rich never had a wedding ceremony.” I took a loud crunch of my apple. CRUNCH. A beat later, I replied, “We didn’t.” Seraphina gasped, her hand flying to her lips in theatrical shock. “Rich wouldn’t even give you a wedding?” I shook my head, offering a simple explanation. “I was the one who didn’t want one.” Our marriage was an arrangement between two powerful families, a merger of assets, not hearts. There were no feelings involved. Before we signed the papers, he had asked me, “When would you like to have the wedding? A church or a beach ceremony?” At the time, I held no grand illusions about our union. We were strangers who knew each other only by name. The thought of standing before a priest, exchanging rings and a kiss with a man I didn’t know… it was absurd. “Let’s just skip it,” I’d said without a second thought. “It feels pointless.” I remember how he’d watched me then, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long silence, he’d simply agreed. Whenever anyone asked, he told them it was his decision not to have a ceremony, shouldering all the gossip and judgment himself. Seraphina seemed not to have heard me, lost in her own monologue. “Every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day,” she lamented, her voice dripping with sympathy for me. “How could Rich deny you that?” Seeing her pitying look, I decided it wasn’t worth explaining further. I just stayed silent. “Leo told me he’s going to give me the wedding of the century,” she went on, her tone a delicate blend of complaint and boast. “I told him not to be so extravagant, but he insisted. He said he would never give me a single reason to regret marrying him.” She sighed dramatically. “But all of these gowns are just so exquisite. I’m completely overwhelmed with choices!” It was a performance of blissful agony, and her fans online were eating it up. [Leo spoils her so much! Seraphina is the luckiest woman alive.] [This is what I’m here for! Sera and Leo are so sweet, it’s giving me a toothache.] [Talk about a reality check. Look at Nora’s face, she’s totally sour.] [Can you blame her? Her marriage is just a business deal. I bet Rich was the one who refused to have a wedding.] “Nora, my head is spinning,” Seraphina said, pushing the catalogue towards me. “Why don’t you pick one for me?” I idly flipped through a few pages, then pointed to a design. “This one’s very elegant.” Seraphina gave it a dismissive glance. “The waistline isn’t very flattering.” She snapped the book shut. “Oh, never mind. I’ll just have Leo help me choose later. He has impeccable taste.” 4 After wedding dresses came the rings. “Nora, didn’t Rich get you a wedding ring?” Seraphina asked, her eyes fixed on my left hand. On my ring finger sat a simple, unadorned band. The sigil etched into it was strange, almost like something you’d find in a two-dollar trinket shop. “He did.” I glanced down at the ring. The day we got our marriage license, I’d found two boxes on the nightstand. One held a diamond ring so large and brilliant it was blinding. The other held this one. Rich had asked which one I preferred. While I found this one a bit ugly, the diamond was so enormous it felt impractical for daily life. Without much thought, I’d chosen the simple band. “That’s it? Did he buy it from a corner store? Haha,” she laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, Nora, you know me, I’m always joking. Don’t take it personally.” She stuck her tongue out playfully for the camera. Then, she held up her own slender hand, showcasing the massive diamond sparkling on her middle finger—her engagement ring from Leo. She waved it around. “I told Leo not to be so extravagant. A diamond this big is just heavy, and it gets in the way. But he wouldn’t listen, he’s just so stubborn.” She sighed again, a picture of put-upon adoration. “And just the other day, he told me I have to pick a wedding ring that’s even bigger than this one.” “Nora, you have to help me choose.” “Of course,” I said. I had nothing better to do, so I started flipping through the catalogue of rings. Just then, Leo finished his work and emerged from the study. He wrapped his arms around Seraphina’s shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How’s the ring shopping going, my love?” Seraphina blushed prettily. “Nora and I were just looking.” Then, she changed the subject. “Leo, your brother is really something else. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy Nora a proper ring.” “Why don’t we buy one for her?” she suggested, her voice full of magnanimous concern. “It would be like we’re making up for Rich’s oversight.” She must have expected him to agree immediately, to praise her thoughtfulness. Instead, Leo’s eyes flicked to my hand, and a bemused smile touched his lips. “Sera, honey, you shouldn’t underestimate that ring,” he said casually. “That’s not just any piece of jewelry. That’s the Blackwood family signet, passed down through generations. It marks the matriarch of the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “As long as she wears that ring, seeing her is the same as seeing my brother. She could walk anywhere in this city and command respect.” The words hung in the air. Seraphina’s perfect smile vanished. For the first time, she looked genuinely stunned. Her gaze snapped back to my ring, now filled with a mixture of disbelief, assessment, and a raw, unconcealed longing. I froze. This ugly little ring meant that? Why hadn’t Rich told me? I thought it was just a simple, lightweight band. That’s the only reason I’d been wearing it all this time. [WHOA. I knew that ring was special! If you look closely, that symbol on it is the Blackwood family crest!] [I thought Rich didn’t care about her, but he gave her the ultimate symbol of power!] [Don’t worry, Sera, you’ll get one too when you marry Leo.] [Probably not. There’s only one matriarch. Unless something happens to Rich and Leo takes over the family business.] [Why shouldn’t Sera get one?! Just because Leo is the younger brother, she can’t be the matriarch and wear the ring?!] [Rich is supposed to dislike Nora, right? So why would he give it to her?] [She’s his wife, and he’s the heir. Who else would he give it to, you?] The online chat exploded into a fierce debate over the ring. Seraphina was seething with jealousy, her eyes glued to my hand. It took Leo prompting her—”Sera, what’s wrong?”—for her to finally tear her gaze away. She quickly grabbed Leo and pulled him to the other end of the sofa to look at rings, far away from me. 5 That evening, I found Rich in his study. He’d come home late, but instead of being buried in work as usual, he was watching something on his tablet. A closer look revealed it was a recording of our reality show from earlier that day. “Come here,” he said, patting his lap. I went over without a word and settled onto his lap as he wrapped an arm around my waist. It was a familiar routine. Our first year of marriage had been spent as polite strangers. He was always traveling for work, and I was busy with my own career. We barely saw each other. Then came New Year’s Eve. I was at the estate with his parents, watching the televised countdown. Outside the large French windows, fireworks exploded in silent, brilliant bursts against the night sky. In the flickering light, I heard a sound from the foyer. I turned to look. It was Rich. He was standing there in a long, black overcoat, a suitcase at his feet. His mother had said he wouldn’t be back until after the holiday. With his parents watching, a strange impulse took over me. I walked over, took his coat from him, and hung it up. When I turned back, I froze. I’d surprised myself. He looked just as surprised. From that day on, something shifted. Rich’s pace slowed. He stopped living out of a suitcase. And slowly, steadily, we settled into the quiet, comfortable rhythm of married life. Now, sitting on his lap felt as natural as breathing. “You never told me this ring was so important,” I said, slipping the band off my finger. I held it up to the porcelain-white light of the lamp, squinting at the tiny, intricate crest. He’d given it to me so casually. I’d worn it just as casually. I had no idea this unassuming little thing carried so much weight. Rich took my hand, gently taking the ring from me and sliding it back onto my finger. “It was never important on its own,” he said, his eyes fixed on my hand as he toyed with my fingers. “It’s only important because it’s on yours.” 6 To show their enthusiastic support for their future daughter-in-law, Rich’s parents made a special trip back to the estate for a family dinner, despite their chaotic schedules. Faced with a house full of cameras, they were understandably a little stiff, but they did their best to act naturally. For once, Rich was home from work on time. As he was taking off his shoes in the foyer, the camera crew, ever the opportunists, pretended to pan across the room, letting the lens linger on him for a split second before darting away. It was only a second, but it was enough to send the online audience into a frenzy. [IS THAT RICH?! OH MY GOD! THE LEGEND FINALLY SHOWS HIS FACE! HE’S GORGEOUS!] [He’s just as handsome as Leo, maybe even more so with that powerful aura he has!] [Nora is living the good life. With a husband like that, who cares about a wedding? I’d marry him in a heartbeat!] That one-second glimpse of Rich sent a new wave of viewers flooding into the livestream. At the dinner table, Seraphina was the perfect prospective bride, charming and sweet, and the atmosphere was pleasant. As the conversation flowed, Rich’s mother turned her gaze to me. Noticing my constant yawning, her eyes drifted down to my stomach. “Still no news from you two?” she asked pointedly. [Here we go. The classic ‘heir-pressure’ scene in every wealthy family drama.] [You can tell his mom doesn’t like Nora. The first thing she does is ask about a baby.] [She’s so calculating. She’s probably saying it for Seraphina’s benefit, a little warning shot.] I shot a look at Rich. He was eating quietly, pretending not to have heard a thing. “Mom,” I said, a sly smile playing on my lips. “You’ll have to ask him about that.” I passed the buck squarely to him, giving him a meaningful stare. His mother’s attention shifted to her eldest son, waiting for his answer. Rich met my gaze, his expression calm. Then, he announced to the table, “We’re working on it. We’re aiming for two in three years.” Excuse me? Under the table, I reached over and pinched his thigh. It was solid muscle, hard to get a good grip. I mouthed at him silently: What the hell are you talking about? Didn’t we agree I could have kids whenever I wanted? He captured my hand under the table, his warm palm easily enveloping mine. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. I shot him another angry glare. Rich just smiled, a faint, teasing light in his eyes, and mouthed back: Behave. His mother watched our silent, flirtatious battle, and a slow smile spread across her face. She slid a gold credit card across the table towards me. “Nora, dear, you’ve been putting up with a lot lately. Take this and buy yourself something nice. If it’s not enough, just ask for more.” I hadn’t even finished spending the money on the last card she gave me. That one had a seven-figure limit. This one was probably even more. Seraphina’s eyes widened with envy as she stared at the card lying casually on the table. But she wasn’t officially a Blackwood yet, not Mrs. Leo Blackwood, so she couldn’t very well ask for one herself. She forced a bright smile. “Nora, Mrs. Blackwood is so good to you. She treats you just like her own daughter.” Rich’s mother beamed with pride. “Of course she is. Having Nora marry into our family was the best thing that could have happened to us.” Seraphina’s smile faltered for a moment. His mother, sensing the shift, quickly added, “Of course, you’re wonderful too, Seraphina.” Leo jumped in to smooth things over. “Don’t worry, Sera. My mom is very generous. She treats everyone equally. Whatever Nora has, you’ll have too.” Only then did Seraphina’s smile become genuine again. “Thank you, Mrs. Blackwood.” “Thank you, Mom,” I said, cheerfully pocketing the card. My personal slush fund was overflowing again. I was so pleased that I even ate the piece of carrot Rich had placed in my bowl—a vegetable I despised. Seeing this, he promptly placed another serving of carrots in my bowl. I glanced at him, but he was completely composed, focusing intently on his meal. I pouted and pushed the offending vegetable to the side. [I love this mother-in-law. When in doubt, just throw money at the problem. Sign me up.] [Guys, I think… I think I’m starting to ship Nora and Rich!] [Scavenging for crumbs in the corner of the frame again!] [This? You call this shipping material? You’re desperate. Go watch Sera and Leo, they’re the real deal.] 7 After dinner, my in-laws left for another social engagement. The Blackwood brothers disappeared into the study to talk business. Once again, it was just me and Seraphina downstairs. I was about to head up to my room and give her the space, but she caught my arm. Seraphina was the brand ambassador for a major domestic luxury label. Recently, the brand had organized a high-profile charity fundraiser, and as the face of the company, she was expected to make a significant opening donation. But she clearly didn’t want to be the only one writing a big check. While nibbling on a post-dinner pastry, she casually brought it up. “Nora, would you be interested in donating as well?” As she explained the cause, I quietly pulled out my phone and messaged my assistant, asking her to verify the legitimacy of the charity project. Seeing my silence, Seraphina pressed on. “Of course, it’s fine if you’d rather not. It’s just, my heart breaks for those poor children in the mountains. They don’t have enough to eat or warm clothes to wear. Donating a little something is the least we can do.” She paused, as if calculating. “I saw some of the other celebrities pledged fifty thousand… so I was thinking, maybe I’ll donate one hundred…” Her sentence was cut short by my response. “I’ll donate one million.” My assistant had just replied, confirming the project was legitimate. Seraphina stared at me, speechless. “The money will come from me,” I continued, “but please put it under my mother-in-law’s name. By the way, how much did you say you were donating?” A moment ago, Seraphina had been preening, proud of her intended six-figure donation. After all, not many celebrities could afford to part with that kind of money. She was only offering that much because she was on camera and didn’t want to appear cheap. But I had just raised the stakes to a million. In front of millions of viewers, she couldn’t afford to back down.

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The moment I found out my husband was celebrating his mistress’s birthday—again—my world finally went gray. I walked to the balcony of our penthouse, the city lights a blur of indifferent glitter below, and prepared to jump. Just as I pulled myself onto the ledge, words began to flash in the air, shimmering like a digital mirage against the night sky. [OMG, DON’T DO IT! IN THE FUTURE, THAT MAN WILL BE ON HIS KNEES LICKING YOUR BOOTS!] [IF YOU DIE NOW, YOU’LL MISS HIM BEGGING FOR YOU BACK!] [YOU DON’T BELIEVE US? FINE. IN EXACTLY TWO MINUTES, YOUR HUSBAND IS GOING TO TEXT YOU. HE’LL TELL YOU TO DRAW HIM A BATH AND WAIT FOR HIM TO COME HOME.] I hesitated, half-incredulous, half-intrigued. And then, precisely two minutes later, my phone buzzed on the patio table. It was him. I came to believe these messages were here to help me save my marriage. So when my husband came home, I did exactly what they told me to do. I opened the door, a silk robe caressing my skin and a fresh, angry-red hickey blooming on my neck. 1 The sound of the key turning in the lock sent a jolt through me. I took one last, deep breath and pulled the door open. Ethan was propping up a drunken Tessa, his suit reeking of a cloying mix of perfume and whiskey. His brow was furrowed in that familiar, preemptive way, his excuses already forming on his lips. “She’s drunk, I just…” “I have plans tonight.” My voice, as smooth and placid as still water, cut through his prepared speech. He froze. I stepped aside, creating a path for them into the marble foyer. “Go on, get her settled,” I said with a serene smile. “Take a shower and get some rest. Don’t worry about the mess, the housekeeper will handle it in the morning.” The string of calm, considerate words, so unlike the hysterics he was expecting, left him utterly stunned. Ethan’s gaze, finally pulled from his shock, landed on me. For the first time in years, he looked at me like he was seeing a stranger. The black silk slip dress, a relic from a time before I’d made myself small for him, clung to curves he’d long ignored. And then his eyes found it: the garish, purple-red mark on my neck. His face darkened instantly. “What is that on your neck?” The question was a low growl, laced with a tremor I hadn’t heard in his voice since we were young and still afraid of losing each other. I instinctively raised a hand to cover the spot, my eyes darting away in a practiced display of panic. “It’s nothing. A mosquito bite, probably.” Without giving him another glance, I grabbed my purse from the sofa, slipped on my heels, and walked past him. “Where are you going?” he demanded, his voice tight with a rage he was barely suppressing. I didn’t turn back, giving him nothing but the sway of my hips and the sharp click of my heels on the floor. The moment I was outside, the cool night air hit me, and my carefully constructed composure crumbled. I leaned against the brick exterior of our building, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Comments,” I whispered to the empty street, “did I… did I do the right thing?” Instantly, the shimmering text flooded my vision, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. [THE RIGHT THING? GIRL, YOU KILLED IT! YOU ARE THE QUEEN!] [DID YOU SEE THE LOOK ON HIS FACE? I COULD WATCH THAT ON A LOOP FOREVER. PRICELESS!] [YOU’VE BEEN TOO GOOD FOR TOO LONG. HE GOT SO USED TO IT, HE THOUGHT YOU HAD NO WHERE ELSE TO GO!] [REMEMBER THE RULE: GOOD GIRLS GET A PAT ON THE HEAD. BAD BITCHES GET EVERYTHING.] I thought of the shock and raw, possessive anger on Ethan’s face—a flicker of the man who once cared. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that the comments were right. [YOU HAVE TO COMMIT! GO TO A CLUB! SOMEPLACE HE CAN’T FIND YOU!] A club? I was the kind of woman who apologized when someone else bumped into me. But the words felt like a thousand invisible hands, pushing me forward into the night. The music was a physical force, a wall of sound that vibrated through my bones. Strobe lights fractured the darkness, catching glimpses of bodies writhing on the dance floor. I huddled in a corner booth, clutching a cocktail I hadn’t touched. [DON’T BE SCARED, HONEY! YOU’RE GORGEOUS! OWN IT!] [FEEL THE BEAT! LET YOURSELF GO!] Swept up by their encouragement and the intoxicating energy of the room, I found myself walking onto the floor. My movements were stiff at first, a clumsy translation of the rhythm. But then, slowly, I let the music take over. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t thinking. I was just moving. And it was pure joy. Hours later, flushed and breathless, I returned to my table and finally checked my silenced phone. The screen glowed with a single notification: Ethan (27) Missed Calls. My husband, the man who hadn’t bothered to call me back in over a year, had called me twenty-seven times. It was a complete reversal of our dynamic, where I was always the one desperately trying to track him down. [IGNORE HIM! LET HIM STEW! GIVE HIM A TASTE OF HIS OWN MEDICINE!] I obediently shoved the phone back into my purse, a slow smile spreading across my face. It’s not that I don’t want to come home, darling, I thought. It’s that I need to make you fall in love with me all over again. You’ll understand. You have to. 2 I stayed out all night. When I walked through the door at dawn, exhausted and hungover, the living room lights were blazing. Ethan was on the sofa, his eyes a roadmap of red veins. The ashtray at his feet was overflowing with crushed cigarette butts. The second he saw me, he shot up and grabbed my wrist, his voice a raw rasp. “Where were you?” I could still smell the faint, floral scent of Tessa’s perfume clinging to him. He stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “You’ve never done this before. You never stay out all night.” I met his gaze and gave him a slow, innocent blink. “And what if I do?” “Ethan, we’re both adults. We’re allowed to have our own lives, aren’t we?” My words struck him dumb. In those bloodshot eyes, for the first time, I saw a flicker of something new: fear. “Isn’t that what you always told me?” I tilted my head, my smile disarmingly sweet. “You were busy. You had a work dinner. You said… adults need their own space.” I served his own bullshit back to him, word for word. My heart was pounding, my palms slick with nervous sweat. [STAY IN CHARACTER! DON’T BREAK! YOU’RE IN YOUR VILLAIN ERA NOW, AVA!] [YES! FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE! SO SATISFYING!] The comments were my armor. Just then, the master bedroom door clicked open. Tessa emerged, wrapped in a large silk robe, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was my favorite robe. A year ago, the sight would have sent me into a jealous rage. I would have clawed her eyes out. [HERE WE GO! THE MAIN EVENT! REMEMBER, THE FIRST ONE TO GET ANGRY LOSES!] I took a deep, steadying breath. Calm was my greatest weapon. Tessa feigned a gasp when she saw me, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. “Oh! Ava, you’re back! I’m so sorry, I had a little too much to drink last night, and Ethan was worried I’d ruin my clothes, so… he just found one of your old things for me to wear. You don’t mind, do you?” Ethan looked deeply uncomfortable. “Her dress was dirty,” he mumbled. “I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” “Mind?” I laughed. I walked straight over to Tessa, my tone full of gentle reproach—but my eyes were fixed on Ethan. “How could you give Tessa one of my old hand-me-downs? That’s so thoughtless.” Before either of them could react, I took Tessa’s hand and led her, stunned, toward my walk-in closet. I pulled a brand-new, tags-still-on silk chemise from a box and pressed it into her hands. “This one’s new. It’ll be perfect with your skin tone. Go on, try it on. It’ll look beautiful.” [HOLY SH*T! QUEEN BEHAVIOR! THAT’S NOT JUST A POWER MOVE, THAT’S A PUBLIC EXECUTION!] [TESSA’S FACE! SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS MAKING A STATEMENT, AND AVA JUST TREATED HER LIKE A BARGAIN BIN SHOPPER!] I ignored their petrified expressions, went into my own room, and changed into a sharp pantsuit. On my way out, I stopped at the safe hidden behind a painting in the hall and retrieved a velvet jewelry box. “Where are you going now?! What is that?” Ethan finally snapped out of his trance, grabbing my arm. I immediately shook him off and opened the box. Inside, a breathtaking sapphire necklace and earring set glittered under the light. “Oh, this?” I said, my voice airy and casual. “It’s the ‘Heart of the Deep.’ You remember, the set you bought for eight million at that auction our first year of marriage? The one… you were planning to give to Tessa, before you thought better of it.” Ethan’s pupils contracted. I turned to Tessa with a look of apology. “So sorry, Tessa, it’s not that I’m being stingy. It’s just, you know Mr. Harrison from Apex Corp? The deal we’re trying to close? His wife saw this set a few weeks ago and fell in love with it. I’m meeting her for tea this afternoon, and I thought I’d give it to her. A little gesture to help move the project along.” “Are you insane?” Ethan’s voice was trembling. “You loved that necklace more than anything! You wouldn’t even let me touch it!” “I’ve had a change of perspective,” I said, looking him directly in the eye, my expression open and sincere. “It’s just a piece of jewelry, collecting dust. It’s time it started serving a greater purpose, don’t you think?” I smiled, snapped the box shut, and patted his shoulder. “You two have a nice, relaxing day at home. I have to run.” And with that, I walked out without a backward glance. The second I was in my car, the door shut, I clutched the velvet box to my chest and felt a sharp, stabbing pain. It was, for so long, the last tangible proof I had that he once loved me. To pretend it didn’t hurt to give it away would be a lie. [DON’T BE SAD, AVA! YOU HAVE TO SACRIFICE A PAWN TO CAPTURE THE KING!] [THAT APEX DEAL IS WORTH FIFTY MILLION TO HAWTHORNE INDUSTRIES! AS A MAJOR SHAREHOLDER, YOU’LL BE ROLLING IN IT!] [THINK BIGGER! YOU’RE TRADING A TAINTED MEMORY FOR POWER, MONEY, AND RESPECT. HE’S GOING TO SEE YOU IN A WHOLE NEW LIGHT!] I read the messages, took a deep breath, and nodded. They were right. It was time to think bigger. Trading a material object for my career was more than worth it. 3 The look of sheer delight on Mrs. Harrison’s face when I gave her the “Heart of the Deep” was everything. Just as I’d predicted, the deal between Apex Corp and Hawthorne Industries was finalized within the week. And Mr. Harrison personally requested that I be appointed the lead project manager. The days that followed were a blur. I threw myself back into the corporate world I had abandoned three years ago, soaking up information like a sponge. Meetings, spreadsheets, client dinners… my calendar was a solid wall of appointments. [YES, BOSS LADY! GO! LET HIM SEE HOW INCREDIBLY HOT YOU ARE WHEN YOU’RE FOCUSED ON YOUR CAREER!] [THAT’S RIGHT! DON’T PAY HIM ANY ATTENTION! MEN ONLY SLOW DOWN THE GRIND!] The comments were my personal cheerleading squad. I could feel Ethan’s eyes on me whenever we were in the same room, a mixture of confusion, awe, and something else I couldn’t quite decipher. But I had no time to respond. Partly because the comments told me not to, and partly because I was just too damn busy. On the night of the celebration gala for the Apex deal, I was, as project lead, expected to attend with Ethan. I chose a champagne-colored, mermaid-style gown that hugged every curve. When I stepped out of the bedroom, Ethan was leaning against the wall, waiting. The moment he saw me, his breath hitched. The look in his eyes was one of pure, unadulterated shock and admiration. A spark of triumph lit inside me, but I kept my face a mask of cool indifference. “Are you ready to go?” I asked flatly. He swallowed hard and moved to open the door for me. Just as we were about to leave, a cloying voice cut through the air. “Ethan, honey? Ava? Where are you two going?” Tessa appeared out of nowhere, holding a glass filled with dark purple grape juice. She feigned a stumble, lurching directly toward me. The icy liquid soaked the front of my gown, blooming into a hideous, dark stain. “Oh my god! I’m so, so sorry, Ava!” Tessa shrieked, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to… I tripped! What are we going to do? The gala is so important tonight, and now you don’t have a dress. I guess… I guess Ethan will have to go by himself…” Every word of her apology was a carefully aimed dart. Ethan stared, first at the ruined dress, then at me. A flicker of indecision crossed his face. After a few seconds of tense silence, he actually opened his mouth and said it. “Maybe… Ava, maybe you should just go change. There isn’t much time. I can take Tessa with me to the event.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385275”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am the villain in a story about a runaway bride and her secret baby. My father was just about to sign over a portfolio of downtown real estate—a dowry worth five billion dollars—to my fiancé, Noah Harrison, when the words appeared in the air before me, shimmering like a heat haze. [What a fool this villainess is. In three days, the heroine is going to return from overseas with his kid. By then, she’ll lose both the man and the money.] [That’s not all. Because she humiliates the heroine, the hero is going to bankrupt her family’s company. Her father will have a stroke, her mother will lose her mind, and she’ll be handed over to a group of men hired by the hero and left for dead.] [And then, the hero will let the heroine take over the villainess’s family company. Tsk, tsk. The ultimate rags-to-riches story!] My hand shot out and snatched the portfolio transfer agreement from the table. Meeting Noah’s sharp, questioning gaze, I offered him a cool smile. “Let’s sign a prenup first. How about this: if, within the first three years of our marriage, you cheat, become violent, or are discovered to have a secret child, you’ll pay me three times the value of my dowry. And the engagement settlement is non-refundable. Deal?” 1 My knuckles were white, my grip on the transfer agreement unyielding. The warm, celebratory atmosphere of our family dinner instantly turned cold and heavy. Noah stared at me for a few seconds, a slow, unreadable smile playing on his lips. “Tessa,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Are you treating our marriage like a business transaction?” His parents immediately jumped in, trying to smooth things over. “Oh, Tessa, you know Noah. You two have known each other since you were children. There’s never been another woman in his life.” But the words in the air kept scrolling. [Well, that’s technically true. The hero was drugged when he had that one-night stand with the heroine. He barely remembers it himself.] [Slept with her is slept with her. The hero can only belong to the heroine! But how did the villainess guess?] [Rich girl doesn’t equal dumb girl. She’s the heiress to the Ford Corporation, after all. A little risk assessment is normal.] [Suddenly, I feel like this villainess has some game. I’m starting to worry about my girl, the heroine…] My own parents tugged at my sleeve. “Tessa, darling, we trust Noah. He’s not that kind of person.” But I didn’t let go of the agreement. Noah’s voice was laced with ice. “It seems you don’t have much faith in me, Tessa. In that case, perhaps we should postpone the engagement party.” Without another word, he turned and walked out. I watched his tall, impeccably tailored figure disappear down the long hallway before I finally allowed myself to breathe. Losing the man was one thing. Losing five billion dollars in prime Manhattan real estate? That was irreplaceable. 2 When we got home, my parents scolded me for being so reckless. Our engagement party was supposed to be in three days. The entire upper echelon of New York society was invited. The engraved invitations had already been sent. Tonight’s dinner was meant to finalize the wedding plans. A postponement now would undoubtedly start a firestorm of gossip. But compared to what was supposed to happen at that party—a lost five-year-old boy clinging to Noah’s leg and calling him “Daddy”—a little gossip was nothing. A little boy who, according to the text, was the spitting image of a young Noah Harrison. “Dad, Mom,” I said, my voice calm and steady. “You’ve met more people than I’ve had hot dinners. Tell me, how many men with Noah Harrison’s wealth and status are truly saints? Even if he was one before, that’s no guarantee for the future.” My words gave them pause. Finally, they relented. They would speak to the Harrisons in a couple of days. We would use the excuse of me feeling unwell to postpone the party for a month. A month was fine. After all, the heroine was due to arrive in three days. 3 As a gesture of apology to our esteemed guests, the engagement party was rebranded. Three days later, it became a gala celebrating the Ford Corporation’s successful bid to develop a massive new public plaza project in the city center. The same elite crowd gathered, sipping champagne and networking. The Harrisons were, of course, on the guest list. I had just stepped out of my car when a new set of words floated before my eyes. [Here we go! The first meeting between the heroine and the villainess! Can’t wait for the classic ‘hero saves the damsel’ scene.] [The cute little munchkin is here to help Mommy find Daddy!] [I wonder if the villainess will regret postponing the engagement when she sees them. She lost her only chance to lock the hero down, hahaha!] My eyes instinctively began scanning the lavish ballroom, searching for a small child. But before I could spot them, I saw Noah walking toward me. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his presence as commanding as ever. “As you requested,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’ll have the prenuptial agreement notarized and sent to you as soon as possible. The engagement party will proceed as planned, one month from now.” He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a kind of playful curiosity. “But I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Who’s been giving you advice?” We may have grown up together, but I’d always known Noah Harrison was a man ruled by logic, not passion. If it hadn’t been for our parents pushing us together for years, I doubt he would have ever given me a second glance. He probably thought I was just like all the other socialites—an empty-headed debutante with a pretty face. It was only after I got my acceptance letter to Wharton that he even considered dating me. His idea of a romantic confession was a curt, “It seems I’ve underestimated you.” If there was ever a flicker of affection he felt for me in the past, it was surely gone now. He must think I’m a cold, calculating schemer. Meeting his probing gaze, I just smiled. “Who can say no to a good insurance policy?” With a fifteen-billion-dollar penalty clause and a six-billion-dollar engagement settlement at stake, I could find any man I wanted. Just then, a commotion erupted near the entrance. A young woman in a simple white dress, with a sweet, innocent face, rushed into the venue, grabbing people by the arm. “Excuse me, have you seen my son?” 4 The person she grabbed was one of my family’s security guards. He frowned, trying to escort her out. “Ma’am, this is a private event. You can’t be in here. Please leave immediately.” But the woman was on the verge of tears. “No, my son is missing! He’s only five, I have to find him! Let me in!” “Please wait by the entrance. If we find a child, we will bring him to you.” “But I’m his mother! I have to go in! Let go of me, or I’ll call the police! Ah!” In the ensuing struggle, she stumbled and fell to the marble floor, scraping her porcelain-skinned leg. It started to bleed. Instantly, a little boy shot out from behind a large floral arrangement and slammed into the security guard, knocking him off balance. “Don’t you bully my mommy!” The woman then scooped the boy into her arms, and the two of them huddled together, crying, a picture of pathetic misery. [Like master, like servant. No surprise a dog raised by her would be so aggressive!] [A grown man bullying a single mother and her child. His conscience must have been eaten by a dog.] [Just wait. When the villainess’s family goes bankrupt, we’ll see how arrogant these servants are.] Noah watched the scene unfold with a frown, then turned to me. “It seems the security at the Ford Estate is a bit lacking. And your staff’s professionalism could use some work.” Then, as if to deliberately spite me, the man famous for his icy aloofness strode forward and extended a hand to the fallen woman. “Get up. I’ll have someone take you to the hospital.” The woman stared at him for a long moment, her eyes widening as if she’d seen a ghost. Then she grabbed her son and tried to run. But the little boy’s face lit up with pure joy. “Daddy!” he shouted at Noah. “Mommy, I found Daddy!” 5 The child’s voice was clear and high, immediately drawing the attention of every guest in the vicinity. Before anyone, including Noah, could react, the woman had scooped up the boy and vanished into the night. My father materialized at my side, his face grim. “What was that all about?” he whispered. I shrugged. “I have no idea. But the kid called Noah ‘Daddy.’ See, Dad? I told you the prenup was a good idea.” Our hushed conversation drifted to the nearby guests, and the celebratory mood of the evening soured. After the party, the Harrisons came over with Noah to offer an explanation. “Tessa, there must be some misunderstanding!” Mrs. Harrison insisted. Noah’s face was a thundercloud. For the first time, he spoke to me with a hint of defensiveness. “I can’t possibly have a son. For that woman to show up now, at this exact moment… she’s clearly after something.” The floating text reappeared. [This isn’t how it’s supposed to go… Shouldn’t the hero have seen the resemblance, abandoned the villainess, and run after the heroine?] [And the villainess is way too calm. Wasn’t she supposed to fly into a jealous rage, slap the heroine, and then get pushed away by the hero?] [Don’t worry, everyone. Once the heroine starts working at the hero’s company, the plot should get back on track.] Oh? She’s going to work at Harrison Industries? I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Noah. “Are you… sure you don’t want to get a paternity test first? What if he really is the result of a wild night you don’t remember?” A vein pulsed in Noah’s temple. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. “Tessa, I don’t know who has been whispering poison in your ear, but listen to me. Other than you, I have never laid a finger on another woman. I will find her and get to the bottom of this. And then, our engagement party will proceed as planned.” Fine by me. Let’s see you get past hiring the heroine first. I gently patted his hand. “Don’t get so worked up. It’s only fifteen billion dollars. I’m sure you can afford it.” As I turned to leave, I saw Noah violently loosen his tie, looking like he was about to kick the leg off the nearest coffee table. 6 After the gala disaster, my parents stopped mentioning the engagement. Meanwhile, rumors about Noah and the Harrison family began to circulate through our social circles. When I arrived at Harrison Industries for a progress meeting on a joint venture between our companies, I could feel the weight of everyone’s knowing glances. “Did you hear? Mr. Harrison has a secret son. The mother and child caused a huge scene at the Ford Estate…” “What? The Ice Prince of Wall Street has fallen?” “I knew there was a reason they postponed the engagement… Miss Ford looks perfectly healthy to me.” “It’s Mr. Harrison who looks like a mess. He’s been in a foul mood for weeks, apparently, he has his P.I.s searching everywhere for that woman.” I was engrossed in the gossip when I saw the head of HR walking a group of new hires down the hallway outside the glass-walled conference room. The heroine was among them. She was still in all white, a picture of nervous excitement. Here for her interview? My interest piqued, I was about to step out for a closer look when I nearly collided with Noah, who looked haggard and was radiating a “do not approach” aura. He grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?” “Oh… nowhere, just saw someone I thought I knew,” I said with a breezy laugh. Noah frowned and glanced in the direction I’d been looking. The tour group had already moved on. All he saw was a handsome, broad-shouldered young man with a sunny disposition carrying two coffees our way. The young man caught our eye and gave a shy smile. Noah’s grip on my arm tightened. “You know, your eyes used to only be for me,” he said, his voice dripping with a strange, acidic tone. “What’s this? Developed a new taste recently?” “I…” I was about to tell him he was mistaken, that I was looking at the baby mama, not the pretty boy. But Noah cut me off, turning to his assistant. “Who is this person?” The assistant looked from the bewildered pretty boy to his equally bewildered boss. “I believe he’s a new recruit from our fall intake. A top graduate from Yale.” Noah scoffed. “Transfer him to the regional office in Stamford.” Then he turned back to me, his words heavy with meaning. “A word of advice, Tessa. Be careful with pretty boys. Most of them are only after your money.” I just stared at him. “???” 7 After the meeting, Noah walked with me out of the conference room. As we passed through the main office area, we saw the Yale graduate from earlier, packing his desk with a dejected look on his face. I paused, turning to Noah. “A top mind from Yale, and you’re just sending him to a satellite office? That seems like a waste. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him. He can be my new assistant at Ford.” The sound that followed was a loud smack. Noah had slammed his palm down on the partition of a nearby cubicle. He leaned in close, that same unreadable, half-smiling expression on his face. “Tessa. Our engagement is postponed. Not canceled.” Sensing the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure, every employee in the vicinity shrank behind their monitors. Only one person dared to speak. A small, timid voice. “Mr. Harrison… my files…” I glanced down and my eyebrows shot up. What a coincidence. Noah had chosen, of all the desks in this vast office, the new desk of the heroine. And his hand was currently planted firmly on top of her paperwork. He followed my gaze, and his face instantly darkened. He barked at his assistant, “What is she doing here?” The assistant looked and his own face went pale. “She must be one of the new hires who started today…” The text in front of my eyes went wild. [Aaaah, here it is! Go on, hero! Be brave! Break off the engagement with the villainess and bring our heroine and her little angel home!] [Something feels off… Why is the hero looking at the heroine like he wants to murder her?] [Oh, relax! That’s just how enemies-to-lovers stories start~] [But he really looks like he’s jealous over that Yale guy right now…] [Can I just say, this villainess has way too much screen time. Can she just get lost already?] At that moment, the heroine—Ava—looked up and saw Noah’s face. All the color drained from hers. She scrambled to her feet to run, but in her panic, she tripped over her own chair and fell, landing in a heap right at my feet. I instinctively took a step back. Was this some kind of insurance scam? She looked helpless, trying to push herself up, her voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was your company, I’ll leave right now…” But Noah grabbed her arm. “Wait. You’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself.” The woman looked back at him, tears welling in her eyes, a mixture of fear and what looked like wounded pride. She struggled weakly against his grip. “I… I have nothing to say…” Noah let out a cold laugh. “The Ford Estate is on a private mountain road. You can’t get up there without a car, and there are guards at the main gate. How did you get in? And the child—where did you hire him?” She just stared at him, biting her lip, refusing to speak. Just then, the little boy came running out from behind a pillar, launching himself at Noah’s leg and beating it with his tiny fists. “Bad Daddy! You’re bullying Mommy for that bad woman! You don’t deserve to be my daddy!” This time, in the bright office lights, we all got a clear look at the boy’s face. There was no denying it. He was a miniature Noah Harrison. Even Noah, usually so composed, had a flicker of doubt cross his face. 8 The last time we’d seen the boy, he was wearing a baseball cap and it was dark. This time, there was no ambiguity. A ripple of whispers went through the office. “Oh my god, the resemblance is uncanny…” “Even if he’s not his son, he has to be a relative, right?” “I told you, where there’s smoke, there’s fire… and the woman is very pretty. Maybe the boss really did have a thing with her.” Noah’s face was grim as he escorted them both back to his family’s town car. I tried to slip away, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the car with them. “We are going to settle this today, in front of both our families.” My parents, having heard about the commotion, were already on their way to the Harrison residence. In the car, the woman—who said her name was Ava Miller and her son was Nicky—admitted the boy was hers, but she refused to name the father. She claimed she only took the job at Harrison Industries to provide a better life for her son and had no other intentions. As for the boy… she said he’d snuck out of his daycare because he was worried his mommy would get bullied at her new job. The child, his neck stiff with defiance, glared at me. “It’s a good thing I came, or my mommy would have been eaten alive by a mean woman like you! My mommy is the kindest, most innocent person in the world, and I have to protect her!” I just stared back. “???” At the Harrison’s Park Avenue penthouse, Ava stood protectively in front of her son, enduring the scrutiny of our assembled families. After a long, tense silence, Mrs. Harrison spoke, her voice strained. “Noah. Are you absolutely certain you don’t know her?” Mr. Harrison was on the phone, pacing. A video of the office confrontation, filmed by an employee, was already going viral online. The comments were brutal, painting a picture of a callous billionaire knocking up a common girl and refusing to take responsibility. Someone had even made a side-by-side comparison of Noah’s childhood photos and Nicky’s face. The resemblance was damning. The text floated lazily in front of me. [My poor babies, being stared at like animals in a zoo. Why isn’t the hero protecting his wife?] [Don’t you see the villainess sitting right next to him? If he defends the heroine now, the villainess will go crazy and plot even worse things against her. He’s obviously weighing his options.] [I don’t know… are we watching the same show? He doesn’t look like he wants to protect her. He looks like he wants to strangle her…] I glanced over at Noah. His face was a mask of thunderous rage. “Mom,” he gritted out, “you don’t believe me either?” Finally, I spoke, breaking the suffocating silence. “Mrs. Harrison, this seems pretty simple to me. Just get a paternity test. If the boy is his, I’ll call off the wedding.” 9 “Tessa, don’t you dare!” Noah looked like he was about to explode. I pointed at the boy, my expression one of pure innocence. “I mean, look at that face. Are you honestly telling me you don’t see any family resemblance?” Noah’s jaw tightened, and he sank back into his seat, fuming. Just as the standoff reached its peak, Ava suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud, pulling Nicky down with her onto the cold marble floor. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, her voice breaking. “I never should have disturbed your peaceful lives! It’s all my fault. If only… if only I hadn’t given birth to him!” With that, she grabbed Nicky and, to everyone’s horror, began slapping the little boy’s face, her hand striking his soft cheeks again and again. “I told you not to call random men Daddy! I told you! Apologize to the nice lady and gentleman! Apologize right now! If you don’t, then you can just forget you ever had a mother! I don’t want a disobedient child like you!” Nicky was stunned into silence, then began to wail, tears streaming down his already reddening face. He clung to his mother’s sleeve, sobbing, “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry, Nicky’s sorry…” “What are you sorry for?!” Ava shrieked, not satisfied. She grabbed his ear and twisted, eliciting a sharp scream from the boy. The scene was agonizing to watch. Even Noah, who had been the most hostile towards them, winced, a flicker of pity in his eyes. Mrs. Harrison started to reach for the child, but she glanced at me and hesitated. I could see Nicky’s little ear turning purple. It was about to start bleeding. That was it. I shot forward, grabbing Ava’s wrist and pulling the trembling child into my arms. “That’s enough, Miss Miller,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Don’t you think you’ve gone a little too far?”

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My brother Jake always called himself a prankster—cockroaches in my food, cutting my belt before an award ceremony. I complained to our parents, but it was useless. At my wedding, during his toast, he pulled out a fake medical report. “My brother didn’t mean to hide his HIV diagnosis,” he said tearfully. “He just loves his bride too much.” The room erupted. My father-in-law had a heart attack; my fiancée Cici died rushing him to the hospital. I hunted Jake down. He shrugged. “Just a joke. How was I to know they’d be so fragile?” My parents locked me in my room. “He was testing your in-laws,” they said. “It’s their fault for not trusting you.” I jumped from the windowsill. Then I opened my eyes again. This time, I’d give Jake a taste of his own medicine. 1. The blinding flash of a camera jolted me. I stared, bewildered, at the photographer directing our poses. Cici, my fiancée, noticed my unease. She gently wiped the sweat from my brow, her face etched with concern. “Leo, are you not feeling well, honey? We’re about to change for the next set anyway. Why don’t you rest for a bit? I’ll go grab you some juice.” My head was spinning. It wasn’t until Cici helped me to a chair in the waiting area and I saw the date and time on the digital wall clock that it finally sank in. I was back. I had returned to the day of our wedding photoshoot, exactly one week before the ceremony. In my past life, I had spent a month meticulously planning every detail to ensure our wedding would be perfect. But I never could have anticipated the moment my own brother, Jake, would snatch the microphone during the family toasts. “I’m so incredibly happy for my brother,” he had announced. “And I hope he stays strong. I know he can beat this diagnosis.” My mind went blank. Before I could even process his words, Jake continued, his voice thick with false sympathy. “Leo begged me to keep his secret, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Especially seeing how devoted Cici is to him… I couldn’t let her and her family stay in the dark.” Then, he produced a forged lab report. With sickening detail, he wove a tale of my supposed promiscuity, starting from middle school—how I’d tricked girls into bed, scammed one into taking out loans to fund my lifestyle, and finally, how I’d cheated on Cici and contracted a disease. The joyous celebration instantly soured, replaced by a chorus of curses and accusations. Cici was devastated, her eyes red with unshed tears, unable to form a single word of question. Then her father collapsed from a heart attack. The ensuing car crash on the way to the hospital killed them both. Someone posted a video of the scene online, and I was crucified by an endless wave of public hatred. With no one to turn to and no way to clear my name, I chose suicide. Only in my final moments did I learn the truth: to Jake, it had all been a prank. A joke to “liven things up.” … The memory of that suffocating despair washed over me. I watched Cici approach, a gentle smile on her face as she handed me my favorite juice. In that moment, my resolve hardened into steel. This time, I would not only protect our happiness. I would make my brother understand the true cost of his “jokes.” The wedding day arrived, the venue even more lavish than before. We had even invited a few popular influencers to livestream the event, sharing our joy with the world. As the makeup artist was doing some final touch-ups, Jake burst into the room, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, bro. Quite the wedding. And you didn’t have to spend a cent. Really making the family proud.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “And Cici… damn. Not only is she hot, but she didn’t even ask for anything, just showered you with expensive watches and cars. I noticed her chest looks even bigger today. Guess you’ve been working hard to keep her happy in bed, huh?” He sighed dramatically. “I don’t get it. We came from the same parents. How come you get all the luck with women? You’ve always had gorgeous girls throwing money at you.” Our father, Arthur, who had followed him in, chimed in with a greedy grin. “Don’t be stupid, kid. The money your brother saved can go to you. And you like his car, right? Just take it. Anything you want in the future, just ask. Cici’s family is loaded. It’s all in the family now. When it’s your turn to get married, they can foot the bill for the wedding and the house. We can’t let you get the short end of the stick.” Jake’s eyes lit up. Just then, Cici walked in. Her face darkened as she overheard them, but for my sake, she said nothing. My whole life, Jake had been spreading malicious lies about me, and my parents’ blatant favoritism had always forced me to swallow my anger. Not this time. I was done being their doormat. I glared at Jake, my voice rising to a sharp crescendo. “Did Mom and Dad only teach you how to spew shit? You’re jealous because you’re useless. You have hands and feet—if you want nice things so bad, go be a gigolo! You want us to pay for your wedding? Maybe you should just start calling us Mom and Dad instead!” They were stunned into silence. I had always been the compliant, easygoing one. My outburst left them speechless. After a long moment, Jake finally found his voice, sputtering with indignation. “It was just a joke, man! Why are you being so sensitive?” He sneered. “Besides, I wouldn’t want your life anyway. You’re just marrying into her family, a kept man living off her money. Everyone knows it. People are going to be looking down on you. It’s pathetic, really.” “Who knows,” he continued, his voice getting louder, “maybe one day Cici will get tired of you, find a new boy toy, and kick you to the curb…” Before he could finish, my hand connected with his cheek in a sharp crack. “Even if I am marrying into her family, Cici and her parents treat me with more respect than you ever have! They treat me like their own son. You’re the one who wants to be a leech, so don’t project your pathetic ambitions onto me!” The commotion drew a crowd. Jake, clutching his reddening cheek, was overcome with shame and rage. He started shouting. “You have the nerve to say that? You think you’re so clean? Cici’s family has been nothing but good to you, and you’re still cheating on her behind her back! You even sleep with men! And the most disgusting part is, you contracted AIDS and you’re hiding it from her!” “You’re a sick freak!” At his words, a hush fell over the crowd. The whispers and murmurs died. Even the hotel staff paused, their eyes fixed on me. In that moment, I was the shameless, disgusting man he painted me to be. Everyone instinctively believed him. After all, why would a brother lie about something so serious on his own brother’s wedding day? But that was Jake. He never knew where the line was. It started small, with stupid gag toys. A fake cockroach in the rice cooker. A rubber snake in my bed. I’d be scared out of my wits while he’d be doubled over, howling with laughter. When I stopped reacting to his childish pranks, he decided to escalate. He once snuck into my company dorm while I was out, drenched himself in fake blood, and lay on the floor. When my roommate and I returned, we found him and started screaming in terror. Just as we were about to call the police, he leaped up, yelling, “Surprise!” My roommate was so freaked out he had me kicked out of the dorm. Another time, during an important video conference with a client, he burst in dressed as a masked robber, holding a toy knife to my back. He wanted to see me panic and make a fool of myself. I lost the client. I lost the deal. I was on the verge of a breakdown, but Jake just put on a wounded expression. “Come on, bro, you’re always so stressed. I was just trying to make you laugh.” And my parents, as always, backed him up. “Jake was just trying to cheer you up. Can’t you take a joke? It’s not his fault you’re so timid.” “That’s right,” my father would say. “You’re the older brother. You should be more tolerant. Now, apologize to Jake.” They never understood. Because of his “good intentions,” I didn’t just lose a job I had fought tooth and nail for; I became a running joke among my colleagues. Thinking of this, a cold smile touched my lips. I slapped him again, harder this time. “I’ve put up with your crap for years, but did you forget what day it is? How dare you run your mouth with this garbage today.” Some of our relatives, who knew Jake’s tendencies, tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Jake, you’re always pulling pranks on your brother, but you can’t joke about something like this on his wedding day.” Seeing that some people were still on my side, Jake’s anger flared. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his other hand covering his stinging cheek. “I’m not a kid! You think I’d say something like this without proof? I know everything he’s done. And deep down, he knows it too!” Cici’s expression flickered with a hint of uncertainty, but she stood firm. “Jake, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I’ve been with Leo for a long time. I know the kind of person he is, and I know he wouldn’t lie to me.” Her friends, who had gotten to know me well, started murmuring in my defense. Their support gave me the strength I needed. “You said you have proof?” I challenged him. “Well, you’d better show it. Otherwise, get the hell out of my sight and never come back.” At my words, our father, Arthur, exploded. “You bastard! Haven’t you embarrassed us enough? Why did we ever have a disgrace like you for a son?” Our mother, Helen, quickly jumped in. “Jake is just trying to help you get ahead of the story, before Cici finds out and it’s too late to fix things. It’s already out in the open, so why are you still denying it? Apologize to her and her family right now!” I looked at the three of them and let out a cold, humorless laugh. I pulled out my phone, opened the livestream, and shoved the screen in Jake’s face. “You see this? There are influencers here, broadcasting this to thousands of people. If you can’t produce that proof, the whole world is going to know you’re nothing but a pathetic liar.” Seeing the stream of comments mocking him, Jake’s face contorted with rage. “Fine! You asked for this! You want proof? Here’s your proof!” He ripped a folded document from his bag and held it up for everyone to see, his finger pointing at the conclusion. “A friend of mine at the hospital asked me to give this to my brother. The diagnosis is right here, clear as day: HIV-positive.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with malicious triumph. “Well? There’s your proof. Try talking your way out of this one!” “If I hadn’t found this by chance, he would have hidden it from me too! He probably would’ve tried to infect me and then blame me for it! And this is after I’ve kept so many of his other dirty little secrets.” “Don’t let his clean-cut act fool you,” he spat. “He’s always been rotten. He was sleeping with girls in middle school, tricking them into taking out loans for him in high school. After college, he barely came home. I found out later it was because some rich old guy was keeping him. He’s a disgusting, twisted pervert!” He was right about one thing: I rarely went home. There was never a place for me there, and I was sick and tired of him. Seeing the “evidence,” the people who had been defending me instinctively took a step back. The online comments immediately flipped. “Whoa, he really has proof. The groom is toast.” “He looks so normal, but what a scumbag. Good on the brother for speaking up. The bride dodged a massive bullet.” “That brother is a hero. The groom is disgusting, sleeping with everyone. He should be locked up, not getting married. The bride needs to get tested ASAP.” I stared at Jake, my voice laced with disbelief. “Jake, where did you get this? Are you trying to destroy me in front of everyone? You know I never even held a girl’s hand before I met Cici. How could I possibly have a disease like that?” It was as if he didn’t hear me. He glanced at the livestream comments, then turned to Cici, his face suddenly crumpling into a mask of sorrow. He grabbed her hands, tears and snot running down his face. “Cici, please don’t blame my brother,” he sobbed. “He only did these things because he was jealous that our parents loved me more. He was just acting out, desperate for attention. It’s all my fault.” “I’m so sorry, on his behalf. He really loves you. He promised he’d get treatment and that he’d never mess around again.” “Please,” he begged, turning to include her parents, “please forgive him.” His performance earned a wave of sympathy from the crowd and the online audience. Cici, however, just stared at him like he was an idiot. She pulled her hands away and looked at me, her eyes full of questions. I put on a frantic, desperate act. “Mom! Dad!” I shouted at Arthur and Helen, who were watching the show with grim satisfaction. “Are you just going to stand there and let him do this? Are you trying to ruin my life? Say something! Defend me!” They exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. Then Arthur pointed a finger at me and roared, “Shut your mouth! We have no son as vile as you! Must you air all your filthy laundry in public? It’s bad enough you were reckless, but to get a disease… You’ve brought nothing but shame on me and your mother!” “Cici,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “You know the situation now. If you still want to marry our son, we won’t stop you. If you don’t, we understand. But one thing is for sure: all the money and gifts you’ve given our family, we won’t be returning them.” … They played their parts perfectly, their little scheme clicking along. At first, I thought Jake was just jealous. But having died once, I knew the truth. They saw me as a tool, a handsome face they could use to swindle wealthy women out of their money. In that moment, any lingering connection I felt to them was severed for good. I took a deep breath, my voice suddenly calm and clear. “Brother,” I said, with a hint of pity. “Why don’t you bring that report a little closer? Let everyone see whose name is signed in the patient field.”

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