Author: Momo Chan

They threw us out of my daughter’s preschool on her very first day. “Mr. Vance’s son has been enrolled here for a year,” the principal said, her expression a mask of confusion. “We have no record of a daughter.” I stood there, dumbfounded. My husband and I only had one child, Lily, and she was just now old enough for school. How could she possibly have been attending for a year? A quick investigation revealed the truth. A new assistant at my husband’s company, a woman named Isabella, had enrolled her own child a year ago, presenting herself as Mrs. Vance. When I confronted her, she simply sent me a photo of a marriage certificate. “I know who you are,” her text read. “The woman who’s been harassing my husband for years, right?” The photo was crystal clear. The embossed seal from City Hall, the smiling faces in the picture. The date was stamped five years ago. But Alan and I had only been married for three. 1 “Mommy,” Lily whispered on the drive home, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. “Am I really a stray?” I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re Mommy and Daddy’s only treasure.” That was all it took. The tears spilled from her wide eyes, her small voice thick with a pain that shattered my heart. “Then why did Isabella’s son say he’s Daddy’s treasure? All the other kids said it too. They pushed me and… and they called me a bastard…” I glanced in the rearview mirror at the faint red mark on her cheek and felt a fresh wave of fury. Her first day of school, and it had been a nightmare. The worst part was the marriage certificate Isabella had sent me. The man standing next to her, his arm wrapped around her waist, was the same man who had held me in his arms countless times. The official seal was undeniable, and the date—five years ago—mocked my own three-year marriage. Thinking back, Isabella’s arrival at the company had been sudden. She was hired directly as Alan’s executive assistant. Could it be…? I refused to let my mind go there. I pulled out my phone and dialed Alan’s number. It wasn’t him who answered, but his male assistant. “Mr. Vance is in a crucial negotiation, ma’am. All electronic devices are prohibited. Can I take a message?” “Was Alan ever married before me?” I asked, my voice tight. The assistant paused, and after I quickly explained the situation, he stammered a reassurance. “That certificate must be photoshopped, Mrs. Vance! I swear, the boss wouldn’t dare!” His words calmed me slightly. It was true, Alan wouldn’t have the guts. But I still needed to hear it from him. For now, all I could do was wait. We had just purchased a sprawling estate in a top-tier school district to be closer to Lily’s new preschool. Today was supposed to be our official move-in day. But as I pulled up to the wrought-iron gates, my heart sank. The house, which I was meant to be the first to enter, was swarming with people. Movers bustled in and out, carrying luggage that wasn’t mine. A massive banner was strung across the grand entrance: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW HOME, MRS. VANCE A throng of reporters crowded the driveway, their cameras flashing, all aimed at a single, impeccably dressed woman. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized her. Isabella. What in God’s name was she doing here? 2 The reporters were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. “Isabella! Isabella! Is the marriage certificate you posted online real? Did you leave Hollywood because you found true love?” My hands trembled as I unlocked my phone. The internet had exploded. #IsabellaAndAlanVance #IsabellaRevealsSecretMarriage #AlanVance: The Love I’ve Hidden for Five Years The top post was Isabella’s, featuring the very same marriage certificate she’d sent me. Her caption read: [Yes, it’s been five wonderful years.] The comments section was a wildfire: [OMG I KNEW IT! I knew our goddess didn’t retire just to avoid that washed-up hack Ava!] [Please, as if Ava could ever compete with Isabella. Three years later and she’s still a nobody.] [I’m a preschool teacher, and today Ava actually brought a kid in claiming she was Alan Vance’s daughter. The secondhand embarrassment is REAL! LMAO!] [This is next-level delusion. What a psycho.] [Even before our goddess retired, that snake Ava was always sniffing around Alan. Joke’s on her, he was already married! I’m living for this drama!] [Awwww, so she wasn’t gone, she was just secretly happy all this time! We love you, Queen!] “What is all this junk? Get it out of here,” Isabella’s voice dripped with disdain as she waved a dismissive hand at a collection of brand-new art pieces I had curated. “Alan will be upset if he sees this clutter.” At her command, workers began hauling my things toward a dumpster. My precious antiques, rare books, and paintings I’d collected from around the world were being tossed onto a pile of garbage. “Stop!” I stormed out of my car, grabbing a worker’s arm. I turned my glare on Isabella. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” A wave of murmurs rippled through the reporters. “Oh my god, it’s that psycho Ava. She actually showed up?” “Hey, can’t you read the banner? It says ‘Mrs. Vance.’ Are you Mrs. Vance? I don’t think so!” “Has she completely lost her mind? Is she trying to claim this mansion now, too?” “An estate like this has to be worth nine figures. She’s just a desperate clout-chaser.” Crack! My hand connected with the cheek of a particularly loud-mouthed journalist. “And what gives you the right to be here? Did I invite you in?” I knocked the camera from his grip and shoved him toward the gate. “Get out!” “Stop this at once!” A delicate hand blocked my path. Isabella stood before me, her brow furrowed with an air of regal displeasure. “Ms. Miller, I’m generally a patient person, but that gives you no right to cause a scene on my property!” 3 “She’s completely unhinged! Attacking people at our goddess’s housewarming? Does she really think this is her home?” “She probably thinks she’s the real Mrs. Vance. It’s pathetic.” I shot Isabella a look of pure venom. “Move. You and every other uninvited guest are not welcome in my home.” Isabella positioned herself protectively in front of the reporter, her expression hardening. “Ms. Miller, I’m aware you’ve held a grudge against me because of my husband. I can overlook that. If you’ve come today to offer your congratulations on my new home, you are welcome as my guest. But if you continue this… this unhinged spectacle, I will have no choice but to have you removed.” Dressed in a bespoke silk dress with a delicate bamboo print and a white shawl draped over her shoulders, she looked like a vision of pure elegance. Her clear, firm voice captivated everyone present. The camera flashes were blinding. “She’s incredible! The poise, the class! I’m obsessed!” “So gracious and yet so firm. Where can I sign up to be her loyal servant for life? Crying!” “If I were her, after this psycho impersonated me and crashed my party, I’d have had security throw her out on her face ages ago!” Isabella’s lips curved into a subtle, triumphant smirk. She lifted her chin, her gaze locking onto mine. “For the sake of our past professional acquaintance, Ms. Miller, I suggest you leave before you cause any more trouble.” Slap! The sound echoed, sharp and final. A red mark blossomed on her perfect cheek. I slammed the property deed onto her chest and grabbed the collar of her dress. “Read this carefully. This is my property, not yours. I haven’t even settled the score with you for stealing my daughter’s spot at preschool, and now you show up to squat in my house? You’re just my husband’s assistant. Who gave you permission to act like the lady of the manor?” “Ah!” she cried out, stumbling back in her high heels. She clutched her face, her voice a trembling whisper. “Help me…” “Have you no shame?” a man shouted, shoving me so hard I nearly toppled over, a sharp pain shooting through my fingernail. “Is this how you get attention? By crashing someone else’s party and causing a scene? I’ve been holding back this whole time out of respect for Isabella, but you’ve gone too far! You really think we’re afraid to touch you?” I regained my footing, my phone clutched in my hand. A cold smile spread across my face. “Good. I’ve already called the police. Go ahead, lay another finger on me. I dare you.” At the mention of the police, a flicker of panic crossed Isabella’s face. But the reporters drowned it out. “Please! You’re the one trespassing! The police are coming for you! Get out of here now! This is Isabella’s home, we don’t want your filth here!” Someone grabbed my arm, yanking me violently toward the gate. I lost my balance, stumbling backward, about to crash onto the hard pavement. “What is going on here?” A sharp, familiar voice cut through the chaos. I snapped my head up. 4 “It’s the new estate manager!” “I remember her! Our paper did a feature on her—the brilliant young woman from a disadvantaged background who became a top-tier manager!” As Olivia walked toward us, a sliver of hope ignited within me. “Olivia! Thank God! Tell them! Tell them the truth!” Olivia was a university student I had personally sponsored for years. She was so exceptionally bright that I’d hired her straight out of graduation to manage my new estate. If anyone could clear this up, it was her. “Olivia…” Isabella’s confident facade wavered. I shot her a triumphant glare and pulled Olivia forward by the hand. “Olivia, tell all these people whose house this really is.” “Ma’am…” Olivia’s hand squirmed in my grasp until she pulled it free. She offered me a strained, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall inviting you today.” “Olivia?” I stared at her, my mind reeling. But she had already moved to Isabella’s side. She gently tucked a loose strand of Isabella’s hair behind her ear. “Are you alright, Mrs. Vance?” she asked with deep concern. “Mrs. Vance…” The words hit me like a physical blow. I grabbed Olivia’s arm, forcing her to look at me. “You don’t know me? It’s me, Ava! The woman who sponsored your education!” Olivia looked terrified, her smile crumbling into a mask of distress. “I… I’m sorry, but it’s always been Mrs. Vance who sponsored me…” Fury surged through me. “I am Mrs. Vance! I was at your graduation last month! You knew who I was then!” “No… I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Tears welled in Olivia’s eyes, her voice breaking into a sob. “That’s enough!” A hand slapped mine away. Isabella pulled Olivia behind her, shielding her protectively. She fixed me with a look of righteous anger. “I know you hate me for stealing Alan’s heart, but this is between us. Take it out on me, but don’t you dare bully an innocent girl!” 5 “Wow, now that’s how a real benefactor acts!” “Exactly! A true patron treats the person they sponsor like their own child. They’d never grab and interrogate them like that!” “I’m literally crying. Our goddess isn’t just magnanimous, she’s a saint! She and Mr. Vance deserve a lifetime of happiness!” “What is wrong with that witch Ava? First she tries to steal her man, now she’s trying to steal credit for her charity work? How can someone be so shameless?” The cameras flashed relentlessly. I stared in disbelief at Olivia cowering behind Isabella. “Olivia…” Olivia’s gaze darted away, refusing to meet mine. Tears streamed down her face. “Please, ma’am, I don’t know you. Please just leave me alone…” “Ava!” Isabella held the girl tighter, her eyes narrowed at me. “I won’t let you hurt her!” A single strand of her hair fell across her face, a portrait of fragile beauty. But her eyes burned with a fierce, protective fire. She was the perfect picture of a wronged heroine—suffering, yet resolute. “Ugh, my heart breaks for Isabella! It’s all that bitch’s fault!” “I can’t take it anymore! Someone needs to teach that witch a lesson!” “Hey, forget her for a second. That car she’s driving… I think I’ve seen it on Isabella’s Instagram. Is she even faking that?” “Get it! Let’s trash that piece of junk!” “No!” My heart leaped into my throat. But it was too late. A group of men had already swarmed my car, one of them smashing a heavy pipe against the windshield. A piercing scream erupted from inside the vehicle. Lily. “Shut up! Like mother, like daughter! Keep crying and we’ll drag you out here and beat you too!” “LILY!” I screamed, trying to push through the crowd, but a stiletto-clad foot shot out, tripping me. I fell hard to the ground. Isabella stood over me, her arms crossed, a cold, triumphant smile playing on her lips. Hands grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. A stinging slap landed across my face. “We gave you a chance to leave peacefully, you bitch. I guess you wanted to do this the hard way.” “Let’s see how tough you are now!” The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I bit down hard on the hand that held me, and the man yelped in pain, snatching it back. Gritting my teeth, I wrenched the diamond wedding ring from my finger and flung it at the man’s face. “I am Alan Vance’s wife. You will all pay for this!” Someone caught the ring. For a moment, there was silence. Then, his face paled. “The ‘Starfall’? The one-of-a-kind ring Alan bought at that auction for a fortune? How does she have it?” “Wait… didn’t he say he was saving that for his real wedding ring?” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “Let me go,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And I might forget this happened.” “Ha! Such a crude knockoff, and you have the audacity to pass it off as the real thing?” Another ring, nearly identical to mine, was tossed at my feet. Isabella pulled the genuine article from her purse, dangling it in front of me with a sneer. “Ms. Miller, I had no idea your obsession with me went this deep. Even a replica of the Starfall must have cost you a pretty penny.” My breath hitched. “Impossible… He bought that at auction and put it on my finger himself. Where did you get that fake?” SLAP! Isabella’s hand struck my face again, her eyebrows knitted in frustration. “I am so tired of you! I’ve given you chance after chance, and still, you insist on harassing me and my husband!” She pulled a thick file from her bag and threw it at me, the papers scattering across the ground at my feet. “Take a good look! See for yourself who the real homewrecker is!” A marriage certificate lay open before me. The one I had dismissed as a cheap photoshop, now undeniably real. The man in the photograph was grinning, his arm wrapped tightly around Isabella. Alan… My fingers trembled as I picked up the photos one by one. Pictures of them as children, in high school, in college, at work. Holding hands on the way to class. Alan taking a huge bite out of Isabella’s ice cream cone. Sharing a radiant smile at an amusement park at night… They had known each other for so long… They had been married… for five years… My three years of marriage dissolved into a cruel, pathetic joke. A set of car keys hit my face. “I won’t see you out,” Isabella said coolly. “Good luck.” Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Lily? What’s going on here? Everybody stop!” It was Alan. And behind him, the wail of police sirens. 6 “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here…” Alan gently lifted a sobbing Lily from the car. The police quickly began to cordon off the area, pushing the mob of reporters back. When Alan saw me, his expression darkened. He handed Lily to his assistant and rushed to my side. “Ava, what happened to you—” SLAP! I hit him with every ounce of strength I had left. He staggered back, clutching his cheek, his eyes wide with shock. “Ava?” “How does it feel,” I asked, my voice dripping with ice, “living a double life?” He stared at me, confused. “What are you talking about?” I threw his marriage certificate with Isabella at his chest. “I want a divorce. I get Lily.” I turned to take my daughter from the assistant, but Alan grabbed my arm. “Ava, wait. This is a misunderstanding, I swear. You’re the only one for me…” His voice trailed off. Isabella was walking toward us. The moment Alan saw her, his hand on my arm went rigid. His expression hardened.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385060”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before I was supposed to get engaged to Leo, my best friend Chloe and I were tangled in my duvet, whispering secrets like we had since we were kids. That’s when she told me hers. A secret that cracked my world open. She was four weeks pregnant. The father was a man she’d never introduced me to. Chloe’s face was a mess of conflict in the dim lamplight. “Ava,” she whispered, her voice tight, “what do I do? Do I choose the baby’s father, or do I choose the London job?” The promotion to the London office was the culmination of five years of brutal, relentless work. But I could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t bear to let go of this man. My answer was instant, a gut reaction. “Go to London. A career is a hell of a lot more reliable than a man.” With tears shimmering in her eyes, she pulled out her phone and typed out a five-thousand-word farewell manifesto to him. Later that night, I found that same manifesto on Leo’s phone. 1 Leo was in the shower, and his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the nightstand. I figured it was just colleagues, early congratulations on the engagement. I picked it up. Pinned to the top of his messages was a name: Chloe. My Chloe. The girl I’d shared everything with for twenty-six years, since we were toddlers running naked through sprinklers. Ten minutes ago, we were hugging in my bed. What could she possibly have to say to Leo that required five consecutive messages? Leo, you and Ava are getting engaged tomorrow. I guess this is where it ends for us. ~♡ As long as you’re happy, what do my tears matter? I’ll be there tomorrow to watch your sacred moment, and then I’m heading to the London office. Goodbye. ~♡ I read the messages again and again. It was her, no doubt. The little tilde she always used. The heart emoji at the end of every serious thought. My hand shook, the phone suddenly heavy. A roaring filled my ears, drowning out the sound of the shower. I couldn’t connect the two images in my head: Leo, the man who adored me, and Chloe, my soulmate, my sister. So, the baby Chloe was carrying… it was Leo’s. A crushing weight settled on my chest, hot tears stinging my eyes. The bathroom door clicked open. I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, my movements jerky and unnatural. Leo smiled, his hair damp, his face warm and open. “Have a good chat with Chloe? I bet you two have enough to talk about for three days and three nights, with you changing your status on her.” The words were a stone in my throat. I couldn’t force the accusation out. He plugged in the hairdryer. “So, my beautiful fiancée-to-be, are you still willing to do the honors tonight?” Usually, I loved drying his hair. It was our ritual. But the thought of his hands, of their shared intimacy, sent a wave of nausea through me. “My throat’s a little scratchy,” I managed, my voice raspy. “I think I’m just going to sleep, if that’s okay.” He was all concern, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bedroom. He tucked me in before glancing at his phone. I watched as his posture stiffened, the muscles in his neck cording. “Babe, I’m just gonna run out and grab some gum,” he said, his voice strained. The moment the door closed, I was out of bed, pulling on a pair of sneakers, my heart pounding as I followed him out into the night. My desperate, silent prayers went unanswered. Down the block, under the weak glow of a streetlight, I saw them. The world tilted on its axis as Leo pulled Chloe into his arms. I bit down on my knuckles, the only thing stopping a scream from tearing out of my throat. Leo’s large hand rested gently on Chloe’s stomach, his voice trembling even from a distance. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my baby, too.” “And what good would that do?” Chloe’s voice was thick with tears. “There’s no future for us. Tomorrow, you’re promising your life to Ava.” “Are you serious about London?” “Yes. And I’m not keeping the baby.” Chloe’s chin was set in a stubborn line, pushing against his chest even as her body betrayed her, leaning into his warmth. Leo wouldn’t let go, his thumb stroking her cheek, wiping away a tear. “What about me? You’re just going to leave, just throw me away like that? Did you even think about how that would feel?” “You have Ava. That’s enough. We never should have let this happen.” “But I love you, Chloe,” he choked out. “You can’t be this cruel. If you leave, you’ll gut me.” That broke her. A sob escaped Chloe’s lips, and she melted against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly. They clung to each other, lost in their tragic romance, making me the villain in a story I never even knew I was in. 2 At one in the morning, Leo slid back into bed beside me. The tear tracks on my face had long since dried, my throat raw. He wrapped an arm around me, his lips finding my shoulder in a familiar, gentle kiss. “Babe, I’m so nervous,” he murmured into my skin. “The engagement party is tomorrow. It all feels like a dream.” That night, we were worlds apart in the same bed. The next morning, my parents were already a whirlwind of activity. Our families had a traditional streak; an engagement party was a big deal, a house filled with neighbors, friends, and relatives. Leo’s family arrived with flowers, platters of food, and cases of wine. He told me to rest, that I looked tired, and then seamlessly took his place beside my parents, playing the perfect son-in-law. It was Chloe’s parents who pulled me aside, their faces etched with a gravity that made my stomach clench. “We need to talk to you in your room, sweetie.” The moment the door closed, Chloe’s mom, a woman who had bandaged my scraped knees and baked my favorite cookies, fell to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Evans, please, get up,” I pleaded, rushing to help her. Her husband, a man I called Uncle Mark, had been a second father to me. They both had. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her words were choked with sobs. “Ava, I know what we’re about to ask is unforgivably unfair, but Chloe… she’s our only daughter. We can’t stand to see her like this, completely shattered.” She looked up at me, her eyes begging. “Could you… could you find it in your heart to step aside? To let her and Leo be together?” I stumbled back, the room seeming to shrink around me. I couldn’t draw a full breath. Uncle Mark spoke, his voice heavy with regret. “Chloe was wrong, we know that. But you can’t plan who you fall in love with. She’s stubborn, and now with the baby… we’re terrified she’s going to do something reckless.” A cold dread spread through me. My face felt like a mask. “So… you’ve known? You’ve known about them this whole time?” Growing up, with my parents working long hours, I basically lived at their house. They treated me like a second daughter. Every gift they bought for Chloe, they bought one for me, too. Our friendship was a twenty-six-year-old monument, something I thought was indestructible. And I was the only one who didn’t know it was built on a lie. Mrs. Evans clutched my hand. “Blame me, Ava. Don’t blame Chloe. You know how much she truly loves you, how much she treasures your friendship.” She squeezed my hand tighter. “If she knew you broke up with Leo to make way for her, the guilt would destroy her. Please, for my sake… don’t let her know we told you. Just let it be your decision. Please?” I stared at her, my mind numb, before slowly pulling my hand from her grasp. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “I’ll do it.” She burst into tears of relief, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” over and over. When I walked out of the room, I saw Chloe and Leo standing at opposite ends of the living room. She was laughing, playing a game with the neighborhood kids, handing out cupcakes I had baked. “These are from the beautiful bride-to-be, Ava! Make sure you tell her congratulations later, okay?” Leo’s gaze was fixed on her. It was tender, possessive, a look of profound, unbreakable connection. It all clicked into place. Every anniversary, when he’d insist I invite Chloe along, I thought he was just being inclusive. The three tickets he’d always buy for the amusement park. The extra skincare set he’d tell me to pick up for her. It wasn’t thoughtfulness. It was guilt. They’d been lying to me for six years. Six years out of the seven we’d been together. My mind flashed back to high school. Chloe, getting a month of detention for punching a boy who made a crude joke about me. Chloe, after my first big fight with Leo in college, getting on a nineteen-hour Greyhound bus just to show up at my dorm and take me out for drinks. Now I had to wonder. After she’d tucked a drunk me into bed, had she met up with him? Had they connected under the stars, bonding over their shared love for me, a love that twisted into something else entirely? Every memory of her loyalty, every act of love, now felt like a dose of expertly administered poison. 3 Seeing me by the doorway, Chloe immediately broke away from the kids and rushed over, her face a perfect mask of concern. “Hey, you look pale. Did you catch a chill last night?” She fussed over me, smoothing the fabric of my dress. “This crimson dress looks incredible on you. Leo must have saved a galaxy in a past life to deserve you.” I looked down at the silk, then at her. “You’re the one who helped me pick it. You said it would go perfectly with the ‘modern romance’ theme. Just like yours.” She was wearing a blush pink dress, a shade that complemented mine but somehow matched the classic lines of Leo’s charcoal suit even better. She beamed. “See? My taste is impeccable. As long as you have me, you’re set.” Was she picking a dress for her best friend, the maid of honor? Or was she dressing for a role she secretly wished was her own? My brain couldn’t process it anymore. Leo appeared with two glasses of water, handing one to each of us. “You’ve been standing for a while. Stay hydrated.” Chloe playfully nudged him. “Look at you, so considerate. I guess I can see why my Ava fell for you.” “Of course,” he said, his eyes flicking to her for a split second. “She’s my fiancée now.” I noticed the water in my glass was icy cold. Chloe’s had no condensation; it was room temperature. He was so damn thoughtful. My fingers tightened around the glass. I was the star of this farce, and all I wanted to do was run. Leo must have sensed my mood shift. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice low. “Nervous?” “Just woke up too early, I guess,” I lied. Chloe took my hand, pulling me toward my bedroom. “Come on, let me touch up your makeup. It’s your big day. You have to be flawless.” In the mirror, I watched her meticulously fill in my brows, her touch gentle and practiced. I remembered the summer after high school graduation, the two of us trying to teach ourselves makeup in this very room, ending up looking like circus clowns. We were too embarrassed to go home, so we spent the whole day at the mall, pooling our last three dollars to share a single corn dog. We could never go back there. I tilted my head back, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “Chloe, are you keeping any secrets from me?” The hand holding the eyebrow pencil faltered for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she said. I held my breath. “I’ve already scoped out a place with male dancers,” she declared, her voice mischievous. “I plan on going quietly. Once you’re a married woman, you’ll have to live vicariously through me!” She threw her head back and laughed, a bright, carefree sound that extinguished the last flicker of warmth in my heart. Even now, she wouldn’t tell me the truth. Outside, a string of firecrackers went off, signaling that the formal part of the party was about to begin. My parents flanked Leo and me, with Chloe standing proudly by my side. My dad beamed. “Time flies. In the blink of an eye, Ava’s getting engaged, and Chloe’s career is taking off. I still remember Chloe swearing that whoever married our Ava, she’d have to drink him under the table first. Hahaha.” Chloe laughed along. “That’s right! Our Ava is the best person in the world. Even you, Leo, don’t fully deserve her!” Her eyes glinted with purpose. “And today, I’m making good on that promise. Leo, if you can outdrink me, then and only then can you have Ava’s hand!” She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the table, poured a generous amount into a small bowl, and raised it, her eyes locked with Leo’s. His brow furrowed in alarm. The relatives, oblivious, started cheering. “That’s a real best friend for you! You’ve gotta drink, Leo!” “Chloe can hold her liquor! She could take down five of you. That’s what you get for stealing her best friend!” I glanced at her parents. Their eyes were glistening with tears, pained by their daughter’s desperate, bravado-fueled performance. “I’ll go first!” she announced, bringing the bowl to her lips. In the second before the vodka touched her mouth, I snatched it from her hand and downed the entire thing in one go. The fiery liquid scorched my throat. A stunned silence fell over the room. Leo’s hand, which had been reaching out to stop Chloe, froze in mid-air. He knew. He knew she couldn’t drink, not with a baby inside her. A wave of relief washed over his face. He turned to me, his voice soft with concern. “Ava, why would you drink so much?” He then looked at Chloe. “Chloe, maybe you should sit this one out. You don’t want to miss the main course.” She grabbed my arm. “Babe, I can handle it. Don’t underestimate me.” I couldn’t pretend anymore. Making an excuse, I fled to the bathroom. 4 In the bathroom, I forced my fingers down my throat, heaving until nothing but bitter bile came up. I splashed my face with cold water, took a deep breath, and decided it was time. I would go out there and call the whole thing off. But when I opened the door, the living room was nearly empty. Only my parents sat on the sofa, their faces grim. A sense of foreboding washed over me. “Mom? Dad? Where did everyone go?” “Chloe fainted,” my mom said, her voice tight. “Her parents rushed her to the hospital.” My dad added, “And Leo vanished. He’s not answering his phone. We’re running out of time.” “She didn’t even drink that much,” my mom fretted. “How could she just collapse?” But I knew. It was the baby. Without another word to my parents, I ran out of the house and hailed a cab, my heart a cold, hard knot in my chest. I found them on the second floor, in the obstetrics and gynecology wing. Chloe was sitting on Leo’s lap in the sterile hallway, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve already scheduled the abortion,” she was saying, her voice ragged. “I’ll have it done, and then I’ll leave. You need to go back. You need to finish the ceremony with Ava.” Her father’s voice was a furious whisper. “That’s insane! Your body can’t handle that!” Her mother was crouched on the floor in front of her, stroking her daughter’s face. “My sweet girl, you can’t. You already had a threatened miscarriage. Please don’t do this. I’m so scared it will hurt you, that something will go wrong—” Leo’s face was ashen. He held Chloe tight, his voice pleading. “Chloe, please. Let’s keep this baby. Please?” “He’s a part of me, but he’s a part of you, too. Don’t you want to watch him grow up? Because I do.” “I can’t risk this procedure. I can’t. Please, just come home with us.” His words only made her cry harder, shaking her head violently. A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. A week ago, I was working late when I got a frantic call that Chloe was in the hospital. I’d run out of the office so fast I lost a shoe, arriving breathless at her room to find Leo already there, spoon-feeding her warm soup. At the time, all I could think about was Chloe’s health. I never questioned why Leo was so panicked, so attentive. I was just grateful he was there to take care of her for me. I didn’t even notice the small, fresh cut on his lip, like someone had bitten him in a moment of pain or passion. That must have been the first scare. The time she almost lost the baby she had told no one but him about. The pain in my chest was so sharp it was hard to breathe. I closed my eyes. Chloe stood up, clutching a medical report, her resolve hardening. “Dad, Mom. I can’t do this to Ava.” She turned to Leo. “Go. Find Ava. Tell her a friend called me away. I have to do this. I have to go to London and start over.” Just then, a nurse called out from a doorway. “Chloe Evans, we’re ready for you.” As Chloe turned to walk away, I started toward them, my steps slow and deliberate. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the hallway’s tense silence. “Excuse me, Nurse. I’m sorry, but we’re canceling the procedure.” I turned my gaze to Leo. “I’ve already returned all the engagement gifts. The guests have been sent home.” “Our engagement is over. You’re free.”

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At seven, the woman my father brought home gave me a box of mangoes. My mother watched me eat them, her face full of sorrow, then signed the divorce papers and jumped from our window. Mangoes became my nightmare. On my wedding day, I told my husband, Ethan Carter, “If you want a divorce, give me a mango.” From then on, mangoes were his taboo too. On our fifth Christmas Eve, his childhood sweetheart, Phoebe Summers, put a mango on his desk. That day, Ethan cut ties with her and fired her. I thought he was my destiny. Six months later, I returned from securing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration, Ethan handed me a juice. After I drank half, Phoebe appeared behind me, grinning. “How’s the mango juice?” I stared at Ethan. He was stifling a laugh. “Don’t be mad, Elara. It was just a joke. I didn’t give you a mango, just juice. Phoebe’s right—you need to get over this silly quirk. You enjoyed it!” My face went cold. I threw the rest in his face and walked away. Some things aren’t jokes. The mango wasn’t. Neither was my decision to file for divorce. 1 “Ms. Shaw, you’ve had a relapse of stress-induced gastritis.” “You must avoid any food that you have an aversion to. Next time, it might not be just stomach pain; it could require surgery.” “We’ll keep you for observation overnight. Please notify your family to come as soon as possible.” The doctor’s words echoed in the sterile silence. I had just spent 39 grueling days and sleepless nights abroad, fighting for a new project, only to be sent straight to the hospital by a glass of mango juice from my own husband. I instinctively opened my messaging app, my thumb hovering over his name at the top of my contacts. I typed two letters before I noticed something was wrong. His profile picture. He’d changed it. It was a green mango. As I stared at the screen, dumbfounded, my phone rang. It was Ethan. His voice was cold. “I’m home. Where are you?” Silence. Normally, this is where I would have softened my voice, played the part of the doting wife, and coaxed him with sweet words. But tonight, the words wouldn’t come. His irritation crackled through the phone. “Elara, how long are you going to keep this up?” “The hospital.” A beat of silence on his end. He never cared about my health. It would never have occurred to him that his “joke” could land me here. “Stay there. I’m on my way.” I didn’t want to see him, but my body was too weak to move. Time ticked by. The doctor checked on me three times. Ethan never showed up. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I scrolled through my phone one last time and saw Phoebe’s latest social media post: “My knight in shining armor always shows up to save the day, no matter what~” The accompanying photo was of Ethan gently applying a bandage to her finger. Phoebe’s profile picture was a ripe, yellow mango. Beautiful, and utterly sickening. We had known each other for ten years. Ethan knew my boundaries. As a seasoned businessman, he knew how to maintain a professional distance from other women. But now, he had crossed the line, again and again. And so, the thread that held our marriage together, and the new project I had just secured—the billion-dollar European contract that was the lifeblood of his company—no longer needed to exist. 2 When I woke up the next morning, there were no missed calls, no unread messages from Ethan. I wasn’t even angry. After the doctor gave me the all-clear, I went straight home. The 5,000-square-foot luxury villa was something we’d bought with cash last year. A world away from seven years ago, when we were fresh out of college, sharing a single packet of instant noodles in a cramped basement apartment. Or five years ago, on our wedding day, when we celebrated with a cheap meal at a hole-in-the-wall diner and a tiny four-inch cake. Now, here I was, alone in this cavernous house, left to lick my wounds. I supposed I would get used to it. I was reviewing the divorce papers my lawyer had sent over when Ethan walked in, bringing with him the heavy scent of rose perfume. The fragrance hit me like a physical blow. Ethan had sensitive skin, allergic to most cosmetics. He despised perfume. For years, I had forgone all skincare products, even choosing my shampoo with meticulous care, just for him. Apparently, his strict rules only applied to me. He saw me on the couch with my tablet and paused. “Phoebe was a little too excited at the party last night,” he explained, “she got drunk and took a fall, so I took her home. It was late, and she lives far out, so I just grabbed a hotel nearby instead of coming to the hospital to get you.” I nodded, canceling another one of our company’s supplier contracts on my tablet. “Okay. I understand,” I said without looking up. Ethan seemed thrown off. This clearly wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “It’s Saturday, you should take a break from work. I’m planning to take Phoebe to Paris. Do you want to come with us?” Seven years ago, on my birthday, Ethan and I had taken a cheap, five-dollar photo at a night market. Standing in front of a tacky Eiffel Tower backdrop, he swore that one day, when we had money, he would take me to the real Paris and we would recreate that exact photo. As our home grew bigger and the company more successful, he only got busier. He’d placate me time and time again. “Elara, this is a critical growth period for the company.” “As the CEO, I can’t just take off on a vacation abroad.” “You’re the most understanding person I know. You get it, right?” I did get it. So I stopped mentioning Paris and threw myself into the business, helping to build his empire. But apparently, if Phoebe wanted to go, he was free. I opened the next client’s email, my tone unchanging. “Three’s a crowd. I’m not interested.” For some reason, he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. “Alright. I just need to grab something, and then I’m off. You’re on your own for lunch; we’ll have dinner together tonight.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “This new contract is crucial for our overseas expansion. I’ve invited the media for a press conference on Monday. Didn’t you always want to stand by my side, officially? This is your chance. You should prepare…” He looked at me intently. “Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you properly this time. I won’t let Phoebe cause any trouble.” I glanced up at him, my face a blank mask. I knew what this was: his compensation for last night’s cruelty. Fine by me. It would take a few days for the cancellation of the European contract to be processed anyway. Announcing it at his press conference seemed fitting. 3 That evening, as was my habit, I arrived at the restaurant early to wait for him. In seven years, it had become second nature. While I waited, I received a call from overseas. It was from our competitor in the last negotiation, who also happened to be an old friend from business school. Marcus’s voice was warm. “Elara, have you given any more thought to my offer to join Aether Global?” “Carter Enterprises is too small for you. It doesn’t deserve your talent.” This was the third time he had tried to poach me. The first was seven years ago, when I turned down a high-paying job at a multinational corporation to join Ethan’s tiny startup for a meager salary, half of which went to our shared rent. Marcus had argued with me until he was blue in the face, but he couldn’t change my mind. The second time was just a few days ago, across the negotiation table, where I had him and his team on the ropes. After our victory, he had approached me, half in admiration, half in frustration. “Elara, I heard you’re still criminally underpaid at Carter’s. Come work with me. Don’t let your brilliance be wasted on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.” I had smiled and refused. How could it be wasted? It was my husband’s company. It was the empire we had built together over seven years. The third time was now. I paused for only three seconds, signaled the waiter for a bottle of red wine, and accepted his offer without hesitation. “Send me the address. I’ll start on Tuesday.” The other end of the line was silent for a moment, then erupted in jubilant laughter. Fearing I would change my mind, Marcus quickly said, “Great!” and hung up. I chuckled, and as I was putting my phone down, a notification from Ethan popped up. [Change of plans. Phoebe couldn’t wait. We’re on the plane now. You’re on your own for dinner.] [I have a surprise for you when I get back.] A moment later, a new post appeared on my feed. It was from Phoebe, and I was the only one tagged: “Thanks to my big bro for making my dream come true! As a reward, I’ll treat you to a feast tomorrow~” The picture was of Phoebe and Ethan, hand in hand, under the real Eiffel Tower. It was identical to our cheap photo from seven years ago. I stared at the screen for a long moment, then calmly closed the app and opened my chat with Marcus. [As a signing bonus, how would you like a billion-dollar European contract?] 4 My phone was silent for a beat, then it began to vibrate uncontrollably. [YES! YES! YES!] [Elara, you’re too good to me! Yesterday was your birthday, right? The gift I sent should have arrived. Don’t forget to pick it up.] I froze. A small, brittle laugh escaped my lips, growing louder and louder. That’s right. Yesterday was my birthday. When Ethan watched me drink that mango juice, did he remember it was my birthday? When he was playing doctor with Phoebe, leaving me alone in a hospital bed, did he remember to get a gift for the woman he’d been married to for seven years? Probably not. But it didn’t matter anymore. We were getting a divorce. Who wants a gift from their soon-to-be ex-husband? After dinner, I didn’t rest. I threw myself into the European project. It was a gift for my new employer, after all. It had to be perfect. For the next two days, I lived at the office, the lights in my room burning through the night. My colleagues noticed. The company group chat, the one I wasn’t in, was buzzing. “What did I tell you? Director Shaw is completely dependent on Mr. Carter. How could she dare to stay mad?” “If it weren’t for her relationship with the boss, with how well the company is doing now, they wouldn’t even need her.” “I heard she was the one who held Mr. Carter back when he was starting out. The company would have gone public years ago otherwise.” Phoebe dutifully screenshotted every message and sent them to me, followed by a voice message dripping with false sympathy. “Elara, I know you must feel so insecure, being married to a powerful man like Ethan. But you have to understand, men aren’t attracted to old workaholics. They like girls who are young, pretty, and feminine… like me.” I listened to her cloying voice and smiled. “Is that so? In that case, I’ll have HR fire you tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to be unable to attract a man.” Then, I blocked her. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an irate Ethan. “Elara, what did Phoebe do to you now?” he seethed. “I finally convinced her to come to Paris and forgive you for your behavior at the party, and now you’ve made her cry again! Are you happy until you’ve made everyone miserable?” Forgive me? For what? The absurdity of it all made me laugh. I printed out the divorce agreement I had drafted and replied casually, “When are you and Phoebe coming back? We need to discuss the divorce.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a furious roar. “Elara, have you lost your mind? There’s a limit to these jealous tantrums! If you keep this up, I’m going to get really angry.” I froze, then burst out laughing. I had the signed divorce papers in my hand. Did he really think I was afraid of him getting angry? “I’ve signed the papers. They’ll be on your desk when you get back. Make sure you read them.” CRASH! It sounded like he had kicked a chair. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. Don’t you regret this!” The line went dead. I shrugged and signed my name on the agreement. The next morning, the first thing I saw when I opened my phone was Ethan’s latest social media post, visible to the public. It was posted at 4 a.m.; he clearly hadn’t slept. It was a picture of him and Phoebe, standing in front of a hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window, their fingers intertwined. The caption read: [Seven years of storms, and I’m lucky to have you.] Thousands of comments flooded in. “Finally official! Is this the boss’s wife he’s been hiding for seven years?” Ethan didn’t reply, but he pinned a comment with a single “Shh” emoji. Then there was the company-wide announcement he had set in the group chat. [Effective immediately, Phoebe Summers will be replacing Elara Shaw as Director. The European partnership project will be transferred to Director Summers’s portfolio. Tonight’s press conference will also be led by Director Summers.] He knew I had spent 39 sleepless nights abroad for that deal. He knew I had spent my days buried in paperwork and my nights networking, drinking until I was sick, just to secure that contract. And he was doing this to force me to surrender. My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from him. [You still have a chance to take it all back.] I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone aside and went to get ready. He seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: I was the one who had made that deal happen. The European partners didn’t care about Carter Enterprises. They cared about me. 5 After getting ready, I went out for breakfast. When I returned to the office, all of my belongings had been thrown out into the hallway. My mug, my files, and the signed divorce agreement, which had been torn in half. The only thing that had survived was our wedding photo, which had been carefully placed on the windowsill. Phoebe was sitting in my chair, looking triumphant. “Oops, sorry, Elara,” she said with a malicious glint in her eye. “Ethan already gave me this office. From now on, you can work over there.” She pointed to a leaky storage closet next to the restrooms, her chin held high. I didn’t even bother to look at her. I turned to Ethan, who had been silent the entire time. His eyes were bloodshot, but a cruel smirk played on his lips. “Phoebe’s right. I gave her the office. But if you take back what you said about the divorce, maybe I could reconsider…” “No, thanks.” I cut him off. I walked over to the windowsill, picked up our wedding photo, and, under his smug gaze, dropped it into the trash can. “I don’t want this either. You can throw it away.” Then, I grabbed my laptop from the desk and walked out, pretending not to see the fury that had turned Ethan’s eyes crimson. Today was Monday. I had to be in Europe for my new job on Tuesday. I had packing to do. I didn’t go to the press conference that night. Instead, from my home, I finalized the details with our European partners under my new title as a director at Aether Global. The moment the contract was confirmed, I received a message from Ethan. [I’ve invited the media to broadcast the press conference live. If you don’t apologize now, the European project will really have nothing to do with you.] I glanced at it and turned on Do Not Disturb. It was about time. I had a flight to catch. At 7 p.m., the media began to arrive. The event was being broadcast live across the city. Phoebe, having spent a fortune on a celebrity makeup artist, was radiant, clinging to Ethan’s arm and smiling for the cameras. Ethan, dressed in a sharp grey suit, looked impeccable, but his eyes darted anxiously through the crowd, searching for someone. Why isn’t she here? The thought flickered through his mind, and his initial excitement began to curdle into unease. But the show had to go on. Ethan cleared his throat and took the microphone. “Good evening, everyone. I am Ethan Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises. The purpose of tonight’s press conference is to announce our company’s partnership with Viktoria Solutions on the landmark ‘Project Victoria’. This project…” “Excuse me!” A reporter with an international business channel press pass suddenly stood up. “Mr. Carter, are you certain you mean Project Victoria?” Ethan frowned. “Of course. This is our company’s…” His assistant rushed onto the stage, whispering frantically in his ear. “Sir, it’s bad! A minute ago, Aether Global released an official statement! They’ve secured Project Victoria. Director Shaw has left the company!”

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I was born lucky. A psychic told my adoptive parents my fate was tied to great wealth, so at three, I was taken from the orphanage and delivered to the Hendrie family. Back then, the Hendries were just entering high society. They treated me as their lucky charm, spoiling me endlessly—and over the next fifteen years, their fortune soared, making them one of New York’s most powerful families. Raised as their charm, I grew fearless and sharp-tongued, with a famously bad attitude. Then my biological parents, the Vances, found me. They were minorly rich compared to the Hendries, but hey—free inheritance. I reluctantly agreed to visit. But when I arrived, no one greeted me. The whole family was crowded around a crying girl—the one who’d taken my place. “Stella, don’t cry,” her mother soothed. “No one can replace you. You’ll always be our most precious daughter.” I rolled my eyes. “God, this is annoying. That whining is worse than nails on a chalkboard.” 1 My words fell into a sudden, dead silence. Every head whipped around to stare at me in disbelief. My biological parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vance, frowned in disapproval, their expressions screaming, This is what you get from the lower classes. No manners. My supposed older brother, Ethan, stormed over to me, his finger jabbing at my face. “Who do you think you are, talking to Stella like that?” he snarled. “Did your dirt-poor family not teach you any respect?” Ha. Dirt-poor? The Hendries could buy and sell the Vances’ entire pathetic fortune in the time it takes to make a phone call. But I couldn’t be bothered to explain that to these people. I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “No respect? I wonder why that is,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s because she stole the family that was supposed to teach me.” I pointed a finger at Stella. “And the little thief has the audacity to stand there crying? What is this, the classic ‘villain plays the victim’ routine?” Ethan’s bravado crumbled. He was clearly out of his league. His face turned beet red as he stammered, “You! You! You…” I cut him off, bored. “Spit it out. If you have a stutter, go see a doctor. If you’re just stupid, try reading a book. Either way, stop wasting my time.” Defeated, Ethan could only stand there, seething and breathless, his face a mottled purple. Right on cue, Stella drifted over, her face a perfect mask of wronged innocence. “I’m so sorry, sister,” she whispered, her eyes welling up. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who stole your life. You have every right to be angry. Please, don’t blame Mom, Dad, or Ethan. Take it all out on me.” Ugh. The classic damsel-in-distress act. Zero originality. I had no intention of playing along with her little performance. I stood up straight. “Look, I’m tired. Just have someone show me to my room. You all can continue your little melodrama without me. I don’t have time for this.” Mr. Vance let out an indignant huff, but he still motioned for the butler to show me to a room. The butler gave me a tour. Before I could even say a word, Stella started her act again. “Sister, you should take my room,” she declared, pushing her bedroom door open with a grand, magnanimous gesture. “It should have been yours all along.” The moment the door opened, Ethan had another fit. He lunged forward to block the entrance, his face etched with pain as he looked at Stella. “Stella, don’t do this to yourself,” he pleaded. “She’s a charity case from the sticks. A storage closet would be too good for her. She has no right to take your room!” Mrs. Vance, to her credit, had a sliver of conscience left. She shot Ethan a soft glare before turning to me. “Selene, you can choose any of the other rooms in the house,” she said gently. “But Stella is used to this one. Please don’t fight her for it, alright?” I was honestly speechless. Had I said a single word about wanting Stella’s room? Why was everyone acting like I was the villain here? Was this room really that special? My gaze drifted past Ethan’s obstructive frame to peek inside. Two words came to mind: That’s it? My dog Lucas’s room back at the Hendrie estate was bigger than this. I rolled my eyes and walked away, pointing to a much larger room down the hall with better light and a better view. “I’ll take this one.” Ethan stared at me, his voice cracking. “Are you insane? That’s Mom and Dad’s room!” I strolled in anyway, then turned to Mr. and Mrs. Vance with a bright smile. “Mother just said I could pick any room as long as it wasn’t Stella’s. You’re not going to go back on your word, are you?” Mrs. Vance was clearly flustered, but she eventually nodded. “Great. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” With that, I slammed the door shut, leaving the entire dumbfounded Vance family standing in the hallway. 2 Finally, some peace and quiet. I snapped a picture of the room and sent it to Ben Prescott. [My life is so hard. I’m living in a place worse than Lucas’s doghouse.] Ben was my boyfriend. Or, more accurately, my fiancé. In the elite circles of New York, few families were considered equals to the Hendries. The Prescotts were one of them. [Come home, baby. The Vances’ entire net worth wouldn’t even cover your handbag budget.] [If you’re short on cash, I’ll have my assistant transfer some more company shares to you.] They say a man head-over-heels in love is the best kind of man to marry. Ben was living proof. As the current head of the Prescott empire, he was known for his ruthless, decisive nature in the boardroom. But with me, he was endlessly indulgent. I smiled and texted back: [I want your shares. And I want the Vance family fortune too.] The second I hit send, my door swung open. It was Stella. The meek, gentle facade was gone, replaced by a look of smug superiority. She tossed an invitation at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “This is for the Prescotts’ birthday gala. Mom and Dad said I have to bring you,” she announced. “But a country bumpkin like you has probably never even heard of the Prescotts. You’ll just embarrass yourself if you go.” I picked it up. It was an invitation for Nathan Prescott’s birthday. Nathan was the younger Prescott son, and the polar opposite of his brother. While Ben was a poised and powerful leader, Nathan was a reckless, hedonistic playboy. The moment he was in the same room as Ben, he turned into a mouse cornered by a cat. Seeing my silence, Stella continued her gloating. “The Prescotts are top-tier New York high society. Not just anyone can get close to them. But I’m Nathan’s girlfriend, so of course, I got an invitation.” Girlfriend? I’d never heard about Nathan having a girlfriend. He had an endless parade of bedmates, but never a girlfriend. “I know you’re probably desperate for a glimpse into the world of the elite,” she sneered. “But you don’t belong. I won’t have a low-class nobody like you dragging me down.” With that, she snatched the invitation back from my hand and ripped it into tiny pieces. A malicious smile played on her lips as she tossed the paper confetti into the air. The next second, she threw herself onto the floor and began to wail. “Sister! I know you’re angry, but you can’t just rip up my invitation!” I had to hand it to her. The girl was committed to the drama. Her first order of business should be to delete TikTok and stop reading those trashy long-lost-heiress novels. She was becoming a caricature. As she predicted, her cries brought Mr. and Mrs. Vance and Ethan running. They huddled around her, their faces etched with concern. Stella squeezed out a few more tears. “Mom, Dad, Ethan, don’t blame her,” she choked out. “It was my fault. She didn’t mean to push me. She just… she wanted to go to the Prescott gala by herself, so she destroyed my invitation.” Ethan, ever the loyal idiot, immediately turned on me. “You are shameless! We wouldn’t even have an invitation if it weren’t for Stella! She’s Nathan Prescott’s girlfriend! You wanted to go alone so you could move in on her boyfriend, didn’t you?” Hahahahaha. If I tried to seduce Nathan, Ben would probably break all three of his legs. Seeing that I wasn’t defending myself, Mr. Vance assumed I was guilty. “Your mother and I wanted to give you a chance to see how the other half lives, and this is how you repay us?” he said sternly. “How dare you destroy a Prescott invitation and attack your sister! Butler! Time for some family discipline!” A moment later, the butler walked in holding a long, thin whip. 3 The second he swung the whip, I caught it mid-air. I yanked it from his grasp and drove my foot into his knee. He yelped and crumpled to the floor, kneeling before me. I pointed the whip at a small camera I’d placed on the bookshelf. “You probably didn’t notice, but I installed a little security camera when I first came in,” I said with a sweet smile. “I didn’t expect to use it so soon. Why don’t we all watch and see who really ripped up the invitation?” As the video played, Stella’s face grew paler and paler. The rest of the family’s expressions shifted from anger to confusion to awkwardness. Realizing she was caught, Stella dropped to her knees and clutched my legs, putting on a show of profound shame. “I’m so sorry, sister! I was just so scared of losing Mom, Dad, and Ethan. I was terrified they’d abandon me once you came back. It was a moment of weakness! Please, sister, hit me! Punish me! I’ll do anything if you’ll just forgive me!” Tears streamed down her face, and I could see the Vances’ resolve beginning to soften. But I wasn’t a Vance. I grabbed a glass water tumbler from the nightstand and smashed it over her head. The glass shattered. Blood immediately began to trickle from a gash on her forehead. “You’re the one who asked me to hit you,” I said calmly. “I’ve been alive for over twenty years, and I have to say, that’s a new one. But since you insisted, I’m happy to oblige.” Stella was stunned into silence. She stared blankly for a full five seconds before letting out a piercing shriek. The rest of them snapped out of their stupor. Ethan scooped her into his arms and bolted for the door, yelling, “To the hospital! We need to get her to a hospital!” Mr. Vance glared at me, his face contorted with rage. “How could you be so violent? What if you scarred her face? How is she supposed to attend the Prescott gala now?” Ah. So that’s what this was about. He wasn’t worried about Stella; he was worried about losing his connection to the Prescotts. So much for all that unconditional love. “What’s the matter?” I asked, my voice light. “Worried your plan to sell your daughter to a rich family will fail if she’s got a scar?” My words hit their mark. His face flushed a deep red. “Insolence!” he roared. “You will stay here and reflect on what you’ve done! You are forbidden from attending the Prescott gala!” I just laughed as he and Mrs. Vance stormed out. An empty threat from a powerless man. I had received my invitation to the Prescott gala ages ago. Ben had delivered it himself, begging me to come. “Selene, I want to announce our wedding date that night.” The thought still made me laugh. “Ben, are you serious? It’s your brother’s birthday party. You’re going to announce our wedding? That’s kind of stealing his thunder, don’t you think?” “It would be an honor for him,” Ben had replied, completely serious. “Besides, I don’t care. There are too many vultures circling you. I can’t wait any longer. I want the entire world to know that you are my wife.” 4 On the night of the gala, the Vances left early. I slipped back to the Hendrie estate, changed into the custom gown and jewels Ben had prepared for me, and made my own, leisurely way to the party. When I entered the ballroom, I saw Stella surrounded by a flock of sycophantic girls. “Oh, Stella, that sapphire necklace is gorgeous! Was it a gift from Nathan?” “I’m so jealous! I heard the Prescotts are announcing an engagement tonight. It has to be you and Nathan, right?” “When you’re Mrs. Prescott, you won’t forget about us little people, will you?” The flattery was clearly going to Stella’s head. Then, someone spotted me—and the necklace around my neck. “Stella! Look! Her necklace is exactly the same as yours!” “But that’s a limited-edition haute couture piece. There’s only one in the world.” Stella’s eyes narrowed as she marched toward me. “How did you sneak in here without an invitation? And why are you wearing a cheap knockoff? You should leave before you embarrass the Vance family any further.” I gave her a bored look. “Who said mine is the knockoff?” Stella laughed, triumphant. “Mine was a gift from Nathan. It’s obviously real. Since there’s only one, yours must be the fake.” Please. Nathan didn’t earn his own money; he lived off an allowance from his brother. With the number of girls he had on the side, there was no way he could afford to gift genuine high-end jewelry to every single one. I smirked. “Yours is from Nathan. Mine is from Ben. You tell me which one is real.” Before Stella could respond, the crowd around us erupted. “What did she just say? Ben Prescott?! No way!” “The head of the Prescott family is a notorious ice king. I’ve never heard of him having a girlfriend.” “She’s obviously lying. How shameless can you be, making up rumors about the crown prince of New York society?” Stella shot me a disdainful look. “You are nothing but a low-class copycat. Get out of here before you make a bigger fool of yourself.” Then, she grabbed my necklace and yanked. It snapped, falling to the floor. She stomped on it with her heel, then leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. First, you tried to ruin my face, and now you’re wearing the same necklace to seduce my boyfriend. I won’t let you win.” “Get out!” she shrieked for all to hear. I let out an annoyed sigh and slapped her hard across the face. Twice. “You’re so loud,” I muttered. Stella stumbled and fell to the floor, her eyes wide with disbelief and welling with tears. Just as she was about to launch into another tirade, a new voice cut in. “What’s going on here?” It was Nathan Prescott. Stella immediately grabbed his arm, her face a mask of tearful misery. “Nathan! She said the necklace you gave me is a fake! And then she hit me!” “Who would dare?!” Nathan snapped, his gaze sweeping over to me with an air of authority. I just smiled, a playful glint in my eye, and met his gaze. The moment our eyes locked, the arrogant expression on his face shattered as if he’d been struck by lightning. His voice cracked, rising several octaves in panic. “Sis… Sister-in-law?! What are you doing here?!”

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Everyone in our world knew I’d been chasing Pierce Hayes since we were kids. When he went to boarding school, I followed. When he decided to master eight languages, I mastered eight languages. When he majored in finance, I declared my major in finance. It was an open secret, a foregone conclusion. The Prescott and Hayes empires were so deeply entangled that a union between us was not a matter of if, but when. Then, on our wedding day, on the way to the church, Pierce’s car took a detour. He drove straight to the airport and boarded a flight to save her—the ghost of his first love, the one that got away. Our entire childhood, a lifetime of shared history, became the punchline to the year’s cruelest joke. Dressed in a custom Vera Wang that cost more than a penthouse, I walked down that aisle and completed our lavish wedding ceremony. Alone. In the flood of press that followed, my name, for the first time in our lives, appeared before his. Fool, they probably thought. But men are a dime a dozen. A fully formed corporate empire? There’s only one of those. And I wasn’t just hungry for his body. I was starving for his kingdom. 1 Pierce’s plane was in the air, and I had locked myself in the bridal suite, allowing a single tear to fall. Beyond the door, I could hear my father’s rage, a storm of curses rattling the hallway. Mr. Hayes, his face a mask of fury, was barking into his phone, arranging for Pierce to be apprehended the second he landed. Two texts lit up my screen. The first was from Pierce: [Sloane, wait for me. I’ll make this right.] The second was a photo of him, sent from an unknown number. He was at the gate, head bowed, phone pressed to his ear. He was still wearing the custom Tom Ford tuxedo I had spent months agonizing over with the tailor. The silk tie I’d chosen, a deep charcoal gray, was hanging loose around his neck. His expression was tender, his eyes soft with an indulgence I knew so well, yet had never been directed at me. He was clearly murmuring reassurances to the person on the other end of the line. Anyone looking at him would have sighed and said that the girl he was comforting was the luckiest in the world. I zoomed in, studying his face for a long, quiet moment. It was a shame, truly. A waste. But I had given him a choice, and he had made it. The pieces were on the board. There was no taking the move back. I reapplied my makeup, smoothed down the silk of my gown, and gathered the ridiculously long train. Then I opened the door and faced the gauntlet of anxious, angry family members, a perfect smile fixed on my face. “The wedding,” I announced, my voice clear and steady, “will proceed as planned.” 2 It was three days before Pierce returned. For those seventy-two hours, I was a viral sensation. The tabloids, the financial news, every gossip blog online—they were all dissecting the story of Sloane Prescott, the heiress left at the altar who still went through with the entire, elaborate charade. Some lamented the cold realities of the ultra-wealthy. Some championed my resilience. And, of course, some reveled in my humiliation. Regardless, in the deluge of headlines, my name was finally billed before Pierce’s. To show the depth of the Hayes family’s apology, my father-in-law, Mr. Hayes, Sr., hosted an intimate dinner to personally make amends to my family. As wine was poured and courtesies were exchanged, the atmosphere finally softened. Mr. Hayes, Sr. raised his glass to me. “Sloane, this is from your father-in-law,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “You’re every bit your father’s daughter. Thank you. For your decisiveness, for seeing the bigger picture, for saving both our families from total disgrace. We wronged you, and I promise you, I will give you a full accounting for this.” I raised my glass, my eyes demurely lowered. Just as I was about to speak, the doors to the private dining room swung open. Pierce stood there, travel-worn and exhausted. My father’s face instantly darkened. He slammed his wine glass down on the table. The sprawling room fell silent. Mr. Hayes, Sr. shot a look at my father, then gritted his teeth and barked at his son, “On your knees.” Pierce walked, step by deliberate step, until he stood before my father. He gave a slight bow. “Dad,” he said, using the familial term, “I know what I did was wrong.” My father just grunted, refusing to acknowledge him. Pierce straightened up and placed a thick file on the table. “I’ve come to make amends,” he said. “While I was in the States, I acted as a representative of the Prescott family—as Sloane’s husband—and I finalized the partnership with the Blackwood Group.” 3 Prescott Industries had been chasing the Blackwood deal for six months. Every detail had been hammered out, but Blackwood kept dragging their feet on the final signature. We’d used every contact we had, but we couldn’t find a way to break the deadlock. My father had been losing sleep over it for months. I had to hand it to him; Pierce knew how to play the game. That contract was a monumental victory for my family’s company. My father’s anger was caught in his throat, a bitter pill he couldn’t swallow. He was trapped, unable to scowl at Pierce but unwilling to welcome him with a smile. Pierce stood before him, hands at his sides, eyes lowered, a faint, confident smirk playing on his lips. Mr. Hayes, Sr. let out a breath he’d been holding. He began to applaud. “Well, Robert,” he said to my father, “what do you think? My boy comes through, doesn’t he? Landed you the Blackwood deal in one fell swoop. That’s got to be worth something.” Following his lead, the other guests at the table began a hesitant, then more enthusiastic round of applause. The tension in the room began to dissipate. But you don’t get to publicly humiliate the Prescott family and expect to just wipe the slate clean, Pierce. My brow furrowed and I felt my eyes well up with tears. I walked over to him and looked him up and down. “Pierce,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “You’re still in the tuxedo from… from that day. Were you working so hard taking care of Miss Collins that you didn’t even have time to change?” The room went dead silent. The smile froze on Pierce’s face. I forced a brittle smile of my own and gently pushed him toward the door. “You should go home, get a shower, change your clothes. Get some rest. Don’t worry,” I added, my voice catching. “I’ll handle things here.” Behind me, a fist slammed on the table. I didn’t have to turn to know it was my father. “Stay right where you are!” Mr. Hayes, Sr. roared. “You’re not going anywhere!” The standoff was broken by a delicate figure bursting through the door and rushing between Pierce and me. “Please, don’t be hard on him,” she cried. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 4 It was her. The reason for all of this. His sainted first love, Anna Collins. Even in the late autumn chill, she was wearing a thin, white cotton dress. Her frail body was trembling. In front of everyone, Pierce didn’t hesitate. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her into his arms. “I told you to wait in the car. Why did you come up here?” he murmured. “Are you cold?” Anna’s face was ghostly pale. She leaned against his chest, her eyes red-rimmed. “Pierce, please don’t fight with your father because of me. It’s not worth it. I don’t have much time left. I can’t leave you with a mess.” She’d barely finished the sentence before she was overcome by a wracking cough. Pierce’s brow knitted into a tight knot. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms. “It’s okay, Anna. I’m taking you to the hospital.” He started for the door, ignoring everyone else in the room, his head bent low as he whispered comforts to her. “Pierce Hayes! You stop right there!” His father was apoplectic. “If you walk out that door, everything this family has built will have nothing to do with you!” Pierce stopped. He turned, his gaze cold as ice as he stared down his father. “My biggest regret is letting you send her away all those years ago. You really think you can control me now like you did back then?” Mr. Hayes, Sr.’s face turned a mottled shade of purple, but he was rendered speechless. My father just shook his head. “It seems you’re no longer the one in charge of your own house, Edward.” Pierce’s gaze shifted to my father, a smirk touching his lips. “Robert, the first thing I did when I got back wasn’t taking Anna to the hospital. It was bringing you that Blackwood contract. That is the ultimate proof of my commitment to the alliance between our families. There are some things better left unsaid.” Then, he turned to me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Sloane, I promised I’d marry you, and I did. The title of Mrs. Hayes is yours. I guarantee you a life of comfort and luxury. But affection? Don’t ever expect that from me.” With that, he turned and carried Anna out of the room. As he left, she shifted in his arms, her head turning just enough to look back at me. Her lips curled into a tiny, triumphant smile. 5 Under the stunned gaze of our families, I finally let the tears fall. Pierce and I had grown up together, our lives intertwined like honey and oil. I was his shadow, following him everywhere. I learned languages, business, equestrianism, and wine tasting because he did. I had no hobbies of my own. Pierce’s hobbies were Sloane’s hobbies. Our families’ businesses had been inseparable for a generation. My father and his were partners, friends, rivals. Our marriage was the logical conclusion, a fact accepted by everyone. The only disruption to that perfect plan came in our junior year of high school, when Anna Collins transferred to our class on a scholarship. She was like a wildflower growing in the ruins—delicate but tenacious. She effortlessly captured Pierce’s pity, which quickly blossomed into affection. That budding high school romance was crushed before it could bloom. Mr. Hayes, Sr. intervened. Despite Pierce’s furious protests, Anna was sent to a school abroad, and his father made sure he lost all contact with her. After that, Pierce became quiet, withdrawn. He channeled his silent rebellion into work, quickly growing into a formidable force and shouldering the weight of the Hayes Corporation. When he proposed, I had asked him what he would do if Anna ever came back. His eyes, full of starlight then, had been fixed on mine, deep and sincere. “Sloane, she was just an insignificant detour. Mrs. Hayes will be you. It can only be you.” The ghost of his kiss on my eyelids that day still felt warm. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. 6 I rarely cried in public. Seeing my tears was probably harder on my father than taking a punch. He lost all composure, unleashing a torrent of fury at Mr. Hayes, Sr. before my mother and he flanked me, guiding me out of the restaurant and back to my childhood home. I didn’t forget to take the Blackwood contract with me. Pierce never called. News of him and Anna came through my best friend, Chloe, my ever-reliable source for gossip. Anna had cancer. She didn’t have long, but she refused to be hospitalized. Instead, she made a near-psychotic demand: to live in the marital home Pierce and I were supposed to share. And Pierce, unbelievably, had agreed. Chloe was practically vibrating with rage on my behalf. “Sloane! Aren’t you going to do anything? Doesn’t this make you furious?” Furious? I paused my work, placing a hand over my heart and closing my eyes for a moment. There was a dull ache, but it was distant. Manageable. Seeing Chloe about to burst a blood vessel, I smiled and tapped her on the forehead. “The first payment milestone for the Blackwood deal is coming up. I need to stay on top of it. Money, my friend, is a hundred times more important than a man.” Chloe made a disgusted sound. “Oh, please, Sloane! You’re not exactly hurting for cash! Between the Prescotts and the Hayeses, you could buy a small country!” She looked like she was about to faint from secondhand frustration, so I decided to throw her a bone. “Don’t worry,” I said calmly. “This isn’t over. Anna Collins will be coming to see me very soon.” 7 As I predicted, my complete lack of reaction to her provocations made Anna impatient. She sought me out. We sat in the cafe on the ground floor of the Prescott Industries building. I studied her for a moment before smiling. “You’re looking well, Miss Collins. It seems Pierce is taking excellent care of you.” She slid her hand across the table toward me. On her wrist was a familiar jade bracelet. “Recognize this, Mrs. Hayes? The Hayes family heirloom. If I recall correctly, Pierce gave this to you on the day he proposed.” She smirked. “It was pathetic, really, seeing it locked away in your safe, wrapped in velvet like some holy relic. All I had to do was admire it, and Pierce took it off your dresser and gave it to me. All you have is your family name, a title you use to chain him to you. Other than that, you have nothing. I, on the other hand, have everything but the title.” Her arrogance was almost comical. “Congratulations on living your dream, Miss Collins,” I said smoothly. “But there’s a small detail you might have overlooked, and I feel I should point it out. Mr. Hayes, Sr. sent you abroad all those years ago, and for a decade, you couldn’t reach Pierce no matter how hard you tried. Have you ever wondered who, precisely on the eve of my wedding, leaked the news to you? And why, after ten years of silence, Pierce’s number suddenly started working for you?” Anna froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “It couldn’t have been you. You’d have to be insane.” I leaned back in my chair, holding her gaze with a serene smile, and said nothing. She stared at me, and after a moment, a flicker of uncertainty—of fear—crossed her face. She was panicking. “Sloane, what is your endgame?” I laughed as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Miss Collins, you just called me Mrs. Hayes. Do you even need to ask? Obviously, I intend to defend my marriage and protect my husband. I spent more than twenty years positioning myself to marry into the Hayes family. Do you really think I’d just hand him over to you?” Anna’s face contorted with rage. She reached for her coffee cup, intending to throw it at me. I slid a document across the table and placed it in front of her. When she saw the letterhead and the words printed on it, the healthy color drained from her face, leaving it a stark, waxy white. “You… you…!” she stammered. “How do you have this?” I smiled, picked up my purse, and stood. “I’m not letting go, Miss Collins. May the best woman win.”

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I wasn’t sick, but I was chewing through a bottle of Tums like they were candy. I was doing it because in my last life, my roommate—a girl who ordered her curries mild and scraped the jalapeños off her nachos—transferred every agonizing side effect of her viral “Spicy Food Challenge” career directly into my body. She would swallow a bowl of ramen designed to melt steel, her expression as placid as a lake, while I collapsed in our dorm room, my stomach twisting in violent cramps. She skyrocketed to fame as a competitive eater, a social media darling, while my tongue swelled and blistered until drinking water felt like swallowing shards of glass. I remember sobbing, begging my boyfriend, Alex, to help me. He’d just yanked his hand away, his face a mask of disgust. “God, Leah, you’re just jealous she’s famous,” he’d sneered. “You probably binged on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos behind her back and now you’re trying to blame her for your own mess.” After that, my roommate, Maya, grew bolder. Right in front of me, she’d accept challenges that were less about food and more about masochism: the Ghost Pepper Gauntlet, the Wasabi Scream, the Inferno Noodle Nightmare, even a single drop of a military-grade pepper extract. The last thing I remembered was the taste of blood as it poured from my nose and mouth, then darkness. The doctors could find nothing wrong. They ran every test, scanned every organ, and found no pathological cause. In the end, they chalked it up to a complete system collapse brought on by extreme psychological stress. I died from multi-organ failure, triggered by a massive gastric hemorrhage. Maya became a seven-figure influencer, living her best life with my boyfriend. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back on the day she signed up for her very first spicy challenge. 1 “Guys, you will not believe this,” Maya chirped, waving her phone in the air. The screen glowed with a fiery red promotional poster. “The King of Spice Inferno Ramen Challenge. First prize is five grand!” She fluffed her hair in the mirror. “Leah, what do you think? Should I do it? If I win, I’ll be the first real food influencer on campus.” Our other roommate, Chloe, laughed from her desk. “Maya, get real. You order your pad thai with zero stars. You’re going to take on the ‘Inferno’ anything?” Maya’s face flushed, and her eyes darted to me, pleading for backup. In my last life, I had been her earnest friend. I’d told her it was a terrible idea, that her stomach was too sensitive, that she would destroy her health for a stupid stunt. She’d smiled gratefully, thanked me for my concern, and then proceeded to channel a private, personalized hell directly into my digestive system. This time, I met her expectant gaze and let a slow, wide smile spread across my face. “Do it,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Why wouldn’t you?” I swung my legs off my bunk and walked over to her, looping my arm through hers. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Maya. This is how stars are born.” She blinked, clearly thrown by my enthusiastic support. I ignored her surprise, pulling her toward the door. I pitched my voice just loud enough for the entire dorm hallway to hear. “Everybody! Big announcement! Our Maya is entering the King of Spice challenge! She’s going to put the Communications department on the map!” Instantly, heads popped out of doorways. Curious, excited faces turned toward Maya. “For real? Maya’s doing it?” “Damn! We have to go cheer for her!” I pushed her gently into the center of the growing audience. “Maya’s our secret weapon,” I announced with a conspiratorial grin. “She can handle more heat than anyone I know. She’s just always been too modest to show off.” I leaned in, my voice full of manufactured pride. “But for the honor of our department, she’s decided to finally unleash her true power.” Across the hall, a freshman girl filming a “day in the life” vlog for her YouTube channel brightened, immediately swinging her camera toward us. I caught the movement, and my smile deepened. The cheers and sudden attention were like a drug to Maya. She couldn’t back down now, not from this. She visibly straightened her spine, basking in the spotlight. “Of course,” she said, her voice ringing with newfound confidence. “I always do what I say I’m going to do.” Her calculating gaze landed on me. “Besides, Leah, you’ve always been my biggest supporter. I have to do something amazing. I can’t let you down.” I just smiled, saying nothing. As she moved to hug me, I took a subtle half-step back, ensuring there was no chance for her skin to touch mine. 2 I’d barely made it to my morning lecture when a hand slammed against the classroom door, pinning me against the frame. “Are you insane, Leah?” It was my boyfriend, Alex, his face dark with fury. “You know what Maya’s stomach is like! The girl thinks black pepper is spicy. You’re her friend, and instead of talking her out of it, you hyped her up in front of the entire dorm? You basically forced her into it! What the hell is your problem?” I shoved him back, my own anger flaring hot and real. “She said she wanted to do it. She said she could win. What right do you, an outsider, have to stand here and yell at me about it?” I jabbed a finger at his chest. “And let’s get something straight, Alex. I’m your girlfriend. Not Maya.” A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the doorway. Our department advisor, Ms. Albright, stood there, a wry smile on her face as she nodded at me. “Ms. Miller is right.” She adjusted her glasses, her eyes sharp and intelligent behind the lenses. “This is a time for encouragement, not doubt. This isn’t just an opportunity for Maya, it’s a fantastic publicity opportunity for the Communications department.” Alex’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “But what if she fails? She’ll be a laughingstock! Her reputation will be ruined!” Looking at him, so desperately worried about Maya, I almost laughed out loud. Ms. Albright’s expression was one of pitying disappointment, the kind reserved for a student who just doesn’t get it. “If she fails,” she explained slowly, “we frame it as a testament to her courage. ‘Northwood Student Bravely Takes on Impossible Challenge.’ It’s a story of ambition. The attempt alone gets us clicks, boosts our department’s profile. It’s perfect material for our submission to the University Excellence Awards this year.” She paused, letting the brilliance of it sink in. “And if she succeeds? Even better. We’ll have a bona fide celebrity in our ranks. Think of the value for student recruitment and alumni engagement.” Alex, who had been shouting at me moments before, was utterly silenced. Ms. Albright gave him a pointed, warning look. “This is about our department’s reputation now, Alex. As a member of the Student Government, you need to understand the big picture. Don’t make this messy.” That single bucket of ice-cold pragmatism extinguished Alex’s fiery crusade for Maya’s honor. After Ms. Albright swept down the hall, Alex turned his glare on me. “You knew she couldn’t do it. You’re just letting her walk right into a train wreck. You make me sick.” He leaned in closer. “I’m telling you, Leah. If anything happens to Maya, I will never forgive you.” Looking at his pathetic, posturing face, I honestly couldn’t believe I’d ever loved him. A past life of blindness. I let out a cold, short laugh. “Then we’re done.” Alex froze. “What? I was just angry, I didn’t mean… If Maya—” I had no interest in hearing him squirm. I shoved him out of the classroom and slammed the door shut behind him. “Don’t make me call your parents!” I shouted through the wood. Outside, Alex’s protests died instantly. His footsteps faded down the hall in a furious retreat. His parents were respected academics, obsessed with their reputation. If they knew their son was blowing up his long-term relationship to champion another girl, they would ground him until he was thirty. 3 Three days later, the King of Spice challenge went live. Onstage, under the glare of streaming lights, Maya calmly consumed an entire platter of ramen swimming in a blood-red chili oil. She didn’t even break a sweat. The crowd went wild. That evening, I was in the library trying to study when a familiar, savage cramp seized my stomach. It felt like a vise grip tightening around my organs. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out, a cold sweat instantly drenching the back of my shirt. It was the exact same pain as before. But this time, I hadn’t touched Maya. I hadn’t even accepted a bottle of water from her. The pain had found me anyway. I realized with a sickening lurch that this wasn’t about physical contact. It was something deeper, something parasitic. A transfer of pure harm. I immediately left the library and went to the nearest urgent care. The diagnosis came back quickly: acute gastric mucosal lesions with erosive hemorrhaging. My phone buzzed. It was Alex. His voice was electric with excitement. “Leah, Maya won! The whole team is at O’Malley’s celebrating. Get over here and cover the tab, will you?” I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. “I can’t,” I rasped. “I have a fever. I don’t feel well.” A saccharine voice cut in from the background. It was Maya. “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Leah. What’s a little cold? But if you need anything, just let me know. I can have Alex take you to the ER.” She knew. The triumphant smirk was audible in her voice. She knew exactly how I was feeling. “That’s so thoughtful of you,” I managed to say, my voice dripping with irony. “My best friend.” “Maya, you’re too nice!” another girl’s voice chimed in. “If it weren’t for Leah pushing you into this, you wouldn’t have had to take such a risk! If I were you, I would have dropped her as a friend ages ago.” I had no desire to listen to their little performance. I ended the call and shut off my phone. Just like last time, Maya became an overnight campus celebrity. She immediately capitalized on the momentum, announcing a month-long “Ultimate Spice Tour,” where she would take on the Ghost Pepper, the Wasabi Scream, and the Inferno Noodle Nightmare in succession.

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The photo that broke the internet wasn’t of Leo in a steamy movie scene or accepting an award. It was of him, my impossibly cool, notoriously stoic movie star brother, clutching a six-pack of Yoo-hoo like it was a national treasure. The internet, predictably, lost its mind. #LeoLovesYoohoo #ToughGuySoftDrink #HollywoodsChocolateMilkSecret I was scrolling through the trending topics, absolutely howling with laughter as we sat in the back of his black Escalade. We were on our way to pick up my sister-in-law for a family dinner, and this was just too perfect. “Leo, you look ridiculous. A tough guy with a carton of Yoo-hoo? This is gold.” Leo Ford, a man who could freeze a camera with a single glare, was currently looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He shot a fist out, stopping an inch from my face. “You want a matching bruise, Tessa?” I leaned into it, grinning. “Go ahead. I’ll tell Iris.” His fist retracted instantly. “Is that all you ever do? Tattle?” “Pretty much,” I said, sticking my tongue out. It was true. I was Iris’s most loyal soldier, and I never let him forget that he owed their entire relationship to me. It all started when Leo’s film needed a last-minute replacement for a cameo role—a concert pianist. The actress they’d booked got sick, and the director was panicking. They needed someone who could actually play, someone who looked the part, and they needed them that afternoon. Leo, out of sheer desperation, called me. He was shooting on a different location, so when I arrived at the sprawling studio lot, I didn’t even see him. The part was small, just a few scenes, and I was wrapped in under two hours. I thought that was the end of it, until the assistant director cornered me on my way out. He started talking about “expanding my role,” and how we should “discuss the details” back in his hotel room. 1 When I refused, he grabbed my arm. His grip was surprisingly strong. For the first time that day, I felt a spike of fear. I’d come to my brother’s set, so I hadn’t brought my usual security. My phone was in a locker with my street clothes. I was alone. And then, like a scene out of one of Leo’s action movies, a woman appeared out of nowhere. She peeled the director’s fingers off my arm with brutal efficiency and, in a fluid motion I still can’t quite comprehend, had him on the ground, groaning. I just stood there, clapping like an idiot. The assistant director, his face purple with rage, screamed at us to get off his set. As we were walking out, a pyrotechnics test went off on the adjacent lot. The explosion was deafening. Without a second thought, the woman beside me threw herself over me, shielding my body with her own. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own bed. My first thought was of her. Was she okay? My mom was there, stroking my hair. She told me to rest, that Leo had already gone to the hospital to thank her personally, gifts in hand. And somehow… during that hospital visit, a spark ignited. By the time I had fully recovered two weeks later, my perpetually single, workaholic brother and my anonymous hero were already giving each other looks. The kind of looks that could melt steel. A soft voice pulled me from the memory. The car door opened. “Fighting again?” Iris’s melodic voice filled the car. I immediately put on my best wounded expression. “Babe,” Leo started. “Iris,” I whined. We spoke at the same time. Iris slid in, wrapping an arm around me and fixing Leo with a playful glare. “Were you bullying my Tessa again?” She’d just come from a grueling day of stunt work and clearly hadn’t seen the news. I pulled up the picture on my phone. Her expression shifted from concern to pure delight. She zoomed in on the photo, saved it, and then burst out laughing. “Who took this? It’s adorable!” “Great. You’re ganging up on me,” Leo grumbled, snatching his phone and tapping furiously. A moment later, my own phone buzzed with a notification. 2 #LeoFordClarifies #LeoFordSecretlyMarried I clicked on the trending topic. It was a link to his latest tweet: [That wasn’t for me. It’s my wife’s. She’s the one who loves it.] Leo waggled his phone at us smugly. “I’m not taking the fall for this. The whole world might as well know I have a wife.” It always amazed me how the cold, ruthless persona he projected to the world melted away into this childish, pouting man the second Iris was around. She just shook her head with a fond smile, completely accustomed to his antics. Love, I mused, was a strange and powerful force. Who would have guessed that the formidable Leo Ford was, in private, a hopelessly devoted husband? An hour later, we pulled up to the family estate in Connecticut. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa were all there. I ran to my grandmother, hugging her tight. “Grandma, I missed you so much!” She pinched my nose affectionately. “Oh, you charmer.” “She and Leo are polar opposites,” Grandpa chimed in from his armchair. “He’s been stone-faced since birth, and this one learned to sweet-talk before she could walk.” Leo and Iris walked in behind us, their arms full of groceries. “Is she talking trash about me again?” Leo asked. I peeked out from behind Grandma’s shoulder and stuck my tongue out at him. Iris playfully swatted his arm. “Iris, honey, you must be exhausted,” Mom said, coming out of her study to greet us. “Coming straight here from the set.” “Not at all, Mom. I love what I do,” Iris said with a genuine smile. My sister-in-law was a force of nature. She’d loved martial arts since she was a kid and broke into Hollywood as a stunt double for A-list actresses, taking the hits without ever showing her face. She never complained, just worked her way up, step by step. After she and Leo got married, she refused to let him pull strings for her, so they kept their marriage a secret. Of course, that didn’t stop Leo from quietly passing her name to a few trusted directors. Her talent and work ethic did the rest. She landed a gritty role in a 1940s spy series, full of physically demanding scenes, and she was happier than I’d ever seen her. As we were finishing dinner, Leo’s agent showed up at the door, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. “Leo! This is a disaster!” he wailed, shoving a laptop in our faces. After Leo’s clarification tweet, some paparazzo had dug up another photo: me, at a different film set, also holding a six-pack of Yoo-hoo. 3 Wait a second. That was from the day I went to pick up Iris from her set. #LeoAndTessaFord #IncestScandal The trending topics now paired my name with my brother’s. The implication was nauseating. I glanced at Leo and Iris, then immediately grabbed my phone. I wasn’t an actress and didn’t care what internet trolls said about me, but if this blew up, it could expose their secret marriage and create a truly toxic narrative. The last thing they needed was a fake scandal about a love triangle. My fingers flew across the screen: [That wasn’t mine! It was my sister-in-law’s! She’s the one who loves it!] There was no other way. I had to out him. Leo had entered the industry without using our family name, determined to make it on his own merits. He never wanted to be the rich kid who had to fall back on his inheritance if acting didn’t work out. But he had made it. He was at the top of his game now. Surely, this wouldn’t matter anymore. Especially not when it was for Iris. Leo immediately retweeted me, adding a photo of his driver’s license with everything but his name blacked out. The name was crystal clear: Leo Ford. Below it, he typed two words: [My actual sister.] The internet pivoted in an instant. #TheFordsCanActuallyUseTheirWords #TessaFordResponds I scrolled through the new, much more lighthearted, trending topics. “You know,” I said to Leo, “I bet some thirsty wannabe is going to post a picture of themselves with a Yoo-hoo and claim to be your wife just to get some attention.” Leo scoffed. “After how fast we shut that down? No one would be that stupid.” He spoke too soon. A notification popped up on my phone. I had been tagged in a post. [Tessa Ford, I thought you were married for a second and my heart broke. But now… it looks like I might still have a shot.] 4 I stared at the username: Rhys Callan. The Rhys Callan? The indie singer who just won Best New Artist? What did he have to do with any of this? A moment later, a friend request popped up on my private social account. The name was attached: Rhys Callan. I accepted it immediately. My first message to him was blunt: [Are you trying to make a complicated situation even crazier?] His reply was instantaneous. [No. I’m being serious. I really like you.] [Can we meet?] His directness was disarming. I wanted to understand what was going on, so I agreed to meet him the next day at a quiet café near my place. “Hi,” he said as I sat down. “Hello,” I replied. We sounded like two strangers on an awkward blind date, which, I supposed, we were. “First, I want to show you something,” Rhys said, sliding his phone across the table. He played a video. It was me, a few years ago, on a trip to Europe. My friends had gone to the restroom, and I’d found a public piano on the street and started playing a melody I was working on. The video was shaky, filmed by a tourist, but unlike most of the clips that had surfaced online—which were mostly of my back—this one clearly showed my face in profile. The video’s location tag confirmed he was there. “You might not remember,” he began, his voice earnest, “but I used a piece of this melody in my new song.” “I’ve tried to find you for years,” he continued, rambling a little, as if he was nervous. “When I finally figured out who you were, the internet was convinced you were married to your brother. Your clarification came so fast… I knew I had to take my chance. That melody… it was incredible. I went home and couldn’t get it out of my head. It, and you. The way you looked when you were playing… It’s crazy, I know. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but…” He paused, taking a breath. “We can sort out a contract. Royalties, writing credits, whatever you want. I’d love to collaborate with you properly. Your compositional style is brilliant.” He kept talking, filling the silence when I didn’t respond. I stirred my coffee, the spoon clinking against the porcelain. “So you asked me here to talk about royalties?” A faint blush crept up his neck. “No. I asked you here because I wanted to tell you that I like you.” My eyes widened. “But… you don’t know me. We’ve never even met.” “Then let me get to know you,” he said, his gaze steady. “We have plenty of time for that.” This guy… he was unbelievably direct. Just then, I heard a familiar, rustling sound from a few tables behind me. My head whipped around, and though I couldn’t see them clearly, I recognized the clumsy attempt at spycraft. I turned back to Rhys, forcing a polite smile. “I’m so sorry, something’s come up. Can we reschedule?” “Oh. Sure. I’ll get the check.” After Rhys paid and left, I pretended to leave as well, then doubled back and marched straight to the booth in the corner. 5 “Leo? Iris? What are you two doing here?” My brother, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and my sister-in-law, in a hoodie with a mask pulled up to her eyes, looked like the world’s worst spies. “What a coincidence,” Leo said, his voice flat. “We were just in the neighborhood.” Iris elbowed him. “Don’t listen to him. He was worried about you, so we came to check things out. Honestly, Tessa, he seems like a decent guy. Very sincere.” “I already ran a background check on him yesterday,” Leo added gruffly. “His record is clean.” “A background check doesn’t tell you who a person really is,” Iris countered. “I know,” Leo said, a new idea dawning in his eyes. “A trip.” Iris caught on immediately. “Yes! A trip is perfect. You learn everything you need to know about a person when you travel with them.” And just like that, the two of them were plotting a full-scale vetting operation for Rhys Callan. Leo’s powers of persuasion—and investment—were formidable. Within a week, he’d funded and co-produced a new celebrity travel reality show. When the director called Rhys, who had famously never done television, and mentioned my name was on the list of participants, he signed on without a second’s hesitation. Rhys Callan’s reality TV debut sent his fans into a frenzy. The network, playing up the drama, kept the rest of the cast a secret. The show would be a mix of live-streaming and pre-recorded segments, a brilliant way to keep viewers hooked. On the first day, we all gathered at the villa that would be our home base. The director announced there would be five cast members. I walked into the living room and saw two familiar figures. Leo and Iris were already there, sitting on opposite ends of a long sofa, pretending to be strangers. I hesitated for a moment before taking a seat next to Iris. My loyalty was clear. Leo had revealed he was married, but not to whom. To the world, Iris was just another actress. The live-stream comments started pouring in. [Why isn’t Tessa sitting with her brother??] [The Ford siblings’ first show together! The producers are geniuses.] [Leo said he’d drop hints about his wife on this show! I can’t wait to see who the lucky woman is!] The front door opened again, and a wave of cloyingly sweet perfume washed over the room. Before I even turned around, a saccharine voice echoed through the villa. 6 “Leo, darling!” My brother’s brow furrowed into a deep V. [It’s Seraphina Vance! Oh my god, my old ship is sailing again!] [Are Seraphina and Leo finally going to happen? I’m here for all the drama. /popcorn] I recognized the name. Seraphina Vance. Leo had mentioned her once. They’d worked on a movie together, and she’d tried desperately to manufacture a showmance during the press tour. Leo, who was in the early stages of pursuing Iris, had expertly shut her down every time. But that hadn’t stopped Seraphina from dropping vague, suggestive hints about him in interviews for months afterward. I glanced at Iris, who looked completely unbothered, then at Leo, whose expression was pure disgust. Oh, this was going to be good. I just needed a bowl of popcorn. Before I could get too comfortable, the door opened one last time. Rhys Callan walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. A slow, warm smile spread across his face as he walked directly over. “Tessa. It’s good to see you again. I brought you something.” [I’m shipping these two so hard! The earnest musician and the quiet pianist!] [Tessa looks like she could juggle eight boyfriends at once, but the second he smiles at her she blushes. It’s adorable!] [Looks can be deceiving. Did Leo look like a guy who chugs Yoo-hoo?] [The Ford family motto: ‘Exterior does not match contents.’] [OMG, someone just posted a leaked pic of Leo chugging two Yoo-hoos on set just now. GO LOOK!] A photo appeared in the feed: Leo, mid-chug, looking defiant. [I knew it. They’re cut from the same cloth.] [Someone get this family a lifetime supply of Yoo-hoo. And maybe some Capri Sun while you’re at it.] Rhys, ever the gentleman, had brought gifts for everyone. 7 He gave Leo a bottle of vintage wine from the year I was born. He gave Iris a stunning necklace from a high-end designer’s latest collection. Seraphina preened, watching him, clearly expecting her turn. We had all received something; surely she was next. Rhys looked at her, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “Ah, my manager told me another actress was supposed to be here, so the gift I prepared was for her…” He opened a large box to reveal a high-end, professional set of kitchen knives. “You can have them, if you’d like,” he offered. The set was easily as expensive as Iris’s necklace, but it was the wrong gift for the wrong person. Seraphina’s eyes, clouded with disdain, barely glanced at the box. “She had a last-minute conflict. Since we’re with the same agency, my boss asked me to fill in.” Before we left, Leo had been raving about the original actress, a woman famous for her warm personality and incredible cooking skills. He’d been looking forward to some decent meals. Now, we were stuck with Seraphina. “And besides,” she added, inching closer to my brother, “I knew you would be here, Leo. I feel so much safer with someone I know.” She was practically draped over him. Leo’s jaw tightened. “Tessa,” he barked, his voice strained. “Switch seats with me.” Iris placed a calming hand on my arm. “It’s fine, Tessa. Stay where you are.” Her tone was even, without a hint of anger. I knew what she was doing. She trusted Leo completely and didn’t want him to cause a scene on a live broadcast that would inevitably lead to negative headlines. The director finally stepped in to break the tension. “Alright, everyone! As a welcome, your first lunch is on us. After that, you’ll have to earn your meals!” 8 The dining table was already set, but seating once again became a strategic battle. It was a rectangular table with three chairs on one side and two on the other. My instincts kicked in. I spotted my favorite dish and quickly claimed the seat in front of it—one of the two-seaters. Iris immediately sat down next to me. Seeing this, Leo swiftly moved to the chair directly opposite Iris and pulled Rhys down into the seat beside him. That left Seraphina with the last seat, directly across from me. The entire meal was a masterclass in tension, though I was too busy enjoying the food to let their bizarre psychodrama ruin my appetite. After lunch, we chose our rooms. The villa had two floors. The men would take the downstairs rooms, the women upstairs. My luggage was light, just a small suitcase, so Iris and I carried ours up. Seraphina, however, stood at the bottom of the stairs, pouting. “Leo, honey? Could you possibly help me with my bag?” It was a massive, hot pink monstrosity. Leo wordlessly dragged the suitcase not up the stairs, but outside to the small service elevator on the patio. He shoved it inside and pressed the button for the second floor. “There’s an elevator.” “Oh! Thank you, Leo!” she chirped to his retreating back. Upstairs, there was one single room and one double. Iris and I naturally gave the single to Seraphina. We unpacked and settled in for a short afternoon break. At 3 p.m., the director’s voice came over the house-wide intercom, announcing our first challenge to win ingredients for dinner. It was a game of telephone, but with mimed movie lines while wearing noise-canceling headphones. Since it was a live-stream day, this was prime content. Rhys went first. He chose a line from the cards and turned to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I love you,” he mouthed dramatically, forming a heart with his hands, his expression full of theatrical devotion. 9 “I love you?” I mouthed back, feeling a blush creep up my neck. [The sly dog! He picked the one line with ‘I love you’ in it!] [Look at his smile when she says it back! He can’t hide it!] He nodded, then mouthed the next part. “I would do anything for you. I will be there for you, wherever and whenever you need me.” I recognized it immediately. It was a famous line from one of Leo’s movies. His delivery was so clear that I got it instantly. I turned to pass it on to Seraphina. I mouthed each word carefully, and she repeated them back to me, nodding that she understood. Then she turned to Leo. “I love you!” she mouthed, her eyes wide and fluttering. Leo just stared at her. “And?” he mouthed back. She tapped her head. “Oh, darn it! What was it? I forgot! I would… do something? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just remember that I love you, okay?” She flapped her hands in frustration, but the only words she kept repeating were “I love you.” [Silly Seraphina! She sees Leo’s face and her brain just shorts out.] [Haha, can’t blame her. I’d forget my own name if he looked at me like that.] [It’s easy to get lost in those eyes.] “She’s a professional actress and she can’t remember two lines?” I muttered to Rhys, who was standing beside me now. “A lot of actors rely on voice-overs and teleprompters these days,” he whispered back. [Gossip is human nature. Look at Tessa, she doesn’t want to miss a thing. She’s walking backward and is about to crash right into Rhys.] [Did you see that? He totally took two steps back just so she would run into him. He wants her to feel those pecs.] Leo, ever the professional, managed to piece it together from her charade. He held up a hand to stop her. “Okay, got it.” He turned and gently tapped Iris on the shoulder. “I love you,” he mouthed, his entire demeanor softening. Iris’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second before a look of recognition dawned. She smiled. “Is it from your movie?” she mouthed. Leo just grinned, a rare, boyish grin that he saved only for her. “I love you,” she recited perfectly, “I would do anything for you. I will be there for you, wherever and whenever you need me.” She hadn’t even needed him to say the rest. She knew it by heart. [Wait… am I crazy or is there some serious chemistry between those two?] [That’s the first time I’ve ever seen Leo smile at another actress like that.] [Okay, new ship unlocked? What is happening?] Because Iris got the line perfectly, we won our pick of any ingredients for dinner. As the game ended, Seraphina scurried over to Leo. “Leo, I’m so sorry, I was so clumsy back there! As a punishment, I’ll watch your movie ten times tonight, how about that?” The look of pure panic on Leo’s face was priceless. He practically sprinted away, hiding behind me like a human shield.

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My boyfriend had a ghost. Everyone says you can’t compete with the dead. Fine. Then I’ll bring the dead back to life, and then I’ll defeat her. I used a time machine to become her high school classmate, the one who would save her from the edge. I’d give her light. I’d give her love. I’d be the one in her corner. I never expected that in the end… I would become the ghost in her story. 1 I finally saw him—Ethan’s ghost, the girl who died too young. Seraphina. Here I was, standing in the senior classroom of Northwood High’s advanced track, listening to our new homeroom teacher, Mr. Davison, introduce me. “Class, this is Lia. She’s a transfer student from out of state. Let’s make her feel welcome.” A wave of warm applause broke out, but it didn’t stir the girl buried in a book in the back of the room. Seraphina. She sat alone in the last row, an empty seat on every side of her, like a deserted island. Mr. Davison told me to pick any open seat. My mission was clear. I walked straight to the empty desk beside her. I dropped into the chair and beamed at her. “Hey, new desk buddy. I’m Lia. Hope we can get along.” She finally lifted her gaze from her book. And I finally saw her face. She was a classic, fragile kind of beauty. Skin so pale it seemed to glow, features like they were painted on, but her expression was numb, vacant. Honestly, the group photo I’d seen at Ethan’s house didn’t capture a tenth of her beauty. So my rival was this stunning, I thought, a little smugly. At least I won’t lose face. My self-congratulation was cut short by her voice, as cold and flat as a frozen lake. “Find another seat. I don’t like people sitting next to me.” That sharp? Weren’t these idealized ghosts supposed to be gentle, kind, the epitome of all things good? Had I gotten the stereotype all wrong? But I had traveled through time for her. I wasn’t about to give up that easily. I brazenly reached for her hand, my voice dropping into a playful, wheedling tone. “But you’re so pretty. I have a thing for sitting next to gorgeous girls.” She froze. I could tell she had never in her life encountered someone so completely shameless. It took her a solid moment to react. She snatched her hand back and ducked her head, pretending to focus on her book again. She was trying to act like nothing happened, but I could see the blush creeping up her neck. I hid a triumphant smile. When it comes to winning people over, if I’m number two, no one dares claim to be number one. 2 Within a single lunch period, I’d managed to get friendly with most of my new classmates. They were more than happy to share the local gossip. “Seraphina’s mom is terrifying. Like, a total psycho, straight out of a psych ward.” “She forbids anyone from getting close to Sera. She told us if anyone even talks to her, she’ll kill them.” “Sera already had early admission to Yale, but her mom forced her to give it up. She wants Sera to apply the normal way, and she has to be valedictorian with a perfect SAT score.” “She even made our last homeroom teacher cry. He couldn’t take it anymore and transferred, that’s why we have Mr. Davison now.” … From these scattered bits of information, I pieced together a picture of Seraphina’s life. A single-parent household. A controlling, mentally unstable mother. A mandatory six-foot bubble around Seraphina, devoid of any human contact. I finally understood why she had given up. Trapped in a suffocating, toxic environment like that for so long… I’m not sure I could have survived it either. “Just wait until you see her mom at the parent-teacher conference. Lia, you should get away while you still can,” a girl named Maya warned. Just as she said it, Seraphina walked back into the classroom, holding a lunchbox. Her face was a mask of calm as she returned to her seat. She opened the box. Inside was a steaming, home-cooked meal. She picked up her spoon and began to eat in silence. As she raised her arm, her long sleeve slid down, revealing a series of shocking, jagged scars across her wrist. I stared, frozen. Those were… Her senses were razor-sharp. She noticed my gaze instantly. She didn’t say a word, just pulled her sleeve back down with a blank expression, hiding her wrist once more. An inexplicable tightness formed in my chest. I wasn’t sure if she had overheard what Maya said when she came in. After a moment of hesitation, I leaned in and made her a promise. “Don’t worry, Seraphina. I’m not switching seats. I’m staying right here.” The movement of her spoon paused for a fraction of a second. “They’re right,” she replied, her voice soft. “It would be better for both of us if you moved.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, her eyes fixed on the food in her lunchbox. The steam rose, clinging to her long, curled lashes. Her expression was so cold, yet she looked like she could shatter into a million pieces. Her words said go away, but I could have sworn her soul was screaming: Don’t leave. Save me. I spoke with a fierce determination. “What do you mean, no one is allowed within six feet of you? Screw that. I’m getting closer.” And I didn’t just get closer. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug. “Seraphina,” I whispered, “whether you believe me or not, I came here for you.” “Let’s be friends, Sera.” If no one else is going to save you, then I will. And then, I’ll beat you, fair and square. 3 Seraphina stared at me, her eyes suddenly turning red and welling up with tears. She didn’t dare blink. She frantically lowered her head to hide her face, shoveling food into her mouth in big, desperate bites. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks with each movement, falling silently into her lap. Damn it, I sighed internally. Seraphina’s mom was a real piece of work, pushing her own daughter to the brink. We spent the next two weeks like this. While Seraphina still greeted me with a cool expression, the numbness in her eyes had begun to fade. She was slowly getting used to my presence. It had been almost half a month since I transferred, and there was still no sign of Ethan. I was getting antsy, so I decided to ask Maya about him. Her face lit up with the expression of someone who’d just stumbled upon prime gossip. “Tsk, tsk,” she clicked her tongue. “I knew it. Why else would someone go through all the trouble of transferring schools in the middle of senior year? You’re here for the golden boy, Ethan, aren’t you?” I started to deny it. “No, I—” She made an ‘O’ with her fingers and playfully clamped it over my mouth, shushing me. She gave me a conspiratorial wink, her face saying, No need to explain, I get it. “Don’t even try. You can lie to me, but can you lie to your own heart?” What was with the cheesy soap opera dialogue? “You’re wasting your talent,” I said, my head aching. “You should be writing novels.” Her eyes lit up as if she’d found her soulmate. “You think so too? I should write a story about you and Ethan! A brave girl fearlessly pursues her love, conquering the untouchable prince of the school…” She was off, lost in her burst of inspiration, rambling on and on. I turned away in exasperation and found myself looking directly into the eyes of Seraphina, who was standing right behind me. I had no idea when she’d returned. She stared at me, her expression unreadable, her eyes a little cold. I felt a strange pang of guilt, though I had no idea what I had to feel guilty about. I fidgeted, suddenly awkward. Seraphina silently returned to her seat. After a moment, she spoke, her voice calm and even. “Ethan already has early admission. He doesn’t have to attend classes. You’ll have a hard time finding him at school.” I scratched my head. “Oh, okay. I see.” He’d never mentioned that when we were dating. So, he had gotten early admission too. He and Seraphina really were a match for each other. My state school degree felt completely inadequate in front of these two academic powerhouses. 4 I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but it felt like Seraphina was angry with me. For days, she barely gave me the time of day. That afternoon during lunch, I went to a coffee shop and bought two Caramel Macchiatos, planning to make a peace offering. When I walked back into the classroom, I found it in chaos, a crowd of students gathered in a circle. I pushed my way through the throng. My heart sank at what I saw. Desks and chairs were overturned. Notebooks and pens were crushed and scattered across the floor. The entire area was a disaster zone. Seraphina stood in the middle of it all, soaking wet, her head bowed as she stared blankly at the ground. She was alone, the silent epicenter of a storm of whispers and stares. Everyone was just watching. No one had even bothered to get a teacher. The ringleader, a girl with long, straight black hair, had a lollipop stick hanging from her lips. She stood with her arms crossed, giving a cold command. “Do it.” A guy with a buzz cut standing behind her surged forward, grabbed Seraphina by the hair, and slammed her head against a desk. “You’re just as disgusting as your psycho mom! Freaks like you don’t deserve to be alive—” A hot rush of rage flooded me. I lunged forward and kicked him squarely where it counts. “Say one more word!” The buzz-cut guy crumpled to the floor, curled into a ball, whining and crying. I was completely enraged. I went into a blind fury, landing a few more kicks for good measure, seeing red. “Garbage like you gets to live, but a wonderful girl like Sera doesn’t? Who the hell do you think you are?!” “The person I’ve worked so hard to protect is not about to be bullied by some worthless piece of trash like you! You think you have the right?!” After the furious assault, I still wasn’t satisfied. I spun around and slapped the lollipop girl across the face several times. “You could be anything, and you choose to be a wannabe gangster? Today, I’m going to give you a taste of what real life is like.” Lollipop girl shrieked. “Where did this psycho come from?! What are you standing there for? Help me!” Another one of her goons, a guy with bleached-blond hair, finally snapped out of it and rushed toward me. “Are you looking to die?!” I held up a hand. “Hold it!” The blond guy, confused and wary, actually stopped. I took off my school jacket and draped it over Seraphina’s shoulders. I held her gently, forcing her to look me in the eye. “Seraphina, you listen to me. You are not alone. You have me!” “We promised to be friends, remember? And what are friends for? They’re the ones who have your back when trouble starts!” She looked at me, her eyes slowly clouding over with a film of tears. But I smiled. “Give me the length of one song. I’ll take care of them, and then we’ll have our coffee.” With that, I took the Sony headphones from around my neck and placed them over her ears.

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The words appeared in the air right as the new girl started her introduction. Bright white, shimmering like a glitch in my vision, like subtitles for a movie I was suddenly trapped inside. 【Here we go. The female lead falls for the male lead at first sight. She’s going to chase him relentlessly, even though he already has a girlfriend.】 【He’ll go from annoyed to completely captivated by her! God, I can’t wait for this to start!】 【Look, they just made eye contact!】 And then, as if on cue, the transfer student, Lila Jensen, finished her “hi, my name is” and walked straight toward my desk. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice a little too sweet. “Can I sit here?” Beside me, my boyfriend, Liam, let out an annoyed scoff. “Who the hell do you think you are, asking to sit next to me?” The subtitles exploded in a frenzy. 1 【Ugh, the male lead is so harsh! I can’t wait until he’s hopelessly in love, begging for forgiveness and apologizing for this very moment!】 【Seriously, this side-piece has no self-awareness. Just get up and give her the seat. Maybe Liam will spare you later if you do!】 The information flooded my brain, delivered by this bizarre, impossible feed. I was the villain in a romance novel. The “evil girlfriend.” The childhood friend. The story was simple: Lila, the heroine, falls for Liam at first sight. I, consumed by jealousy, try to sabotage her at every turn, framing her, humiliating her, until I become a twisted, unrecognizable version of myself. My descent into wickedness would, of course, make Liam despise me. He’d finally see Lila for the tenacious, pure-hearted girl she was and fall for her instead. To make his new love happy, he would systematically destroy me and my family, pushing us to the brink until we had nothing left, culminating in a family suicide by jumping off a bridge. I frowned, the phantom words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. As Liam’s insult landed, Lila’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her body swayed as if she’d been struck, and a wave of whispers washed over the classroom. I stood up, shrugging. “Whatever. You want the seat? It’s yours.” He’s just a boy. A boy whose heart, according to my new paranormal ticker tape, was destined to change anyway. Why should I care? Besides, Liam was the one who’d chased me. Lila stared at me, her expression a perfect mask of disbelief. But Liam grabbed my wrist, his eyes shooting daggers at her. “Get lost,” he snapped. “You’re ruining my day.” Lila’s face went pale, a picture of delicate heartbreak. She looked at Liam, her voice trembling. “I-I just thought… you seemed familiar. I’m new here, I don’t know anyone, so…” Then, as if pumping herself up, she added, “And I’m a really good student. I was first in my class at my old school. I could help you with your work!” Liam let out a short, brutal laugh. “First in your class? Paige is first in our class. You think you’re qualified to tutor me?” In the end, she didn’t get the seat. Lila walked to the only empty desk, the one by the trash cans in the back corner of the room. 2 The moment class ended, Lila returned with a large bag filled with boba tea. She passed them out, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “I’m new here, so I just wanted to thank everyone for being so welcoming. This is for you guys.” The class erupted in cheers. But when she got to my desk, the bag was suddenly empty. Lila looked at me, her face a canvas of remorse. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Paige. I must have miscounted. Here, you can have mine.” She held her cup out to me. I instinctively raised a hand to refuse. “No, that’s okay, thank—” Before I could finish, the cup tilted. Icy, milky tea cascaded down the front of her shirt. Lila gasped, her eyes instantly filling with tears as she stared at me. “Paige… I know what I did this morning was presumptuous, and I already apologized. You already made me sit by the garbage cans. What more do you want from me?” Her words were a lit match in a gas-filled room. The class turned on me. “I knew she was a bitch. She always acts so high and mighty just because Liam likes her. And now she’s bullying the new girl?” “So that’s why Lila is sitting by the trash! I thought there were other seats. Paige must have forced her!” “Doesn’t Paige’s family have money? Why is she tormenting someone over a cup of boba?” Lila was only wearing a thin, white blouse. The dark tea made the cheap fabric translucent, revealing the outline of her bra. The subtitles scrolling in front of my eyes were all praising her genius, not a single one calling her out for being a homewrecker. They saw it as a noble sacrifice for love. I opened my mouth to explain, to say that I hadn’t touched her, but Liam, who had been silent until now, cut through the noise. He pulled off his own jacket and threw it at her, then glared at the rest of the class. “All of you, shut up! Get out!” The other students, intimidated by Liam, fell silent but continued to stare at me with open hostility. After Lila scurried away, clutching his jacket, Liam leaned closer to me, his voice a low murmur. “I only love you, Paige. You don’t have to go after her.” I blinked. “What?” He just turned away, pretending to sleep on his desk. A heavy, frustrating pressure built in my chest. The subtitles were right. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. To avoid a worse fate, I decided to go to our guidance counselor and request a seat change. If I couldn’t fight this narrative, maybe I could outrun it. But when I returned to the classroom, I found Lila sitting in my chair, her body pressed against Liam’s as she pointed at something in his textbook. She was drowning in his oversized jacket, the entire scene an intimate portrait of dependence and protection. The second they saw me, they sprang apart. Lila jumped to her feet, her voice laced with panic. “I’m so sorry! Liam helped me earlier, so I just wanted to return the favor by helping him with this problem!” Then, she did the most theatrical thing I had ever seen. She knelt and started wiping down my stool with the sleeve of his jacket. “You don’t like me here, I’ll clean it for you!” Before I could speak, Liam pulled her to her feet, his voice cold and pointedly directed at me. “We’re all human beings. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” He turned to me then, his expression flat. “It’s not what it looks like.” I managed a smile. “I know.” With as much grace as I could muster, I walked to the desk, gathered my books, and moved them to an empty seat in the very front row. Liam shot up, his hand grabbing my arm. “What are you doing?” Lila’s voice was a wounded whisper. “Do you hate me that much?” I sighed, looking at the faces around me, all poised to condemn me again. “You’ve misunderstood,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Finals are coming up, and I want to focus. Sitting in the front will help. Besides,” I added, glancing between them, “Lila wanted to sit next to you, Liam. This way, everyone gets what they want, right? And I’d hate for her to have to sit by the trash cans. We wouldn’t want that to affect her grades.” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Can you just stop it?” I stared at him, genuinely confused. He let out a cold laugh and, without another word, walked to the back of the room, grabbed Lila’s things, and dumped them on my now-empty desk. “From now on, you’re my deskmate.” The class hooted and whistled as Lila’s face turned a triumphant shade of crimson. I thought that if I just removed myself from their orbit, I’d be safe. But then, the subtitles began to scream again. 3 【Lila is so clever! She realized Liam is just using her to make the villainess jealous. So, she’s decided to completely destroy the villainess’s reputation during tomorrow’s midterms!】 【Ruin her image in Liam’s eyes completely!】 A cold dread washed over me. What was she planning? The day the midterm results were posted arrived far too quickly. Our teacher, Ms. Albright, stood at the front of the class, beaming. “I’m thrilled to announce that the top score in our grade belongs to one of our own, Paige Miller! Congratulations, Paige!” A stunned silence fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Ms. Albright continued, “And in second place, our new student, Lila Jensen, with an impressive score herself! Come on up, you two, and get your academic awards!” Lila stood up, but she hesitated, her eyes downcast. “Ms. Albright,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I… I can’t accept this.” I felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in my stomach. The teacher paused, her smile faltering. “What’s wrong, Lila?” Lila glanced at me, her expression a mess of inner turmoil, before finally speaking. “I saw Paige with a cheat sheet during the exam. This test wasn’t fair. I want to give my award to the next person on the list.” The room exploded. In seconds, someone had posted the accusation on the school’s unofficial gossip blog. Ms. Albright’s face grew stern. “Lila, that’s a very serious accusation. You need proof to say something like that.” Lila burst into tears. “But I saw her! If you want to protect her, there’s nothing I can do, but it’s wrong! It’s not fair to the other students, and it’s not fair to herself!” The tide of opinion turned against me in an instant. “I knew her grades were too good to be true. She probably cheated her way through high school!” “Lila is a goddess! So brave for speaking up!” Even Liam was looking at me, his face a complicated mask of doubt and disappointment. Ms. Albright called for quiet, then turned to me. “Paige? Do you have anything to say?” I stood up, my gaze locked on Lila. “You’re saying you saw me cheat?” Lila, with the air of a martyr facing down a tyrant, nodded defiantly. A small smile played on my lips. Thank God for the subtitles. I had come prepared. “Okay,” I continued. “Which subject was I cheating in? And at what point during the exam?” “All of them!” she declared. “You were cheating the entire time!” “Funny,” I said, pulling a small USB drive from my pocket. “Because I have evidence that someone else was the cheater.” The triumphant look on Lila’s face froze, replaced by a flicker of panic. “What… what do you mean?” I handed the drive to Ms. Albright. “This is the security footage from the exam hall. I got a copy from the office this morning. It’s the full, unedited, high-definition recording.” As Ms. Albright walked to her computer to plug it in, Lila suddenly cried out, her eyes pleading with me. “Wait! Maybe… maybe I was mistaken!” I smiled sweetly. “Seeing is believing, right? And the camera doesn’t lie. Besides, I don’t particularly enjoy being framed. What are you so afraid of, Lila?” Her face went ashen. The subtitles, ever loyal to their heroine, were in full-blown meltdown. 【When is this bitch finally going to get what she deserves? Why isn’t the plot working?】 【Lila was just a little stressed from chasing Liam, that’s why her test scores were a bit off and she felt the need to cheat. Why does the villainess have to be so petty and expose her?】 【Why isn’t she falling for it? If she’d just let herself be framed, Liam would be completely won over by Lila’s righteousness! Lila has worked so hard these past few days, he’s already falling for her! Our Lila is so adorable!】 4 But it was too late. The video was already playing on the projector screen. Halfway through, the camera’s view clearly showed Lila, hunched over her desk, furtively taking pictures of the test paper with her phone. Then, she looked up, shooting a venomous glare directly in my direction. The entire class gasped. The video continued, showing me completing my test, never once looking at anything other than my own paper. The so-called cheat sheet never appeared. The atmosphere in the room shifted. A girl in the front row muttered, “Oh my God, she’s one of those psycho girls. And isn’t Liam officially Paige’s boyfriend? What’s with this chick bringing him lunch and hanging all over him every day?” “Right? Anyone who didn’t know better would think she was his girlfriend.” Lila’s face was chalk-white. Her eyes, brimming with tears, rolled back in her head, and she collapsed gracefully into Liam’s arms. Liam’s expression hardened. He scooped her up, then turned to me, his voice dripping with contempt. “You went too far. You’re the one who moved away, and now you come back and bully her like this. Why do you have to be such a bitch, Paige?” He carried Lila out of the room without a backward glance. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the truth was out. But then, the subtitles flashed a new spoiler. 【Lila looks like a heartbroken child in the male lead’s arms. But she just fell in love with him, what did she do wrong?】 【Look! To comfort Lila, Liam just promised her he’d make sure the villainess fails her finals!】 【Lila is too soft. If it were me, I’d just have her killed.】 【Don’t worry. Even if Lila doesn’t do anything, that bitch won’t get off easy. The school gossip blog is already full of people calling her a cheater. That’s definitely going to mess with her head.】

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I was supposed to be a ghost. The first love, the one enshrined in memory, the wife who died too young. Ten years after the fire, a System brought me back. My mission: to save him, the villain my husband had become. The only problem? I couldn’t remember a thing. Not him, not our life, not even my own name until the System gave it to me. So when I saw him from a distance, a man carved from shadow and ice, I didn’t get close. His security saw to that. As they threw me against the alley wall, the world spitting me out like something bitter, a series of comments flickered into existence before my eyes, a ghostly feed only I could see. 【Here we go again. I’ve lost count of how many have tried to ‘save’ the big bad wolf.】 【For a decade, the System has been terrified he’ll burn the world down. So it keeps sending these candidates, these replacements, to try and pacify him.】 【There have been girls who looked just like his dead wife, girls who had her exact personality, even one who came armed with all of her memories…】 【They all failed. Spectacularly.】 【So this one? This painfully average girl? How many days does she get?】 1 When the System dropped me into this life, the man whose moods dictated the stability of the entire world was thirty-four years old. And he had a son who was nearly ten. I woke from a long, dreamless sleep into a world of total unknowns. All I knew was my name—Nora. I was twenty-three. The System had just informed me of this. Beyond that, it gave me a litany of warnings, a thousand cautions about the man I was supposed to save. It urged me not to end up like the others who came before me, who had their lives extinguished the moment they entered his world. The System told me his name was Damian Shaw, a man who sat at the absolute apex of global wealth and power. He was brutal, vindictive, a caged animal pacing the confines of his own gilded world. The only shred of humanity he had left, it seemed, was reserved for his young son. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. “I don’t see anything special in me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Nothing that would make a man like that even look my way.” The System was silent for a moment. When it spoke again, its tone was heavy with meaning. “You’re the last chance, Nora. If you can’t do this—” It cut itself off, the voice hardening with a strange resolve. “No. You can. You have to.” 2 The System’s warnings were not an exaggeration. The first time I managed to even get a glimpse of Damian Shaw, I was detected almost instantly. He was standing outside the gates of an expensive-looking private school, waiting for his son. He wore a tailored black coat, the collar turned up against the wind, his frame a stark silhouette against the pale afternoon sky. He never once glanced in my direction. I watched the sharp, cold line of his profile, and a strange, uncontrollable emotion bloomed in my chest. It was a grief so sharp, so sudden, it brought tears to my eyes. The feeling stunned me, rooting me to the spot. I didn’t even notice his security approaching until they were on me—two mountains in bespoke suits. A universe of pain erupted as they heaved me into the brick wall of a nearby alley. One of them, his face a mask of professional menace, leaned down. “You don’t look at people you’re not supposed to see,” he growled, the threat hanging in the cold air. He gave my pathetic, crumpled form on the ground a final, dismissive glance. “Next time, it won’t be this simple.” 3 At that exact moment, the sky began to bleed snow. I cradled my throbbing arm, leaning against the cold brick. From the mouth of the alley, I watched Damian greet his son. Even with the boy, his expression didn’t soften. He just stubbed out his cigarette, his movements precise and economical, and reached down to take the small hand offered to him. They turned and walked to a black car waiting at the curb. Maybe my stare was too intense, too desperate. Just before he got in, the boy turned his head and looked directly at me. I must have been a sorry sight, a mess of snow and blood and bruised dignity. And yet, instinctively, I managed a small, gentle smile for this beautiful, serious-looking boy. His gaze was as indifferent as his father’s. His eyes, a deep, quiet gray, assessed me calmly. He only looked for a second. A bodyguard stepped forward, pulling the car door open. It closed with a solid, final thud, sealing them inside. The car pulled away from the curb without a backward glance. 4 My heart plummeted, a sudden, sickening feeling of freefall. Before I could even begin to process the strange tide of emotions washing over me, the white text reappeared, scrolling rapidly in my vision. 【A new player has entered the game.】 【Ten years. I’ve lost count of how many there have been. Dozens? Hundreds?】 【The System is so damn scared of this guy. Terrified he’s gonna have one bad day and just delete the whole world.】 【So it keeps trying to shove people into his life.】 【But Damian only loves his dead wife.】 【That’s why the System keeps sending these ‘substitutes.’】 【Some look like her, some act like her, one even had a complete memory download…】 5 I stared at the frantic stream of text, my brow furrowed. I’d forgotten how to blink. “This guy,” as they called him, had to be Damian Shaw, the man holding the world hostage with his grief. And the failed players… that’s why the System had been so insistent on his danger. It had tried everything. Which begged the question: why did it think I, someone so painfully ordinary, could possibly succeed where all the others had failed? As if reading my mind, the feed’s commentary shifted to me. 【Honestly, though, it’s not some substitute player who’s been keeping him stable all these years.】 【It’s the son his wife left him.】 【She was gone, just like that. Nothing left of her but that boy.】 【That kid is Damian’s only remaining tether to this world.】 【If it weren’t for him, Damian probably would’ve destroyed everything, himself included, years ago. He would have followed his wife into the grave.】 【Which is why every single one of these players has failed.】 【His wife is his ghost, his sacred ground.】 【It’s the one pure thing left in his heart.】 【He will not let anyone defile her memory by wearing her face or claiming her place.】 【That’s why the fakes all die. Each one worse than the last.】 【So what about this one?】 【This plain, unprepared girl with absolutely nothing going for her?】 【How many days do you give her?】 A betting pool started. 【I give her until the next time she meets him.】 【That’s when she dies. I’m in.】 【I’ll take that bet.】 【Same.】 Then, a laughing emoji appeared. 【Dude, she took a pretty nasty fall just now.】 【And it’s snowing. Hard.】 【Who’s to say she even survives the night…?】 6 I lowered my gaze, ignoring the cascade of cruel text. I focused on the bloody scrape on my arm instead. But, to everyone’s surprise, my next interaction with the world of Damian Shaw came not from me, but from his son. He came to me. I have no idea how he found me. I only know that when I opened the door of my room in the cheap motel I could barely afford, he was standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder, alone. He had his father’s face in miniature, the same serious, impassive expression. I froze in the doorway. He tilted his head back slightly to look up at me, his gaze fixed on my face. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and clear. It was a strange question. He had sought me out, only to ask who I was. “My name is Nora,” I answered, my voice steady despite my confusion. The instant the name left my lips, his brow tightened into a deep frown. 7 The white text in my vision never stopped. As I spoke, it erupted in a chorus of unified mockery. 【Has the System just given up?】 【It’s tried look-alikes.】 【It’s tried act-alikes.】 【This is the first time it’s been this blatant. Just dropped in a player with the exact same name.】 【The System really isn’t afraid of making him angry, is it?】 【It might as well just gift-wrap her, drop her on his desk, and say: ‘You wanted Nora? Here’s a Nora for you.’】 Unlike the boisterous feed, the boy in front of me was dead serious. “My name is Liam,” he said quietly. His gaze intensified, studying my face, waiting for a reaction I didn’t know how to give. Nora. Liam. His name felt… connected to mine somehow. And combined with what the feed had revealed… Perhaps Damian Shaw’s dead wife, his ghost, was named Nora. 8 But my mind was a perfect, silent blank. I couldn’t give Liam the reaction he was clearly looking for. I had nothing to give. The hopeful intensity in his eyes slowly cooled into a familiar indifference. Just then, a man in a tailored suit came hurrying down the hall from the elevators. He was a head taller than Liam, but he stopped before the boy and bowed his head respectfully. “Young master,” he said, his tone urgent. “The car is waiting downstairs. You’ll be late for school.” Liam’s dark lashes lowered for a moment. It looked like disappointment. He turned to leave, his movements sharp and decisive. But after a single step, he paused. He frowned again, looking not at me, but at the grimy glass of the hallway window opposite my door. “You should get those injuries looked at,” he said. I followed his gaze to the window and saw my reflection. The crude bandages wrapped around my arm and right leg. The System hadn’t given me any advantages, no magical starting funds. The little cash I had was barely enough for this motel room and cheap food. A hospital was a luxury I couldn’t imagine. Liam was already gone. My eyes lingered on the window, on the blurry, distorted image of my own face. 9 There was a mottled scar on my right cheek. The System said I died in a fire ten years ago. It drew its energy from the world it managed, but Damian Shaw was a man who repaid every debt, real or imagined, a thousand times over. His wife had died in an “accident” connected to the world’s original hero and heroine. So he had, without mercy, destroyed everyone involved. That hero and heroine, the world’s designated protagonists, had been dead for five years. With them gone, the world had fallen completely under Damian’s control. The System itself was barely surviving, starved for power. It had only managed to restore my body to about 80% of its original state. I was healthy, but my skin was a roadmap of faded and raised burn scars of varying sizes. I looked at the strange face in the glass. It was a plain face, made ugly by the scar. Choosing me, this version of me, to win over a man like Damian… I couldn’t see a single glimmer of hope. No wonder the feed was filled with nothing but laughter at my expense. 10 Hope or no hope, I still had a mission. I had to win him over. That was the purpose of my resurrection, and the only way I was allowed to keep living. But before I could even think about Damian Shaw, I had to solve the immediate problem of my own survival. After days of searching, I found a job as a night-shift stocker at a bookstore in the lobby of the building directly across from Shaw Corp headquarters. My shift ended at midnight. The tower opposite was still blazing with light. I sat on the steps outside the bookstore, opening a box of cold takeout. At 12:07 AM, Damian’s black Maybach swept past. The tinted windows were impenetrable, a wall of black glass. I knew he was in there. The white text was buzzing with commentary. It seemed they had a better view than I did, a camera inside the car itself, and they used it to continue their running critique of me. 【Looks like the System gave up and now the player has given up, too…】 【Every other candidate who came here was immediately scheming, trying to get in front of him, trying to find an angle.】 【Her? She’s casually getting a job and living her life.】 【Guess that first meeting with his security guards scared her straight, huh?】 【Am I really just supposed to sit here and watch her organize bookshelves every night?】 【If you’re this useless, you shouldn’t have taken the mission from the System in the first place…】 I dropped my gaze, tuning out the hostile words. That’s when I noticed a stray dog, tail wagging hopefully, nosing at my leg. I picked out the only two pieces of meat from my meal and gave them to him. We shared the rest of my cold dinner under the city lights. 11 I worked at the bookstore for nearly a month. My injuries had mostly healed. It was then that I saw Damian again, by accident. It was 11 PM, and my boss asked me to deliver a stack of specially ordered books to an office in the tower across the street. After clearing multiple security checkpoints, I finally set foot inside the monolithic building for the first time. I dropped off the books and was heading back to the elevators. The building was quiet at this hour, most of the floors dark. As I waited, I heard a faint sound from the end of the long, empty corridor. It sounded like someone trying to choke back a cry of extreme pain. The elevator was taking forever. I hesitated, then looked toward the end of the hall. The feed screamed at me not to get involved, to mind my own business. They were even giving me strategic advice: use this chance to sneak down to the parking garage and ambush Damian when he left for the night. But I could still hear that muffled, desperate sound. I stood there for a long moment, then turned and walked toward the sound. 12 I don’t think anyone could have expected who I found. Crouched on the floor of the starkly lit emergency stairwell landing, it was Damian Shaw. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, his shoulders broad even when he was curled in on himself. It was a picture of profound, shocking vulnerability. The moment I pushed the heavy door open, his head snapped up. His eyes were alert, sharp with suspicion and pain. Sweat beaded on his temples. I had stumbled into something I was never meant to see. I froze, my hand still on the door. Trapped in his gaze, I forced myself to speak. “…Do you need me to call a doctor?” He just stared at me, his expression cold and unreadable. I instinctively raised a hand to my face, pressing the plain white mask I wore more securely against my skin. Because of the scar, I always wore one in public, afraid of frightening customers or children. The weight of his stare was immense. I wanted to back away, to disappear. But then I saw the vein throbbing at his temple, the bloodless press of his lips, and a strange, unwelcome wave of empathy washed over me. I took a step forward and pulled a small bottle of painkillers from my pocket. I’d never seen a doctor for the injuries his men had given me. When the pain was unbearable, I’d just chewed one of these and waited for it to pass. It seemed the cheap pills I kept in my bag finally had a use. 13 Under his relentless gaze, I placed a single pill on the cool concrete beside him. I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His grip was ice-cold, the chill seeping straight into my bones. I had no choice but to look down at him. Our eyes met, the distance between us suddenly gone. “Who are you?” he finally asked, his voice a raw rasp. The light was dim, but I saw something flicker in the depths of his black eyes, a ghost of a reflection that was there and then gone. He moved too fast for me to react. Before I could protest, his other hand came up and hooked the elastic of my mask, pulling it down. His dark pupils reflected the stark geography of the scar on my face. We were so close. I saw his eyes… tremble. Just for a fraction of a second. This face of mine. It was still a shock. I reached up, pulling the mask back into place. As I did, I saw his hand fall open slightly, as if from a sudden loss of strength. A silver chain spilled from his palm. It was what he had been clutching so tightly. A silver locket. I could just make out the faded, smiling face of a young woman etched onto its surface. I pulled my gaze away. I left the pill and walked away. This time, he didn’t stop me. At the door, I glanced back one last time. He was still sitting there, a figure of absolute black in the sterile white light. A monument to ruin. 14 The white text was criticizing me again. They called me an idiot, hopeless. 【I’m done…】 【She is officially the most useless player I have ever seen.】 【She just stumbled onto a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a total stroke of luck, and she didn’t even know how to use it?】 【She just walked away?】 【Shouldn’t she have stayed? Comforted him? Shown some concern?】 【She finally gets a moment alone with him and she just LEAVES?】 【WHAT IS SHE EVEN DOING?】 Some of them were even more vulgar, suggesting I should have thrown myself into his arms, used the oldest tricks in the book to seduce him. They were convinced I was a lost cause anyway. A person like me could never complete the mission. They were practically begging for me to do something stupid, to provoke Damian and get myself killed so they could move on. They didn’t want to watch my story anymore. If I died, a new, more competent player would take my place. 15 The bookstore owner signed a long-term contract with a client in the Shaw Corp tower. I started volunteering for the delivery runs. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of Damian from a distance. He was always in black, not a hint of color on him, save for the occasional flash of a white shirt collar at his throat. He moved with a relentless purpose, a coterie of suited subordinates trailing in his wake, their heads bowed. In public, he was the cold, unapproachable king. There was no trace of the pale, vulnerable man from the stairwell. Sometimes, passing by the break rooms, I’d overhear employees gossiping. They said the terrifying CEO’s office was a black hole of color. No fresh flowers, no art, just oppressive shades of gray and black. The story of Damian’s dead wife was an open secret in the company. Maybe it was because his son was a frequent visitor. Or maybe it was because of the simple, plain wedding band he wore, a ring that was never, ever removed. They whispered that he was living like a monk, that he was keeping himself pure in her memory. I clutched a heavy stack of books to my chest and walked silently through the crowds of bright, successful people. For the first time, I began to seriously question whether agreeing to this mission had been a mistake. 16 I’d been in this world for over two months. Everything I learned pointed to one fact: Damian Shaw had loved his wife with a terrifying, all-consuming devotion. No wonder so many players had come and gone, all of them failures. The chances of my success were zero. Even the white text seemed to have accepted my incompetence. They barely bothered to insult me anymore. It felt like my very existence was a desecration of the love between Damian and his dead wife. I had no past. And it seemed I had no future, either. Should I even continue with this hopeless mission? I was lost in thought, the tall stack of books in my arms obscuring my view. I didn’t see the woman in the crisp white suit, a coffee cup in her hand, until I walked right into her. Coffee splashed across the books and, more damningly, all over the front of her pristine white jacket. I immediately started trying to wipe the books, apologizing profusely. The woman’s voice was sharp. She grabbed my arm. “Who let you in here?” I explained I was from the bookstore downstairs. She let out a cold laugh. “I wasn’t aware this company was in the habit of collaborating with some shabby little bookstore.” 17 More and more people were turning to stare. I kept my head down, repeating my apologies. “Your jacket… I can have it cleaned for you. Or, I can pay for a new one.” “Can you afford it?” she sneered, looking me up and down. Her fingernails were long and sharp. With a flick of her wrist, she hooked my mask and pulled it away from my face. It fluttered to the ground. My face was exposed to everyone. I heard a collective gasp from the onlookers behind me. “You…” The beautiful woman’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide. I closed my eyes for a brief second. Then I bent down, picked up the mask, and put it back on, hiding my shame. “I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head again. “Whatever you think is fair, I’ll accept it.” The entire floor was silent. And in that silence, an elevator chimed, a crisp, clear ding. The doors slid open. A man stepped out. His tall frame cast a long shadow that fell right at my feet. 18 “I’m the one who signed the contract with their bookstore.” Damian’s voice was low and cool, devoid of any warmth. The moment he spoke, every head in the vicinity bowed. The white text reacted even faster than I did. My vision was flooded, a blizzard of white. This time, the message was simple and uniform. Question marks. A screen full of question marks. 【Did I miss an episode?】 【I’ve been watching this whole time, I haven’t been gone, can someone PLEASE tell me what is happening right now?】 【Damian… bro… why did you suddenly show up?】 【Wait… I’ve had my eyes on this girl 24/7. Is it possible she did something I don’t know about?】 I slowly looked up. Damian’s polished black shoes were stopped right in front of me. A cool touch on my wrist. Damian had taken hold of it. His grip was firm, a silent command that allowed for no resistance. I didn’t dare try to pull away. I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. My hand went limp, and the stack of books I was holding tumbled to the floor. I turned my head and met his gaze. He was looking down, his dark eyes fixed on mine, seeing something deep inside me. But just as I tried to read the emotion there, he subtly shifted his gaze away. “Same as always,” he murmured, his words meant only for me. “No improvement at all.” Despite the criticism, the hand holding my wrist didn’t loosen in the slightest. 19 With Damian’s arrival, the entire situation inverted itself. The System, the feed—they had all described his terrifying nature to me. But this was the first time I had witnessed his cold, absolute power firsthand. He didn’t listen to a single word of the woman’s stammered explanation. He simply raised a hand, a slight, dismissive gesture. Two of his security guards appeared as if from nowhere and dragged the woman away. No one dared to object. No one even dared to look up. The man in front of me was a dangerous enigma. I watched the woman disappear down the hall, then slowly looked up at Damian. A strange, inexplicable smile was playing on his lips. It was directed at me. His thumb began to gently stroke the inside of my wrist. He leaned in slightly. “I just took care of that for you,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He then asked, his tone deceptively casual, “How are you going to thank me?”

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