Author: Momo Chan

When I found out my wife’s family group chat didn’t include me, but did include our male neighbor, I told her I wanted a divorce. She was giving our daughter a bath at the time and just laughed. “Your daddy’s getting so sensitive in his old age,” she said to our little girl. “Wants to throw his family away over a group chat!” She thought I was just jealous. She had no idea I’d already bought a one-way ticket for a job overseas. For ten years, I’d been the perfect, selfless husband. I was more of a shadow in Chloe’s life than a person, my own needs and desires completely erased. But not anymore. I was done. Soon, it wouldn’t just be the family group chat that I wasn’t in. It would be the family itself. 1 “It’s just an old stock trading group, Mark,” Chloe explained, her voice tight with forced patience. “Noah added me to it ages ago. I knew you were busy with work and don’t care about stocks, so I didn’t mention it. I didn’t want to bother you.” Today was my mother-in-law’s birthday. I’d taken the afternoon off to cook her favorite meal, a whole spread of dishes that took me hours. But as the sun went down, no one came home. I called Chloe. She answered, already angry. “Mom sent a message to the family chat,” she snapped. “She said we were going out to eat. Even Noah saw it. How could you miss it?” I felt a familiar pang of guilt and self-blame. I opened my messaging app, refreshing it again and again. But the last message in our family group was from six months ago. It was from my mother-in-law, tearing into me for booking a cruise for my own parents. [Michael, you need to remember you’re a married man with a wife and child to support. Your money, even if your parents aren’t spending it, should be ours. You need to ask me, your father-in-law, and your sister-in-law if we need anything. And if we don’t, you should be saving it. Your parents have no right to your money anymore.] I closed the app, about to ask her where she’d sent the message, when I heard my daughter’s voice in the background. “Mommy, can Uncle Noah be my daddy for tonight? I don’t want Daddy here. He’ll just tell me I can’t have any cake.” The words I was about to say died in my throat. I looked at the family portrait on the living room wall. Last week, our daughter had proudly taped a picture of Noah right over my face. Suddenly, a profound weariness washed over me. For this family, for these people, I had only one thought left. “Forget it.” 2 Noah is our neighbor. He’s also one of Chloe’s most important clients. Before he moved in across the hall, I only knew his name from Chloe’s constant complaints. “This guy needs to get a life. He spends all day torturing us.” “He’s the king of passing the buck. He should have been a chef.” Back then, Noah was a monster in her stories. Then he moved in. He asked if he could carpool with Chloe to work. She was hesitant, but I encouraged her. He was a client, after all. I never thought twice about it. Until one night, we were at a party with friends. I mentioned the carpool situation, and Chloe, after a couple of glasses of wine, slammed her hand on the table and slurred, “You spend all day in the kitchen. You’re just a junior accountant in your thirties. What the hell do you know about a man like Noah?” “Chloe! How can you say that?” one of our friends fired back, indignant on my behalf. “If you hadn’t forced Michael to quit his job to be a stay-at-home dad, he’d probably be a vice president by now!” Chloe just scoffed. In that moment, I knew. There was someone else in her heart. She apologized profusely afterward, blaming it on the wine. My friends told me to let it go. “You and Chloe have been together forever. She loves you. You have a daughter. Are you really going to let some other guy walk in and take your family?” I turned off the shower, my friend’s words echoing in my head. As I reached for the bathroom door, I heard a low laugh from the bedroom. “I have to say, Michael’s a lucky guy,” a man’s voice said. “Beautiful, successful wife, adorable daughter. And all that free time… must be nice for a grown man to have so much time to let his mind wander.” “He’s even got time to worry about a lonely old bachelor like me.” The voice was crystal clear. It could only mean one thing. Noah was in my house. In my bedroom. Talking to my wife. I glanced at my phone. It was 11:30 PM. “Uncle Noah, can I come over and play video games tonight?” my daughter chirped. “I don’t like it when Daddy says mean things about you!” “No,” Chloe cut in sharply. “Uncle Noah has a big presentation tomorrow. He needs his rest. Do you want Uncle Noah to be tired, or do you want Daddy to be tired?” Disappointment coiled in my gut. I didn’t want to cry, but after hearing my daughter’s words, I couldn’t stop the tears. I wiped my eyes with a towel before quietly opening the door. Chloe was on our bed in a low-cut lace nightgown, reading our daughter a story. Noah was sitting across from them, smiling fondly. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. I was the intruder. When I stepped into the room, Noah jumped up, looking flustered. “Oh, Michael, sorry. I just came over to explain a few things, and Lily asked for a story, so I…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice flat. “I should be thanking you for the new sheets and pajamas. They look great on my wife.” Last week, Chloe had come home with a new bedding set. The gray and white pattern surprised me; she always preferred bright colors. She said it was a sample from a client, so I didn’t think much of it and gave it to my sister. When Chloe got home and found it missing, she flew into a rage. She made me drive to my sister’s house at 2 AM to get it back and put it on our bed right then and there. I didn’t understand why it was so important. Until now, seeing Noah standing there in matching gray and white pajamas. The smug, triumphant look in his eyes was unmistakable, though his voice was thick with fake sincerity. “Michael, you’ve got it all wrong. I just felt bad for always bumming rides, so I wanted to get you both a little something.” At the sight of Noah apologizing, Chloe and my daughter turned on me. “He’s my client, Michael! How am I supposed to work if you’re going to be like this?” “I hate Daddy! I want Uncle Noah!” my daughter shrieked. I looked at the two most important people in my life and gave a bitter, defeated shake of my head. “Chloe,” I said quietly, “let’s just forget it.” 4 I loved Chloe so much that for ten years, I never dared to say no to her. She knew it, and she used it. Whenever her mother was being particularly cruel, Chloe would just say, “Are you trying to start a fight with my mom? Do you not want to be married to me anymore?” and I would immediately back down, apologizing. I never threatened to leave. But tonight, I’d mentioned divorce twice. She must have sensed something was different. Her tone softened. “I know this all looks bad, but you’re really overthinking it. Let me just walk Noah home, and we can talk when I get back.” She and my daughter rushed out. Ten minutes later, I got a text. [Noah tripped on his way home. Lily and I are taking him to the hospital.] [Michael, don’t be mad. I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.] It was followed by a picture of a leg with a tiny scrape, the kind you’d get from a mosquito bite. As I was looking at the photo, a new message popped up in that other family chat, the one I wasn’t in, broadcast from my daughter’s GPS watch. It was my mother-in-law. [You two just stay there with Noah tonight. I’d like to see that pathetic loser Michael try to run this family.] Noah replied a moment later. [Thanks, Mom.] I put the watch down and started packing. My flight was in ten days. I needed to get my things to my parents’ house and file for divorce. We had almost no shared assets. Years ago, my mother-in-law, paranoid that I was after their money, had forced me to sign everything over to Chloe. Even the TV and the refrigerator were legally in her name. It meant that even though she was the one cheating, a divorce would leave me with nothing. I didn’t have much. By dawn, I had packed up my entire life into four suitcases. A decade of marriage, gone. It was pathetic. As I loaded the last box into my car, Chloe pulled up, carrying two large bags of takeout breakfast. She didn’t see me at first. She was on the phone, laughing. “Did I wake you? After how hard you worked last night, the least I could do was get you some breakfast.” “I’m not tired,” a man’s voice replied. “I’m your man, after all.” As she was about to enter our building, she looked up and saw me. The smile froze on her face. 5 Chloe and I met in college. We were broke. To save for a down payment on a house, I worked nights after my classes. She would wake up early to buy me breakfast, wait for me at the bus stop when I got off my shift, and tell me to go back to sleep. On New Year’s Eve, she lied to her mother, said she had to work, just so she could eat takeout with me in our tiny, rented room. All the things she was doing for Noah now. Seeing her do them for another man, my chest physically ached. “Michael, where are you going?” she asked, her voice tight with panic as she hung up the phone. She tried to cross the street to get to me, but the usually quiet road was suddenly filled with a steady stream of cars, a physical barrier between us. Her call came through a moment later. “I have to go on a business trip,” I said. Hearing that I wasn’t bringing up anything else, she let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry about last night. I promise, when you get back, I’ll make it up to you. Lily and I will pick you up from the airport.” “Okay, Chloe. I’m going.” “Take care of yourself.” “Goodbye.” I hung up. She stood on the other side of the street, a flicker of unease on her face. If she had looked a little closer, if she had thought for just one second, she would have realized. Who takes a moving van on a business trip? But she didn’t. The panic passed, and she hurried back to Noah’s apartment. “Is Chloe insane? She spent years complaining about this guy, and now she’s sleeping with him?” “You can’t let this go, Mike! They’ve treated you like dirt for years! They control all the money, make you do all the work… they even had the damn floorboards notarized in her name! It’s ridiculous!” My two best friends were ready to go over there and start a war on my behalf, but I stopped them. I’d just received two text messages that changed everything. “It’s okay,” I told them. “A direct confrontation is too easy. I have a little surprise planned for them.” 6 Two hours after I left, Noah officially moved into my bedroom. My mother-in-law was thrilled, even helping him unpack. “Whoever marries Noah is the luckiest woman in the world,” she gushed. “He’s successful, and so generous! Not like some other useless people I know.” My daughter was just as excited. “From now on, Uncle Noah can be my daddy. He doesn’t nag, and he’s nicer to me.” Noah gave Chloe a suggestive look. “I’m not the marrying type,” he said smoothly. “But being here with you two… this is all I need. I’m happy.” Chloe and her mother exchanged delighted glances. The three of them sat down to a cheerful breakfast. For the next few days, my mother-in-law cooked all of Noah’s favorite dishes. In the ten years I was married to Chloe, she never once set foot in the kitchen. Even when I was sick with a fever, she made me get up and cook. At night, the woman who always claimed she was too tired to watch her own granddaughter now happily took her for the night. “You two have had a long day,” she’d say. “You need your rest.” I watched the steamy footage from the hidden cameras I’d set up and had to laugh. I remembered asking if Chloe and I could have just one night to ourselves. My mother-in-law had sent me a novel-length text about what a deadbeat father I was. It seemed everything in that house could change, just not for me. Three days went by. Chloe didn’t notice that all my clothes were gone, or that my side of the bathroom counter was now covered in Noah’s things. This morning, after getting ready, she sent me a text. [Honey, what time does your flight land today? I’ll come get you.] As she was about to close the app, she realized I hadn’t sent a single message since I’d left. A sense of unease crept in. Just then, our daughter ran in. “Mommy, I can’t find my watch! I haven’t seen it for days!” Chloe remembered that I was the one who charged Lily’s watch every night. “Did you wear it to Uncle Noah’s that night?” 7 Lily shook her head. “It’s been missing since then.” Something clicked in Chloe’s mind. She started frantically searching the closets, the shoe rack. But all she found were Noah’s things. Mine were gone. She was about to call me when her own phone rang. “Chloe, you need to get to the office right now. There’s a huge problem with the project!” As she hung up, Noah’s phone rang. “Get all the project files and financial records and be in the main conference room in thirty minutes.” Noah felt a twitch in his eye but didn’t think much of it. “See, Chloe? Your new assistant is useless. She must have messed something up. We have to fire her after this meeting.” Chloe, still preoccupied, just mumbled in agreement. When they walked into the conference room together, they found the bosses from both their companies waiting for them. The look on their faces was thunderous. Noah’s boss turned to Chloe’s young assistant. “Everyone’s here. You can present your findings now.” Chloe looked at the girl, whose eyes were red from crying. “Ashley? What’s going on?” The young woman didn’t say a word. She just clicked the mouse. The large screen at the front of the room lit up with a live feed from the camera in my bedroom. Noah’s voice filled the room. “So, Chloe… who’s better in bed? Me, or your husband? You keep me happy, and I’ll make sure you get the next few contracts.”

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When my girlfriend went through airport security, the metal detector blared. Ashley’s ears turned bright red. “I just got my nipples pierced last week,” she whispered, mortified. “They told me it wouldn’t set off the alarm.” I froze for a second, then lifted her suitcase off the conveyor belt. “When did you get nipple piercings? You didn’t even mention it to me.” She avoided my eyes. “I wanted it to be a surprise. And, you know, for a better… experience.” “Who told you that?” I pressed, staring at her. Her gaze flickered. “Just… stuff I read online,” she said with a forced smile. … Ashley showed the TSA agent her piercing studio receipt. My heart sank. Ashley never trusted anything she read online. And she would never, ever do something like that by herself. While she was undergoing a more thorough check, I pulled up our company’s recent attendance records on my phone. There was only one person whose vacation days perfectly aligned with Ashley’s: a new streamer, still on probation, named Leo Chen. “Okay, all clear. We can go on our vacation now!” Ashley said cheerfully when she returned. I closed the attendance file and met her gaze. “You did it yourself?” “Mhmm,” she mumbled, fussing with her suitcase. “It would be way too embarrassing to have a stranger do that.” I was silent for a moment. All desire to go on vacation had evaporated. “Something just came up at work. I have to go back.” She looked surprised, but not disappointed. There wasn’t a hint of frustration at having our long-awaited trip canceled. “Jayce, I’ve been looking forward to this for so long. You’re bailing on me again? Fine. I know you’re a workaholic. It’s not easy being your girlfriend.” Seeing the relief in her eyes, I sighed. On the drive back, she was quiet, glued to her phone, a small smile playing on her lips as she texted. “Did you really want to go on this trip with me?” I asked. It took her a few seconds to register my question. “Hm? What did you say?” I shook my head and closed my eyes. The moment I got back to the office, I had my assistant send Leo to my office. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, his hair neatly styled. He looked clean-cut and professional, not at all like the male model he used to be. “Mr. Crawford, aren’t you on vacation? Is there something you needed?” “How did you know I was on vacation?” Leo stammered. “I… I heard it from your assistant.” I gave him a cold look. “You took a week off this month? You’re still a probationary streamer. Shouldn’t you be focused on training?” A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly composed himself. “I’m sorry, sir. My sister was sick. It’s just the two of us, so I had to be there for her.” His sister’s illness just happened to coincide perfectly with Ashley’s time off? The coincidence was a little too convenient. My eyes scanned him, landing on the sports watch on his wrist. The khaki-colored band was unremarkable, but I remembered buying the exact same Miu Miu band years ago, back when I was still living off my family’s money. Before I’d started my own company and learned the value of a dollar. I wouldn’t spend two hundred bucks on a watch band now. “Nice watch band,” I said casually. “Must have been expensive. A gift from your girlfriend?” He flinched, a barely perceptible tremor running through his shoulders. He quickly unclasped the watch and hid it behind his back, forcing a smile. So, it was a gift from Ashley. “You can go now,” I said. The moment he was gone, I called my childhood friend, Mark. He’d just finalized a long, messy divorce a few months ago. He picked up on the second ring. “Jayce! What tropical paradise are you calling me from? To what do I owe the honor?” I looked out my office window at the city skyline. “I need a favor.” “I need you to run a check on Ashley for the past six months. Financials, travel records, hotel stays, credit card statements… everything. Oh, and a guy named Leo Chen. Do him, too.” Mark’s interest was piqued. “You came to the right guy. I know the drill. Told you you can’t trust any of them.” I sighed and hung up. I had just put my phone down when Ashley burst into my office. “I was getting coffee for everyone, so I brought you one!” She held it out to me with a saccharine smile. She must have already heard that I’d spoken to Leo. “I hear you were checking attendance records,” she said. I met her eyes. “What, are you worried about him?” “Of course not…” She cleared her throat. “I just think you could be a little more compassionate. The kid’s had a tough life…” I cut her off. “I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist. Take the coffee with you. And…” “Next time you enter the CEO’s office, knock.” Ashley stood there, speechless, before turning and walking out. A moment later, a message from my assistant popped up. [Mr. Crawford, Leo Chen just submitted his resignation.] Chapter 2 Almost simultaneously, a notification from Mark appeared. [Is this the guy you’re looking for?] I clicked the link. It was Leo’s private social media account. The first picture of Ashley was from six months ago. She was in a hospital emergency room, a bandage wrapped around her head, only half of her face visible. [I was lost in the darkness, and then you came and lit up my world. My sunshine.] So that’s why Ashley, our company’s top streamer, had to pull out of a major brand launch six months ago. She’d claimed she got into a fight, but it was because of him. My heart twisted. I kept scrolling. Five months ago: a picture of a spicy stir-fry, two porcelain bowls, in what looked like a messy basement apartment. Three months ago: he’d moved into a bright, spacious new place. A photo of a woman’s pale legs, adorned with a luxury watch, draped over his gray sweatpants. Two weeks ago: a selfie of him with red, swollen eyes. [I don’t want you to go on vacation with him. I don’t want him to touch you. So sad.] One week ago: a picture of them cuddled up in a room. [To prove her love for me, my sunshine actually let me pierce her nipples. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.] The phone slipped from my hand. All the strength drained out of me. So Ashley, the woman I’d built from an unknown nobody into a streamer with over a million followers, had been cheating on me all along. She’d even brought her lover into my company, carrying on an affair right under my nose. The phone rang for a full fifteen seconds before I could compose myself enough to answer. “Jayce, who is this Leo Chen guy?” Mark asked. “A new streamer Ashley recruited. Used to be a male model, apparently.” “Well, that’s weird. Because he’s the registered owner of an MCN company called Sunshine Media. Three million in registered capital.” Sunshine? I remembered the post about his “sunshine.” Had Ashley set up an entire company for him? No wonder he quit the second I asked about his attendance. He already had his exit strategy planned. “Jayce, get this. This new MCN just landed a major client. The signing ceremony is tomorrow at the Cloudfall Hotel. And guess who the client is?” Mark was enjoying this. “A brand-new company landing a major client right out of the gate?” The more I thought about it, the more a cold dread crept up my spine. A male model couldn’t pull that off. If Ashley was behind this, it was very likely she had poached one of my own clients. “Yep. A major client. One of the biggest in the city.” We only had a handful of clients at that level. “Alright, I won’t keep you in suspense. It’s the Sterling Group.” “Sterling? You mean my father’s company?” My voice shot up an octave. “The one and only.” My relationship with my father, Jason Crawford, had been strained for years. When I left the family business to start my own media company, he hadn’t given me a dime. No one in the industry knew about my connection to Sterling. In the last couple of years, as my company started to gain traction, my father had made a few overtures to mend our relationship, even offering to partner with me on a few projects. I’d turned him down every time. Ashley probably had no idea why she had suddenly been blessed with the Sterling Group’s favor. “Send me the address of the signing ceremony,” I said. “Looks like I’ll have to crash the party.” Chapter 3 The conference hall at the Cloudfall Hotel was packed with media and industry insiders. Everyone was buzzing, trying to figure out who the mysterious owner of Sunshine Media was. “I hear he’s young, handsome, and brilliant. Just got back from studying abroad.” “Must be from a powerful family. You don’t just land a deal with Sterling right out of the gate.” “Maybe he’s related to the Crawfords?” I let out a small, humorless laugh. I’d used the same playbook myself years ago to build Ashley’s brand as a sophisticated, artistic college student, even hiring tutors to teach her English and painting. But could Leo really live up to the persona Ashley had created for him? When he finally took the stage, all eyes were on him. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and, at first glance, looked the part of a successful executive. But the moment he opened his mouth, the illusion shattered. “Thank you all for coming to today’s signing ceremony…” The microphone let out a piercing screech of feedback. He panicked, fumbling his lines. He stumbled through the first few sentences, his eyes darting to Ashley in the front row. She gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, and he managed a small smile, slowly finding his rhythm. I remembered when Ashley was that nervous before her first live stream. I would spend hours with her, rehearsing her script, preparing her for every possible scenario. Later, when she started to get famous, she’d boasted, “Jayce, just you wait. One day, I’m going to buy you the most expensive car on the lot.” I had waited. But what I got was betrayal. After a long introduction, Ashley joined him on stage. “Hello, everyone. I’m Ashley Vance, Director of Talent Operations at Crawford Media. Leo is the hardest-working man I’ve ever met. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he still chooses to compete with us regular folks. I have nothing but respect for him.” The crowd laughed, her words cementing Leo’s image as the privileged heir. Ashley paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him. “And he’s also the smartest man I know. I’m confident that Sterling has made the wisest choice, and I look forward to seeing the incredible opportunities this partnership will bring him.” Smart, handsome, hardworking. She had used the same words to describe me when she first confessed her feelings. But yesterday, in my office, she had called me a cold, unfeeling man. People around me started whispering. “What’s the relationship between Crawford Media and Sunshine? Is it a subsidiary?” “Could be. Why else would they send their top star to endorse him?” “With Sterling’s backing and a top streamer’s support, this guy’s set.” A few representatives from Sterling’s marketing department were in attendance. A serious-looking, middle-aged man in a sharp suit walked onto the stage. He sat down at the signing table and quickly flipped through the contract. Just as he was about to put pen to paper, I stood up. “If you’ll just wait a moment.” Every head in the room turned to me. The Sterling representative looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a look of surprise on his face. “Mr. Crawford?” he asked politely. “Is there a problem?” Ashley whipped her head around. When she saw me, the color drained from her face.

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After years of dating, we finally bought a house together. That weekend, we were supposed to have a housewarming party. I went over early to decorate and cook. When I opened the door, I found a girl in cartoon pajamas curled up barefoot on our sofa, hugging my pillow and scrolling through her phone. She glanced up at me and pointed casually toward the kitchen. “Are you the caterer? The dining room is that way. And Jake likes his food on the bland side, so go easy on the salt.” My boyfriend, Jake, walked in right behind me. The girl leaped up and ran to him, and he playfully flicked her on the forehead. “Troublemaker. Ordering people around again?” He turned to me with a smile. “This is Chloe, our neighbor’s daughter. We grew up together. She’s like a little sister to me.” At dinner, I ladled some mushroom and clam chowder into his bowl. Chloe immediately snatched it away and took a big gulp. “Mm, not bad. But Jake, you’re allergic to shellfish. I’ll take care of these clams for you!” She slurped down the soup, then used her own chopsticks to pile his plate high with food. Later, the conversation turned to home decor. She draped herself over his mom’s arm, pouting. “Auntie, you promised you’d save a room for my art studio! Now it’s full of someone else’s stuff.” Jake’s mom just chuckled and patted her head. “Silly girl, you’re the one who decided to go study abroad.” I looked around at the home I had so carefully decorated, a home this girl seemed to know better than I did, and I put down my fork. “It seems this family already has a designated lady of the house.” “Jake,” I said, my voice steady, “why don’t you just marry her instead?” Then, to the stunned silence of the entire table, I stood up and walked out. 1 I had gotten up at the crack of dawn, my arms loaded with groceries for the party. There were curtains to hang, floors to mop, and his favorite dishes to prepare—the ones that took hours. When I walked in, she was there, barefoot on the sofa in her pajamas, clutching my Hello Kitty pillow. She barely looked up. “Oh, you’re the help? Just leave the food in the dining room. And Jake doesn’t like a lot of salt.” I was still processing when Jake walked in, carrying a bag of fruit. The girl shot up like a rocket. “Jakey!” she squealed, running circles around him. “Where’s my present?” He just smiled, pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket, and handed it to her. So that’s who the necklace he’d stood in line for an hour to buy was for. He finally glanced at me, then flicked her forehead. “Troublemaker. Bossing people around again? This is my girlfriend, Sarah.” Then, to me, “This is Chloe. Our families have known each other forever. She’s like a sister.” Chloe was admiring her new necklace, preening. She shot me a dismissive look. “So, Jakey, is your girlfriend’s cooking any good? You know how picky I am.” Jake just ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry, Sarah’s an amazing cook. You’ll see.” Something about the exchange made my stomach churn. Jake must have noticed my expression because he leaned in and took my hand. “Hey, it’s just how we are. Our families are really close. It’s a tradition. They’ve helped us out a lot over the years.” I let it go. For now. Chloe, beaming, turned on the TV. “Great! My mom’s bringing over dumplings later. Your favorite, Jakey!” That’s when I found out that Chloe’s family had just moved into the new villa next door. A fact Jake had conveniently forgotten to mention when we were buying the place. But the house was full of people and laughter, so I swallowed my questions. At dinner, I served Jake a bowl of his favorite clam chowder. I’d simmered it for two hours. Just as he picked up his spoon, Chloe’s hand shot out and grabbed the bowl. “Not bad,” she said after a large mouthful. “But Jakey, did you forget you’re allergic to shellfish? Your girlfriend isn’t very attentive, is she?” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of these for you.” She finished the soup in a few gulps and then, using her own chopsticks, piled his plate high with food. “Eat this, and this! I know exactly what you like.” I froze, my own fork hovering mid-air. I knew my own boyfriend’s allergies. We had traveled together countless times. He always said my cooking was the best, that I knew him better than he knew himself. I waited for Jake to say something, to correct her. But he just took the plate she offered him and gave me a helpless look. “She’s always been like this. A born worrier. Don’t mind her, Sarah.” A lump formed in my throat. Later, Chloe was complaining to Jake’s mom about the decor. “Auntie! You promised me a room for an art studio, but now it’s filled with someone else’s things! My ‘Starry Night’ replica would look perfect in here!” His mom just laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to go abroad, silly. But you’re right, it would look lovely in the living room.” Everyone at the table agreed. Chloe then proceeded to critique my choice of dinnerware (“not practical”) and the fresh flowers I’d arranged (“the colors are all wrong”). I slowly put down my silverware. The clink of the spoon against the bowl seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Jake nudged my knee under the table. “What’s wrong, Sarah?” Before I could answer, Chloe was dangling a piece of shrimp in front of his face. “Open up, Jakey! This is so sweet!” That was it. I stood up so abruptly my chair scraped against the floor. “It seems this family already has a designated lady of the house,” I said, my voice shaking. “Jake, why don’t you just marry her instead?” He caught up with me on the lawn, grabbing my arm. “Sarah, don’t make a scene.” I shook him off, my eyes burning. His mother followed us out. “Jake, apologize to Sarah right now!” He took a deep breath. “Chloe doesn’t have any boundaries. I’m sorry on her behalf. But we’ve been together for so long. Are you really going to throw it all away over an outsider?” His voice softened, a note of panic creeping in. “We’re supposed to see your dad next week. Don’t you want me to come with you anymore?” That hit me where it hurt. After my mom died, my dad’s only wish was to see me settled and happy. He was an old man with a bad leg, and all he wanted was for his daughter to have a loving husband and, one day, a grandchild. I bit my lip, silent. His father came out and pressed an envelope into my hand. “Sarah, we’re sorry you were upset. Jake, you have that get-together with your friends tomorrow, right? Take Sarah with you. Have some fun.” “Of course,” Jake said, pulling me close. That night, he was desperate, clinging to me, whispering apologies over and over. We made love in every room of the three-story house, but the thorn in my heart only dug deeper. The next day, I dressed up for the party. All of Jake’s friends had brought their girlfriends. Except for Chloe, who was there alone. When they saw me, their eyes darted between the two of us. “Jakey! You’re finally here!” Chloe cried, ignoring me completely and pulling him down to sit next to her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Jake?” one of his friends asked. Jake just laughed and put his arm around me. “This is Sarah, my girlfriend.” There was a collective, knowing “Ohhh.” Someone muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “She’s definitely not Chloe’s type. Too… wholesome.” Jake just playfully punched the guy. “Shut up, man.” We started playing a drinking game, “Never Have I Ever.” After a few rounds, Chloe was flushed and giggling. It was Jake’s turn. “Never have I ever,” he said, thinking, “gone to a girl’s house at 2 AM.” A few of the guys cheered and took a drink. Chloe’s eyes lit up. “You’re so bad, Jakey! That was just to fix my computer!” Jake just smiled, not denying it. Another round. It was Chloe’s turn. She looked at me, a sly glint in her eye. “Never have I ever… slept with Jakey.” The table went silent. My hand froze. “Chloe!” Jake snapped. “What? It’s true!” she said innocently. “When you used to take naps at my house as a kid, you always slept next to me.” He was speechless. He shot me an awkward glance but said nothing. The game continued. Jake was drunk now, leaning back on the sofa, his eyes glazed over. It was Chloe’s turn again. She looked at him, her voice a soft, sweet whisper. “My first kiss… I gave it to Jakey when I was sixteen. Under the big oak tree in our neighborhood.” She paused, looking around the silent room, her eyes finally landing on my pale face. “He said… he said he would marry me when I grew up.” The words were like a bucket of ice water. The room was deathly quiet. I shot to my feet, staring at Jake. “Is what she said true?” The man who had been whispering words of love to me just last night looked from Chloe to me, a dopey, drunken grin on his face. “What’s true? Of course, Chloe was my first love. Cutest girl, softest lips…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “What are you saying?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “So you still want to marry her?” My tone seemed to sober him up a little. He reached for my hand. “Sarah, don’t… don’t be mad. It was just kid stuff…” But before he could finish, his 6’2” frame slumped onto Chloe’s shoulder. “Chloe has always been the one for him,” a girl with short hair said suddenly. “When she found out about you two, she cried so hard she passed out. Jake drove three hours in the middle of the night just to comfort her.” “Yeah,” another guy added, “we all saw them kiss under that tree. We used to tease them about it all the time.” Chloe’s eyes filled with tears, as if the memories were too much to bear. “Stop it, you guys. It was all in the past. It doesn’t mean anything. Sarah, don’t be upset…” “She’s a nobody from the middle of nowhere,” a guy in a suit sneered. “She’s lucky to be with Jake at all. If you want to be with him, you need to learn to let things go.” Chloe was still crying. “Don’t be sad, Chloe,” another girl said. “Didn’t Jake say that if you were still single at thirty, he’d marry you?” My head was pounding. Jake lifted his head, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah… marry Chloe…” Then he collapsed back into her arms. That was the final blow. I grabbed my purse and walked out. Behind me, I heard them muttering. “What a buzzkill.” “Outsiders just don’t get it.” “Don’t cry, Chloe. You know he only loves you.” The moment I got home, the sandalwood bracelet Jake had given me, the one he’d waited two hours in line at a temple to have blessed, snapped. The beads scattered across the floor, like the shattered pieces of my heart. I remembered my dad saying, “The Scotts are not good enough for you.” But he’d relented when he saw the bracelet. My dad, a tough old man with a soft spot for his daughter, had even secretly helped Jake’s fledgling business, pulling strings to help his “future son-in-law.” And now, this. In the picture on the wall, Jake was looking at me with so much love. Would he even remember what he’d done tonight? He didn’t come home. The next day, he burst through the door, his face a mask of fury. Chloe was trailing behind him, her eyes swollen from crying. He slammed his phone down in front of me. On the screen was a viral video: “The Truth About the ‘Girl Next Door’! Live from the Party!” It was all there. Chloe’s sweet confession about her first kiss, Jake’s drunken admission that he would marry her. The comments were brutal. [OMG! Not the girl next door, the homewrecker next door!] [Is the girlfriend blind? Why is she still with him?] [The guy’s a total scumbag!] [Give this Chloe an Oscar for her performance!] [Run, girl! Let these two losers have each other!] “Sarah! Are you happy now? Are you happy now that you’ve ruined her?” Jake roared, his eyes red. “She’s so scared she can’t even leave the house!” Chloe was sobbing. “Jakey… I’m so scared…” I looked at him. The same face, but a complete stranger. My heart, which had been slowly breaking, finally shattered. “So,” I said, my voice quiet, “you’re here to defend her. Without even asking me if I had anything to do with it?” “Shouldn’t I?” he yelled, pulling her behind him. “She’s just a kid! Why are you being so vicious?” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. “Jake,” I said softly, “we’re done.” “Done?” He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Sarah, who are you going to find besides me? With your dad’s situation…” Chloe, ever the victim, started crying again. “It’s all my fault, Sarah. Don’t blame Jakey…” I couldn’t take another second of her crocodile tears. I lunged forward and slapped her, hard. CRACK! She shrieked. Jake shoved me, and I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the shoe cabinet. A sharp pain shot through my back, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The doorbell rang, and his friends poured in, immediately surrounding me. “Chloe, are you okay?” “Man, your girlfriend has a temper!” “First, she trashes Chloe online, now she’s hitting her!” “Who does this country girl think she is?” Chloe hid in Jake’s arms, her sobs even more pathetic. But she still managed to tug on his sleeve and “defend” me. “It’s not Sarah’s fault. She just hates me. Let’s just drop it.” The other girls were all in my face. “You’re a horrible person!” “How could you bully someone as sweet as Chloe!” Jake looked exhausted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sarah, you were in the wrong here,” he said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Just apologize to Chloe.” I looked at the mob in my house, all of them looking at me with such contempt. It was laughable. In the chaos, someone shoved me, and the necklace I was wearing, the one my mother had left me, snapped. The locket, with a picture of my family inside, fell to the floor. CRUNCH. Chloe’s high heel came down right on top of it. The sound of shattering glass was sharp and final. The room went silent. I stared at the locket, at the picture of my mother’s smiling face, now crushed under Chloe’s shoe. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Chloe cried, stumbling back. I fell to my knees, my fingers trembling as I tried to piece the photo back together. But it was impossible. “Mom… Mom, I’m so sorry… I didn’t protect you…” The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “Sarah…” Jake said, his voice softer now. He seemed to finally remember how much the necklace meant to me. He pushed Chloe aside and knelt to hold me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, shoving him away. I scrambled to my feet, my heart feeling like it was about to explode. I stared at him, at his friends, and all the pain, the anger, the betrayal, it all came pouring out. I raised my hand, and with all the strength I had left, I slapped him. CRACK! He was stunned. I didn’t wait for his reaction. I pulled out my phone and made a call, my eyes locked on his shocked face. “Dad,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “Pull every single dollar of our investment from the Scott family and from Jake’s company. Now.”

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My husband and I had been trying for a baby for years, with no luck. One day, he brought home his mistress’s illegitimate child, telling me he was an orphan we were adopting. The next day, he and his mistress faked their own deaths to start a new life together. Right after they left, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I quietly had my husband and his mistress declared legally dead and returned their son to an orphanage. Years later, my own child was grown, a brilliant student accepted to an Ivy League university. That’s when my “dead” husband and his mistress reappeared, demanding their son back. “He’s our biological child!” they cried. “We’re his real parents!” 1 I had just joined a new mom’s group online when I saw a strange post: “Ladies, I’m the other woman. I had a baby with my married boyfriend, and now I don’t want to raise it. What should I do?” One of the other moms replied: “If the wife is barren, have your man pretend the baby is from an orphanage and bring it home for her to raise.” “You and your man can go live your best life for a few years. When the kid is older, have him go back and divorce the wife.” “Boom. You’re a winner.” I frowned, disturbed by the casual cruelty. That night, my husband, Mark, came home from work. I was about to tell him I was pregnant, but he spoke first. “Honey,” he said, “we’ve been married for so long without a child. What if we adopted one from an orphanage?” My heart skipped a beat. The conversation from the mom’s group flashed in my mind. I swallowed the words I was about to say and decided to test him. “Mark, what if we just keep trying? I went to the doctor today, and she said everything looks fine, that I can definitely still get pregnant…” “No!” he cut me off, his voice sharp with impatience. “We’ve been trying for years. What makes you think it’s suddenly going to happen now?” “Besides,” he added, his voice rising, “my mom is getting older. She’s been dying for a grandchild. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” When I didn’t answer, he slammed his chopsticks down on the table. “Don’t you dare give me the silent treatment! If you weren’t so barren, I wouldn’t have to resort to adoption!” “Every time I’m with my friends, they’re all dads. I’m the only one who’s not. It’s humiliating.” “I have a business trip with a client in a few days. We need to get this adoption sorted out before then.” I inwardly scoffed. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have actually believed him. Seeing his desperation, I knew the truth. Before he could say another word, I nodded. “Okay. Whatever you think is best.” His expression softened immediately. “Good. I knew you’d understand. I’ll go pick up the baby tomorrow.” 2 Mark, who usually took five-minute showers, spent over an hour in the bathroom that night. He didn’t come out until I was already in bed. After he fell asleep, I opened the mom’s group again. The “other woman” had posted an update. “Ladies, my man just talked to the old hag at home. Once the baby is with her, we’re faking our deaths and moving to Europe to live our best life. In a few years, when the kid is older, we’ll come back and reap the benefits. LOL!” She even posted a screenshot of their texts. The profile picture, though partially cropped, was unmistakably Mark’s. The other women in the group were all praising her cleverness. I couldn’t resist. Using a burner account, I replied to her post. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” She replied almost instantly. “Caught? That old hag should be grateful. Her womb is a desert. I’m giving her a child to raise. It’s a win-win. I get my freedom, and my son gets a free nanny.” Her shamelessness was breathtaking. I closed the app, my blood boiling. Mark was snoring peacefully beside me, oblivious. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I kicked him, hard, right out of the bed. He woke up with a yelp, dazed and confused. I pretended to be woken up by the noise, rubbing my eyes. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you sleepwalking again?” He grumbled, rubbing the spot where I’d kicked him, and climbed back into bed. He was snoring again in seconds. I placed a hand on my stomach and silently clenched my other fist. You brought this child to me. Getting him back won’t be so easy. The next day, Mark brought the baby home. My mother-in-law, who was visiting, looked concerned. “Mark, you and Chloe are still young. Are you sure you want to rush into adoption?” “I’m too busy with work, Mom,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I have to go abroad for a while in a few days. And you’ve always wanted a grandchild. Look how cute he is.” He handed the baby to her. I glanced at the child. He was only a few months old, but I could already see the resemblance to Mark. My mother-in-law looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. I just smiled, as if to say, it’s okay. That night, the mistress was back in the group, bragging. “The baby is with the old hag! We’re off to Europe!” She posted pictures of two plane tickets. Soon after, Mark’s suitcase was packed. “Mom, the company is sending me overseas for a while. Chloe, take care of the house, and the baby.” He gave me a rare hug before he left, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll be back, honey.” I waved goodbye, feigning sadness. When I went back to our room, I noticed he had taken the debit card from my nightstand. It was our joint savings account, with the thirty thousand dollars I had painstakingly saved over the years. I wanted to scream, but I held it in. I pulled a hidden safe out from under the bed. Inside were several gold bars and a few credit cards in my name only. My secret stash. Three hundred thousand dollars, saved over a decade of marriage. Never trust a man. A woman needs her own money. After Mark left, life went on. The mistress’s last post was at the end of the month. A picture of two silhouettes kissing against a sunset. The location tag was in Italy. 3 I pretended I knew nothing. I took care of the baby and my mother-in-law. Two days later, I came home with the results of my pregnancy test. My mother-in-law was overjoyed and immediately tried to call Mark. But he didn’t answer. She called his office, only to be told he had quit a month ago. Mark was gone. My mother-in-law was starting to panic. Just as she was about to call the police, I showed her the two pictures the mistress had posted: the plane tickets and the sunset kiss. “Mom, what are we going to do?” I sobbed. “I think Mark has been lying to us. Do you think… do you think he’s having an affair? He took all our money and left us with this baby!” My mother-in-law’s face turned to stone. “That bastard!” I pretended to faint from the shock. When I woke up, she was sitting by my bed, her face etched with concern. “Chloe,” she sighed, “Mark has wronged you. It’s my fault. I didn’t raise him right.” She pulled a bank card from her pocket and pressed it into my hand. “This is my life savings. I want you to have it.” “Mom, I can’t take this.” “You’re pregnant,” she insisted. “You’ll need it. Take it as my apology for my worthless son.” I reluctantly accepted. Then, placing a hand on my belly, I said, “Mom, we already have one child to raise. Maybe… maybe I should get an abortion. With our financial situation…” “No!” she cut me off. “That’s my grandchild! My only blood relative! You can’t!” “As for the other one,” she said, her voice hardening, “Mark was the one who insisted on adopting him. If he’s not going to take responsibility, why should we? We’ll take him back to the orphanage tomorrow.” I was secretly thrilled, but I just nodded obediently. “Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.” 4 The next day, I took Mark’s son to the local orphanage. I told them his parents had died in a tragic accident. Just as I was leaving, a kind-looking middle-aged couple arrived, looking to adopt. They were immediately drawn to Mark’s son. “His parents just passed away,” the director told them. “It seems like fate that you’re here today.” I watched them for a moment, then walked over and gave them my contact information. When I got home, I sat down with my mother-in-law to plan our future. When I married Mark, he had wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, so I had quit my stable government job. Now, with him gone, our only source of income was gone, too. I had my savings, but they wouldn’t last forever. “Mom,” I said, “I want to start my own business.” She immediately took off the heavy gold bracelet she always wore. “You’ll need capital. Take this. You can sell it if you need to.” I gently put the bracelet back on her wrist. “I can’t, Mom. Dad gave that to you. It’s too precious.” “Mark may be a scumbag,” I told her, “but you’ve been nothing but good to me. I won’t abandon you.” She burst into tears and hugged me. I had my own selfish reasons, of course. A single mother, trying to work and raise a child alone, would have a much harder time without support. With my mother-in-law’s help, I could focus on building a future for my child. My small business started to grow. My belly grew, too. The day I opened my first franchise location, my son was born. I held him in my arms and laughed at Mark’s stupidity. He had a good life, and he threw it all away. By the time my son was four, he started to notice the absence of a father. I decided not to lie to him. I told him the truth. It was harsh, but better than a lifetime of lies. Three years later, my son was enrolled in the best private school in the city. My company went public. I was named one of the top female entrepreneurs of the year. We moved into a large house and hired help. My mother-in-law spent her days at yoga classes and beauty salons, picking up her grandson from school in the afternoons. We had completely forgotten about Mark. But some people just can’t stay dead. After years of silence, the old mom’s group was suddenly active again. The mistress, still posting from an overseas location, wrote: “Ladies, after all these years in Europe, my health is failing. I had to have a hysterectomy last year. My man and I miss our son so much. Is there any way for us to be a family again?”

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The buzzing started the second I sank into the hot water of the bathtub. My head snapped around. A drone. It was hovering brazenly right outside my bathroom window. Blood rushed to my head. My first instinct was to jump up and yank the curtains shut, but what if it was recording? I curled myself into the tightest ball possible in the far corner of the tub, grabbed the long-handled back brush from the ledge, and swiped frantically at the cord, managing to pull the blinds closed. I scrambled out, threw on a robe, and rushed to the window. The thing was still there. I ripped the blinds open and held up my phone, hitting record. As if it had been caught, the drone zipped away and vanished into the night. Clutching my phone, I immediately uploaded the video to our condo building’s private Facebook group. “Whose drone is this?! Flying outside my bathroom window at night. Have some decency!” My post was a bombshell. “Isn’t that the same one that was hovering outside my window a few days ago?” “That’s it! I was just about to get undressed and it freaked me out so much I just put my jacket back on!” “This is harassment, right? Who knows if we’re being secretly filmed!” I tagged the building management. “Shouldn’t you be investigating this? It’s happened to more than one resident!” Management replied quickly: “Rest assured, residents, we will look into this immediately.” I thought that would be the end of it. I never imagined the drone would come back, with a vengeance, and this time, just for me. 1. The building management’s investigation went nowhere. They claimed there were too many blind spots in the security camera coverage to find the operator. Judging by the silence in the Facebook group, none of my neighbors were being bothered anymore. It was my personal stalker now. I live on the 16th floor. The view is great, which also means I’m completely exposed. Day one, it hovered outside my living room window, its camera aimed straight at me. I drew the curtains. Day two, it was outside my bedroom window. At midnight. I installed heavy blackout curtains that plunged the room into total darkness. Day three, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. I turned my head and there it was. A cold, electronic eye, separated from me by a single pane of glass. I felt like an animal in a glass cage, being watched at will by an invisible owner. I called the cops. An officer came, took my statement, and then said, “Ma’am, without any actual damages or proof of it capturing you in a private moment, it’s tough to press charges. We recommend you take extra security precautions.” Extra precautions? I kept all my blinds and curtains drawn, living in a perpetual state of twilight. I was starting to feel like a mushroom. That night, I was watching a movie with the volume turned way up. Suddenly, a deafening whine drowned out the sound. The drone’s propellers. It was practically plastered to my window. I stormed over and ripped open the curtains. A tiny, powerful spotlight had been attached to the drone. A beam of stark white light shot through the darkness, directly into my eyes. I staggered back, eyes stinging, tears streaming down my face. It was taunting me. A switch flipped in my brain. I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, slid open the window, and hurled it with all my might. The drone dodged it with a nimble dip. It seemed to gloat, wobbling in the air for a second before flying off. I watched it disappear. It went up. I live on the 16th floor. There are still a dozen or so floors above me. I shut the window and sat in the dark, listening to the furious drumming of my own heart. This wasn’t over. 2. The next day, I took a half-day off work. I went to a specialty electronics store. “Hey, you got any of those high-powered laser pointers?” I asked the guy at the counter. He pulled a long, thin box from under the counter. “This one’s got a three-mile range. You can see the beam at night. Don’t ever point it at anyone’s eyes. It’ll blind them.” “I’ll take it.” That evening, I sat on my couch in the dark, waiting. I’d left a small crack in the curtains. Sure enough, at 9 p.m., the familiar buzz returned. It circled at a distance first, as if checking to see if the coast was clear, before slowly approaching my window. The spotlight flickered on. Showtime. I raised the laser pointer, aimed through the crack in the curtains, and zeroed in on that glowing camera lens. I pressed the button. A beam of brilliant green light shot out and hit the drone’s camera dead-on. The drone jolted violently, as if it had been electrocuted. The spotlight died instantly. It thrashed around in the air for a few seconds before fleeing in a panic. A wave of pure satisfaction washed over me as I watched it retreat. I had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks. The next morning, I walked out of my apartment, feeling refreshed and ready for work, and was hit by a wall of stench. A huge splash of dark red, viscous liquid was dripping down my front door. It looked like rancid animal blood. The keyhole of my deadbolt was jammed solid with superglue. My key wouldn’t go in. The door was un-lockable from the outside. I just stood there, my stomach churning. 3. I didn’t clean up the mess. I didn’t touch the lock. I just called building management, my voice eerily calm. “Someone vandalized my door with some kind of filth and glued my lock shut. I need you to send someone to deal with it. And I need you to pull the hallway security footage.” The property manager came up himself, his face pale as he took in the scene. “Ms. Miller, this is… this is appalling! We’ll get on the security footage right away!” I nodded, went downstairs, bought a new deadbolt from the hardware store, and called a locksmith to come and drill out the old one. My phone was quiet all afternoon. Just before the end of the workday, the manager called back, his tone strained. “Ms. Miller, we reviewed the footage, but… the person was wearing a hoodie and a face mask. We can’t see their face.” “Which floor did they come from?” I asked. “…Floor 17.” I hung up. The 17th floor. A package I’d ordered arrived. A smart video doorbell, with motion detection and cloud storage. I installed it myself in under thirty minutes. After I was done, I ordered some Thai food and sat on the couch, eating while watching the live feed from my front door on a spare phone. They would be back. I waited for two nights. Nothing happened. The drone didn’t show up either. It was like they’d given up. On the third night, I was reading a book when my phone buzzed. A push notification from the doorbell app. “Motion has been detected at your front door.” I immediately opened the live view. A figure in a black hoodie was creeping toward my door, a small bucket in his hand. Just as I’d expected. He walked right up to my door, started to unscrew the lid of the bucket, and raised it to throw. I pressed the two-way talk button on the app. “Don’t move.” My voice, broadcast from the tiny speaker on the doorbell, wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the silent hallway. The figure froze, sloshing some of the liquid out of the bucket. He looked up in terror at the little doorbell camera. “I’ve got you on video,” I continued, my voice steady. “Turn around, take the stairs, and walk away now, and I can pretend this never happened.” He stood there, hesitating, clearly trying to decide what to do. “You have three seconds. Three… two…” Before I could even say “one,” he dropped the bucket and bolted for the stairwell. I watched him vanish from the frame and saved the video clip. In that one moment he’d looked up, his mask had slipped just enough to reveal the lower half of his face. It was a young face, twisted with malice. 4. I didn’t post the video to the Facebook group. That would only make them more careful next time. I needed a knockout punch. The next day, my internet slowed to a crawl. Videos buffered endlessly, and web pages took forever to load. I called my service provider, and they ran a diagnostic, telling me the line was fine, but that I had an unusual amount of traffic and several unknown devices connected to my network. I logged into my router’s admin panel. Sure enough, the list of connected devices was full of MAC addresses I didn’t recognize. One device name stood out: “LK-Drone-Controller.” LK? It hit me like a ton of bricks. There was only one family on the 17th floor. Apartment 1701. The last time I was in the management office, I had glanced at the resident directory. The owner: Daniel Kirk. His son: Leo Kirk. LK. They had been piggybacking off my Wi-Fi the entire time. Using my own internet to control the drone that was spying on me. No wonder they always knew exactly when I was home. A hot rage burned in my chest. I didn’t change the password. Not yet. I opened my laptop and started Googling. “How to track devices on my Wi-Fi.” “Locate IP address.” “Digital forensics.” It took me a full day, but I figured it out. Using some specialized software, I could capture the data packets being sent by any device on my network. The data was encrypted, but I could see which servers it was communicating with. “LK-Drone-Controller” was constantly pinging a cloud server belonging to a major drone manufacturer. I even found the server’s IP address. I took screenshots of everything—the device name, its MAC address, the server logs—and saved it all. Only after I had my evidence did I go back into my router settings, blacklist “LK-Drone-Controller,” and change my Wi-Fi password. The next morning, I had just gotten out of bed when someone started pounding on my door. I checked the video doorbell feed. It was a middle-aged woman, her face distorted with fury. Leo Kirk’s mom, from 1701. “Open this door! Open up right now! You little psycho, what did you do to our internet?” she shrieked, hammering on the door with her fist. I hit the talk button. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play dumb with me! My son said it was you! It was working fine yesterday, and now we can’t get online! What is wrong with you?!” She’d just admitted it. I let a small smile touch my lips. “Oh? And how exactly were you getting online, ma’am?” The woman outside my door went silent. “You… what are you talking about! We have our own internet plan!” “Is that right? Well, that’s funny. I was checking my router yesterday and noticed an unauthorized device has been stealing my Wi-Fi for weeks. The device is named ‘LK-Drone-Controller.’ I’ve already filed a police report and gave them the device’s MAC address and all the server data as evidence. They’re going to find out who owns it and what they’ve been doing. Did you know that piggybacking on a secured network is a federal crime?” I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door. Then, dead silence. A few seconds later, she exploded like a cornered animal. “You’re lying! You bitch, you’re trying to frame my son!” She started kicking the door, screaming every curse word in the book. I didn’t engage further. I muted the microphone, walked calmly to my kitchen, and started making a pot of coffee. Listening to her impotent rage outside my door, I took a sip. For the first time in a long time, my coffee tasted amazing. 5. Leo’s mom raged for another ten minutes before the neighbors and building security finally persuaded her to leave. The world was quiet again. That evening, my power went out. It wasn’t a tripped breaker; my neighbors’ lights were all on. It was just my unit, plunged into darkness. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and checked the circuit breaker box. All the switches were in the ‘on’ position. I called building maintenance. “Ms. Miller, please hold on, we’ll send an electrician up right away.” As I waited, a deep sense of unease settled over me. With the power out, my video doorbell was offline. I was blind to what was happening outside my door. I dragged a heavy armchair and wedged it under the doorknob. Then I heard it. A faint footstep. It stopped right in front of my door. It was followed by a soft, metallic scraping sound. Someone was picking my lock. Every hair on my body stood on end. I held my breath, tiptoed to the door, and pressed my ear against the cold metal. Whoever was out there wasn’t very good at it. They fumbled for a while before I heard a muffled curse. They seemed to give up. Then came a different sound. A soft squelching. They were squirting something into the lock. Glue. They were trying to seal me in. What if there’s a fire? The thought terrified me. I crept to the kitchen and pulled the longest, sharpest chef’s knife from the block. Just then, my phone rang. It was the building electrician. “Ms. Miller? I’m on your floor, but someone’s put a padlock on the utility closet in the hall. I can’t get to the main power box for your unit. Let me go see if I can find a key.” My blood ran cold. They’d locked the utility closet, too. Almost simultaneously, I heard the person outside my door react to the sound of my phone ringing. The footsteps started again, frantic this time, running toward the stairwell. I rushed to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I wrenched the door open. The sharp, chemical smell of superglue filled the air. The lock was completely sealed. Down the hall, the door to the utility closet had a heavy-duty U-lock clamped through the handles. They were trying to bury me alive in my own apartment. I stumbled back inside, my back against the door, my heart pounding against my ribs. My phone screen lit up. A text from an unknown number. “Like my gift? This is just the beginning.”

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The day my parents agreed to a “separation in place,” they made only one rule. Dad was in charge of my brother, Leo. Mom was in charge of me. From that day on, my dad treated my brother like a prince, showering him with time and money. For me, he had only one cold, dismissive sentence: “Go ask your mother.” But my mom was just as bad, fussing over the new fall wardrobe Leo needed. “Leo’s still so young,” she’d say. “Even though your father and I are separated, Leo is still my baby.” When I started my freshman year of college, I asked for my first monthly allowance and got a transfer for two hundred dollars. “Money’s really tight right now, sweetie,” she texted. “Try to make this work. If you’re really in a bind, I’ll see what I can do.” Forget three square meals a day; I had to skip my afternoon classes to work shifts as a waitress just to make rent. I had just turned down an invitation from my roommates to go out, and was sitting alone in my dorm, eating a cup of instant ramen. That’s when I saw the new set of car keys on my brother’s Instagram story. The caption read: “17 years old, scored a $40k ride, all cash. Half from Dad, half from Mom, and two kisses from me.” I stared at the picture they took at the dealership. A happy family of three. My brother, who didn’t even have a driver’s license yet, had a brand-new car. And me, on my birthday, I got an $88 Venmo transfer from my mom. The memo read: “Happy birthday, sweetie!” 1 That picture of their perfect little family felt like a knife in my gut. In the photo, my dad had his arm around my mom’s shoulders, while she held affectionately onto my brother’s arm. The three of them were beaming, standing in front of a brand-new, forty-thousand-dollar black SUV that served as a giant, gleaming monument to their hypocrisy. And then there was me. The so-called other member of this family. Sitting alone on a cold plastic chair in my college dorm, soaking a dry ramen noodle block in free hot water from the communal kitchen, trying to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. On my phone screen, that glaring “$88.00” transfer felt as nauseating as the hunger pains in my stomach. Rage, potent as gasoline, ignited in my chest. I didn’t text them. I didn’t cry. I calmly put down my cup of noodles, changed into the nicest outfit I owned, and called an Uber straight to the upscale steakhouse my brother had tagged in his post. The moment I pushed open the door to the private dining room, all the laughter and chatter died. Grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles… all my relatives were there. They were all sitting around a massive round table, fawning over my underage brother, praising his future “brilliant career.” My dad’s face fell instantly. My mom’s smile froze, her eyes wide with shock and panic. I ignored everyone else, walked straight to my mother, and held my phone up for her to see. The screen showed two screenshots, side by side. One was my brother’s Instagram story with the $40,000 luxury car. The other was the $88 birthday payment she had sent me. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear, laced with an icy sort of amusement that cut through the silence. “Mom, is this what ‘money’s tight’ looks like?” “Is this what you mean when you’re always saying, ‘You and your brother are the same, you’re both my children’?” The room went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. My mother’s face went from flushed to pale, her lips trembling. She couldn’t get a single word out. My dad slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Chloe! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he roared. “It’s a happy day for your brother. Do you have to come here and ruin everything? Are you really going to throw a tantrum and embarrass us all over a couple of hundred bucks?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that almost brought tears to my eyes. “You’re right, Dad. In your world, a forty-thousand-dollar car for Leo is no big deal, and me having enough money to eat is even less of one.” I scanned the faces of my relatives around the table, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort. I continued, my voice slow and deliberate. “But Dad, you seem to have forgotten our agreement. You said you’d take care of Leo, and Mom would take care of me. Mom paid for half of Leo’s car. Isn’t that crossing a line?” “And Mom, you forgot too. You told me two hundred dollars a month was a struggle, that you couldn’t spare another dime. So where did the twenty thousand dollars for Leo’s car come from?” “How can the two of you stand there and bald-faced lie to your own daughter, together?!” By the end, I was practically shouting. My hands were shaking. My heart felt like it was bleeding. I thought our struggle was my mom’s struggle. I thought I was being a good daughter, helping her through a hard time. To save a few bucks on bus fare every day, I would walk forty minutes under the blazing summer sun to my waitressing job. When my roommates talked about the latest movies or trendy new coffee shops, I’d just smile and say I wasn’t interested. A single dinner out with them cost what I had budgeted for a full week of groceries. I’m an education major. The number of textbooks and materials I need to buy is insane. I never dared to ask for more money, so I’d spend hours in the library hoping the books I needed were available, or I’d swallow my pride and ask to borrow my classmates’ to photocopy the pages. I thought I was being considerate of a single mother’s hardship. And what was the reality? It wasn’t a mother’s struggle. It was a carefully constructed lie. She had money. She had twenty thousand dollars. She would just rather spend it on a son who can’t even legally drive than make sure her daughter wasn’t starving. Tears finally streamed down my mom’s face. She grabbed my hand, sobbing. “Chloe, honey, let me explain… It’s not like that… Your brother, he…” “He what?” I pulled my hand away, stepping closer. “He can’t drive because he’s a minor, or he can’t live without this car?” “You’d rather let a forty-thousand-dollar hunk of metal collect dust in the garage than let your actual, living daughter have a normal college experience.” “What are your hearts even made of?” My dad’s anger hit its peak. “That’s enough! Get the hell out of here!” “Leave?” I scoffed. “Fine. I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” I took a deep breath, held up my phone, and aimed it at the whole table of relatives, hitting the record button. “Today is my birthday. My mom gave me eighty-eight dollars. My brother got a forty-thousand-dollar car, paid for by both my parents. This is what ‘fairness’ looks like in our family.” “I just want to ask everyone here, have you ever seen fairness like this?” 2 I slammed the door on my way out, clutching the video that would bring my parents’ carefully curated image crashing down. That night, I didn’t block anyone. I did something much worse. I posted the video from the restaurant, along with the screenshots of my brother’s Instagram story and my $88 Venmo payment, directly to the family group chat. I also put it on my own Instagram feed. The caption was carefully crafted. “Nineteen years old, celebrating with ramen and tearfully congratulating my seventeen-year-old brother on his new car. A huge thank you to my parents for their ‘even-handed’ love. Wishing your perfect family of three a lifetime of happiness.” Finally, I made a public declaration: effective immediately, I would be working to pay for my own tuition and living expenses for the next four years. I would keep a detailed ledger and, within five years of graduation, I would pay back every single dollar my mother had spent on my “sole support,” with interest. After that, we would owe each other nothing. It was like dropping a bomb. The family group chat exploded, my phone buzzing nonstop with notifications. My relatives started calling, one after another. I ignored them all. My phone grew hot in my hand. The comment section on my Instagram post was a spectacle. Shock from my classmates, concern from my friends, and morbid curiosity from people I barely knew. I didn’t care. I wanted this out in the open. I wanted everyone to see the favoritism and hypocrisy hiding behind my parents’ masks of loving providers. Giving up the chance to live a comfortable life with my dad was a choice I made when I was too young to know better. The day my parents announced their “separation in place,” I saw the despair in my mom’s eyes. My dad’s business was booming back then; he was confident and successful, while my mom was a stay-at-home-mom with no career. Everyone assumed that life with Dad meant security, and life with Mom meant struggle. My brother was just a little kid, his eyes glued to the new video game console in my dad’s hands. In that moment, I felt like I had to be the responsible older sister. I had to be understanding. So I told her, “Mom, I’ll stay with you. With just me, it’ll be less of a burden.” She hugged me and cried, telling me I was her good, sweet daughter. Thinking back on it now, it was the biggest joke of my life. My maturity was taken for granted. My sacrifice was seen as voluntary. They happily accepted my consideration, then poured all their love, energy, and money, without reservation, into the brother I had “given up” for them. They weren’t separated. They had just found a socially acceptable way to surgically remove me from their core family unit. The fallout was even more intense than I had imagined. The next day, my relatives began their campaign of guilt-tripping. First, it was my aunt. Her voice was full of disappointment. “Chloe, how could you be so immature? You don’t air your family’s dirty laundry in public! Think about how this makes your parents look!” I replied calmly, “Auntie, when I didn’t have enough money to eat, where was my face? How do you think that made me look?” Next was my uncle, trying to appeal to my emotions. “Your mother had a tough time raising you. She just made a mistake. How can you push her like this? Just delete the post. Shouldn’t families stick together?” I said, “Uncle, I’m not the one who isn’t sticking with the family. They never treated me like I was part of it. She had a tough time? You think my life has been easy?” The most ridiculous was some second cousin I barely know, who decided to get on her high horse in the group chat. “Kids these days are unbelievable. So jealous of her brother’s car that she’s willing to destroy her own family! Absolutely no gratitude!” That was the last straw. I didn’t argue with them one by one. I went straight to the family group chat, with its two hundred-plus members, and posted a long message. “@everyone, thank you all for your ‘concern.’ Regarding my ‘immaturity,’ I’d like to address this once and for all: First, to anyone who thinks my mom had it so tough raising me all by herself, please, feel free to show some family solidarity and take over that financial responsibility. I promise to be eternally grateful. I’ll even send you a Christmas card every year. Second, to anyone who thinks my brother’s $40,000 car was a great purchase, please, show a little of that family unity you’re all talking about and help me pay off my $30,000 in student loans. I think we can all agree that’s a much better investment than a chunk of metal. Third, if you are unwilling or unable to do either of the above, then please shut up. Talk is cheap. It’s easy to lecture from the sidelines when you’re not the one getting hurt.” After I sent that message, the group chat went completely silent again. All the relatives who had been so self-righteous moments before were suddenly quiet. I knew it. The second money gets involved, they have nothing to say. That afternoon, my brother showed up at the restaurant where I work. He stood by the entrance, looking hurt and confused. “Chloe, how could you do this? You’ve made our family problems public knowledge. Mom and Dad are losing their minds over this!” I looked at his designer-brand clothes and the latest iPhone in his hand and just felt the bitter irony of it all. “When they gave me eighty-eight bucks for my birthday, did they ever think that I might be losing my mind?” I cracked a smile. “How about we trade?” “The car for me, the eighty-eight dollar birthday Venmo for you. What do you say?” “From now on, I’ll be Mom and Dad’s precious baby, and you can eat ramen and bus tables. Come on, experience what it feels like for me.” The color drained from Leo’s face. “That’s… that’s not the same…” Of course he wouldn’t do it. He was used to a life of comfort, of having everything handed to him. He was used to being the center of their universe. I rolled my eyes, done with the conversation, and turned to head back to the kitchen. “If it’s not the same, then there’s nothing more to talk about.” With things having escalated this far, my parents finally realized they couldn’t ignore me anymore. They asked to meet me at a coffee shop, to “talk things through properly.” The second we sat down, my dad put on his stern-father act, playing the bad cop. His face was a mask of fury. “Are you done with this circus? You’ve turned this entire family upside down over nothing! You’re a disgrace!” My mom sat next to him, playing the good cop. Her eyes were red and puffy as she cried about how hard it was to raise me and how ungrateful I was being. They were a well-rehearsed team, perfectly in sync, painting me as the villain of the story. I waited until their performance was over, then slowly picked up my coffee and took a sip. “Are you finished?” I put the cup down, my gaze steady. “Good. Now it’s time to hear my solution.” They both stared at me, stunned. I smiled faintly and threw out a proposal they never could have anticipated. “You two love Leo more than anything, right? You’re always saying how he’s the hope of the family, your future security.” “Fine. I’ll make it easy for you.” “Let’s do this. The house we all live in—sign it over to Leo. And I, Chloe, will voluntarily go to a notary and sign a legally binding document renouncing all rights to my inheritance.”

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The night my childhood best friend, bankrupt and broken, was about to have her virginity auctioned off, I didn’t raise a single paddle for her. I just sat there and watched. Then I canceled our arranged marriage and flew halfway across the world. I did it because, in my last life, I saved her, and she accused me of holding it over her head. After we got married, she treated me like a stranger for years, only to have twins with the man she truly loved. She even let their children poison me. As I lay dying, her perfect little family of four stood over me. “Finally,” she’d said, “our family can be together.” I died full of hate. This time, I decided to get out of their way and let them have their happy ending. 01 “Next up for auction, the virginity of the former heiress to the Sinclair fortune, Ms. Clara Sinclair.” The burning in my stomach vanished. I snapped my eyes open. I was back at the auction. The night they sold Clara’s virginity. Looking around at the familiar, opulent room, I realized I’d been reborn. On the stage, Clara’s eyes found mine, pleading for help. This time, I didn’t meet her gaze. I just looked down at my phone and scrolled. In my last life, the second she was brought out, I bought out the entire auction just to save her. We’d had an arranged engagement since we were kids, and the Sinclair family, grateful that I’d saved her from public humiliation, pushed for us to get married immediately. I’d been in love with her my whole life, so I’d happily agreed. But after the wedding, Clara’s face was a permanent mask of cold indifference. I thought it was just the trauma of her family’s downfall, so I tried to be even more loving, more patient. I was wrong. It wasn’t until I was on my deathbed, poisoned by her twin children—children she had with her one true love, Ethan—that I finally understood. She didn’t just not love me; she despised me. “If it weren’t for you and your moral grandstanding,” she had sneered, “Ethan and I would have been together years ago.” “Do you know why I never let you touch me? Because every single second I had to spend in the same room as you made my skin crawl.” “Now that you’re dying, our family of four can finally be together.” That’s when I knew. She hated me to her very core. “Two hundred thousand!” “Three hundred thousand!” The shouts from the bidders pulled me back to the present. Most of them were old, greasy CEOs, their eyes devouring Clara on the stage. She looked like she was about to cry. Her eyes met mine again, this time filled with the desperation of a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood. I remained perfectly still, making no move to bid. Her virginity finally sold for a million dollars to Mark Sterling, the fifty-something CEO of Sterling Corp. She collapsed onto the stage floor. Everyone in our circle knew about Sterling. He was old, but his tastes were notoriously depraved. He had a reputation for taking beautiful young women and breaking them. Sterling sent his men to collect her. As they led her past me, her eyes burned with a hatred I recognized. It was the same look she’d given me as I died in our last life. I just hadn’t expected to see it so soon this time around. “Why didn’t you save me?” Her voice was laced with an entitled sort of fury. I knew then that she remembered, too. She was reborn, just like me. “Sorry,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. “Not interested in your virginity.” I gestured to the diamond necklace that was now being displayed on the stage. “This, however, I am interested in.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I raised my paddle and bought it for a ridiculous price, just to make a point. Clara’s face contorted with rage. “We grew up together! We were engaged! You’d rather buy a stupid necklace than save me?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Your virginity? What’s that worth? This necklace, on the other hand, is a solid investment.” “You!” She was sputtering, her eyes blazing. The idea that I, who had always been at her beck and call, would speak to her this way clearly short-circuited her brain. “Julian, stop this,” she pleaded, her tone shifting. “It’s not too late. Just save me, and we can pretend this never happened.” It’s true what they say: the ones who are loved unconditionally are always the most reckless. I felt a cold sneer form in my heart. In my last life, everyone knew I adored Clara. I stood by her even after her family lost everything. And how did she repay me? She ignored me, refused to consummate our marriage, and secretly started a family with another man. The memory was a bitter pill. “Mr. Sterling,” I called out, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Aren’t you going to collect your prize for the evening?” 02 Sterling, looking bemused, finally registered that Clara was still standing by my table. He gestured for his men to take her away. Clara shot me a look of pure contempt before being led out. After the auction, I went to her parents’ house. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes were filled with worry. The moment they saw me, they both fell to their knees. “Julian, please, you have to save Clara,” Mrs. Sinclair begged. “She’s our only child. This is all our fault.” Looking at the two of them, I felt a pang of sympathy. In my last life, when they found out I’d been poisoned, they were the ones who called the ambulance. They were too late, but they tried. They had known me since I was a boy and had always treated me kindly. After Clara and I married, they treated me like their own son. I told them what had happened and gave them a debit card with a million dollars on it, telling them to go get their daughter back themselves. Sterling, for all his vices, wasn’t a monster. The Sinclair family had once been powerful, and he would likely give them that much courtesy. Then, I told them I wanted to break the engagement. I also made them promise not to tell Clara where the million dollars came from. “Julian, you and Clara have always been so close,” Mr. Sinclair said, confused. “Why the sudden change of heart?” “She’s in love with someone else,” I explained. “And they’ve been together for a long time.” Their eyes widened in shock. “Is there some misunderstanding? Clara has never mentioned a boyfriend to us.” “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” They were reluctant, but my sincerity must have convinced them. They agreed to talk to Clara when she got home. Clara was brought home safely, and I started the process of applying for a visa. I was ready to leave this whole mess behind. But while I was waiting for the paperwork to clear, I ran into her at a party. Everyone there had heard about what happened at the auction, but no one dared to bring it up. They just shot nervous glances between me and Clara. The second she saw me, her eyes filled with that familiar hatred. “Julian, playing hard to get has its limits. Don’t come crying to me when you want me back.” I didn’t understand. I was stepping aside, giving them what they wanted. Why was she still trying to humiliate me? I just smiled faintly and said nothing. She seemed to lose interest and walked away. Later that night, as the party was in full swing, Clara’s great love, Ethan, stormed in. He marched right up to me and punched me in the face. I stumbled backward, crashing to the floor. “Julian, what kind of a man are you?” he roared. “Your fiancée’s virginity is being sold, and you just sit there? You bought a stupid necklace instead!” “Clara’s life would be ruined if she married someone like you!” I glanced over at Clara, who was watching from a corner. The moment she saw Ethan, her eyes lit up with a tenderness I had never seen before. My mind drifted back. In our last life, she had never looked at me with anything but disdain. The only time she ever smiled at me was when she needed my help—and even then, it was a pained, forced expression. And the only time she needed my help was when Ethan was in trouble. She would humble herself, play the part of the loving wife, all for him. I used to think that if I was just good enough to her, one day she would see me. I forgot that you can’t melt a block of ice. My silence seemed to enrage Ethan even more. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me to my feet. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you! Are you even human? You just watched your fiancée get sold off like cattle!” The other guests started whispering. “Julian is usually so obsessed with Clara. How could he not even be willing to spend a million to save her?” The taste of blood filled my mouth. I finally snapped back to reality and shoved his hands off me. “Why do you seem more concerned about my fiancée than I am?” I countered, my voice dangerously low. “Why didn’t you save her at the auction?” 03 The room went quiet. Everyone in our circle knew about my engagement to Clara. They also knew how she had always accepted my devotion as her due. Everyone had assumed we were already a couple. The sudden appearance of Ethan threw everything into question. All eyes were now on him and Clara. Ethan stammered, caught off guard. “I… I just couldn’t stand by and watch you do nothing! I don’t have that kind of money! If I did, of course I would have saved her!” Clara’s face paled as she looked at me. “You knew.” In my last life, I didn’t find out about her and Ethan until our wedding day. Ethan showed up, his eyes red from crying, and Clara’s eyes filled with tears, too. Her parents were there, so the wedding went on as planned. But on our wedding night, she ran off to be with him. She told me I owed them that, that if it weren’t for me and my “hero complex,” they would have been together. But when I finally couldn’t take it anymore and asked for a divorce, she refused, claiming she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. I loved her, so I waited, hoping she would come around. But my patience only made her bolder. She went abroad for a “business trip,” had his children, and then brought them home to live with us. When I found out the truth and confronted her, her reply was ice-cold. “I’m married to you, so what if I have Ethan’s children?” And when I finally decided to leave her for good, her twin children poisoned me. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “If I didn’t know, were you planning on playing me for a fool forever? After all, your true love couldn’t afford to save you, could he?” I shot a provocative glance at Ethan. Before he could speak, Clara jumped in. “You’re lying! Ethan was the one who scraped together a million dollars to save me from Sterling!” At that, I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. The audacity of some people was truly something to behold. I had specifically told her parents not to mention my name, because I didn’t want her to feel indebted to me again. I never thought Ethan would swoop in and take the credit. “What are you laughing at? You think that money came from you?” Ethan sneered, trying to sound confident. “Julian, you’re a heartless bastard. You don’t deserve anyone’s love.” I chuckled. “You’re right, it wasn’t me. But it’s pretty impressive that you managed to come up with a million dollars in just a few hours. Especially for a guy who usually can’t even scrape together ten thousand.” 04 A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s face. Clara froze, her eyes widening slightly. “Clara, don’t listen to him,” Ethan said quickly, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a series of track marks on his arm. They looked horrifying. “I got the money by volunteering for a high-risk medical trial.” The crowd gasped. Clara’s face hardened as she glared at me. “You do nothing to help, and now you’re slandering the person who did! I want you to apologize to Ethan!” Ethan was a scholarship student Clara had sponsored through college. His family was poor. In my last life, he never worked a day after graduation because Clara supported him. Even after her own family went bankrupt, I gave her a huge monthly allowance, enough to maintain her old lifestyle. Most of that money went to him. The whispers started again. “No wonder Clara loves this guy. He really stepped up when it mattered.” “A million dollars is nothing to Julian, and he wouldn’t even lift a finger.” “Clara, we support you! You can’t marry Julian.” “If he’s like this now, imagine what he’d be like after you’re married!” They all condemned me, as if I were the villain. But in my last life, I had cared for Clara for years, and in the end, she let her children murder me. What had I done to deserve that? I frowned. It was such an obvious lie, but everyone seemed to be buying it. What medical trial pays a million dollars, and pays it out in a matter of hours? These rich kids had no idea how hard it was for a normal person to earn that kind of money. Just then, Clara took Ethan’s hand and looked at me defiantly. “Julian, I’m officially breaking our engagement!” Then she kissed him, and he kissed her back passionately. Even now, she thought she was irreplaceable to me, that this would be the ultimate threat. “You can’t break the engagement!” Just as I was about to respond, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair burst into the room. “Clara, we thought you and Julian were just having a little fight,” her mother cried. “Julian was the one who gave us a million dollars to save you! That proves he still cares about you!” “He told us you were in love with someone else, and we didn’t believe him. But it’s true.” Her father pointed a trembling finger at Ethan and threw a stack of photos at his feet. “This man is a drug addict!” Clara seemed to barely register what her father had said. She just stared at me in disbelief. “Was it really you who gave them the money?” I didn’t answer her question. I just said, my voice cold as stone, “I agree to break the engagement. From now on, you and I have nothing to do with each other.” Then I turned and walked out of the room. That night, Clara stood outside my house for hours, but I didn’t even look out the window. I sent a text to both our parents, formally ending the engagement. The next day, my visa came through. I was on the first flight out.

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In the tenth year of my stand-in marriage, my sister came back from the dead. The entire family stared at her in silence. She yawned, running a hand through her perfectly messy hair. “Thirteen countries,” she said, her voice dripping with manufactured boredom. “God, I’m exhausted.” She scanned the room. “Where’s Leo? He must be in elementary school by now. Shouldn’t he come say hi to his real mom?” Leo is my sister’s son. Ten years ago, she gave birth, then faked her death on her wedding day, leaving behind her newborn and her fiancé. The Hayes family is old money. East Coast royalty. My parents, terrified of the consequences, decided to package me up—fresh out of college—and deliver me to the wedding in her place. For the last decade, I have been a perfect wife. A devoted mother. Now, watching my sister’s breathtaking entitlement, my parents’ eyes shifted to me. I offered a faint, placid smile. “Leo and his father are in the Cayman Islands for the week.” … At my words, my sister Vivian’s brows knitted together in annoyance. “I told you I was coming home. Didn’t you tell Julian I was back?” I took a calm, deliberate sip of my coffee. The last ten years had forged me into someone new. I was no longer the transparent girl living in my sister’s dazzling shadow. My silence infuriated her. She shot to her feet, her voice sharp. “Nora Chen! What is that supposed to mean? Don’t you forget, I’m the one with the marriage contract. Now that I’m back, do you really think you can keep your spot as Mrs. Hayes?” I glanced up at her, a small smile playing on my lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vivian. My husband and I have a very strong relationship.” It was true. For ten years, I had stood by Julian Hayes’s side at every charity gala, every business dinner, every weekend retreat. We were known as the golden couple. Julian’s reputation as a devoted husband had won him the admiration and trust of countless business partners. There might not be a sweeping romance between Julian and me, but we are bound by something far more resilient than love. Mutual benefit. An empire. That is the source of my confidence. Vivian’s face was a mask of disbelief. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Nora! Have you no shame? He’s your brother-in-law!” I set my coffee cup down, my posture poised and unyielding. “No,” I said, my smile never wavering. “He is my legal husband.” My gaze was firm. I stood up, ready to end this farce. My parents stood by, wringing their hands, utterly useless. Vivian rushed to my mother, grabbing her sleeve. “Mom, she’s lost her mind! Julian and I were college sweethearts! If it wasn’t for me, if it wasn’t for the Hayes family, would our company be where it is today?” My parents have always favored Vivian. But now, my mother risked a glance in my direction before answering in a weak, wavering voice. “But… you ran away, Vivi. You faked your own death. We didn’t hear a word from you for a decade.” “The wedding was happening! There was no bride! If your sister hadn’t stepped in, the public humiliation would have destroyed the Hayes family, and they would have ruined us!” Vivian’s face froze for a second. “I… I just wasn’t ready to get married yet! But I’m back now, aren’t I?” she stammered. “Besides, you know how snobby the Hayes family is. They already looked down on us. And I’d just had a baby. If I had married him then, they would have treated me like dirt!” My expression was cold as I asked, “Why did you come back?” Her answer was a masterpiece of self-absorption. “Well, they’ve accepted you, haven’t they? Which means they’ll accept me now. It’s perfect!” “I can marry Julian, his parents will have to be nice to me, and Leo can finally have his real mother. It’s a win-win for everyone.” She closed the distance between us, grabbing my hands, her eyes wide and sincere. “Nora, you’re free! You can finally go find your own happiness.” I stared into her eyes, expressionless. In their depths, I saw the profound, unthinking innocence that comes from a lifetime of being spoiled and adored. An innocence so pure it was cruel. She was so certain that I, the overlooked younger sister, existed only to sacrifice for her. I let out a cold laugh and pulled my hands from her grasp. “I am perfectly happy with my life, Vivian. You’re the one who needs a reality check.” With that, I turned and walked out of the house that had never felt like a home. I didn’t know how Vivian was feeling, but I was sure it wasn’t good. And knowing her, she wouldn’t give up this easily. I returned to the Hayes estate, a deep exhaustion settling into my bones. For the past week, I’d been consumed by a new project, working late into the night every day. I stepped inside, rubbing the bridge of my nose. An hour ago, my parents’ text had arrived: Your sister is back. My body had gone rigid. I always knew this day might come, but the reality of it still left me stunned. I hung my purse on the hook and glanced down. A pair of men’s dress shoes sat neatly on the mat. I froze for a second before schooling my features into a pleasant, welcoming smile. “You’re back?” a warm, smooth voice asked. I turned. Julian Hayes stood there in a simple black silk pajama set that did little to hide his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was tall, handsome, his gentle eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses. He frowned slightly, a flicker of concern in his gaze. “You look exhausted. Haven’t you been sleeping?” I smiled. “Just a lot going on at work. Did you have a good trip? How’s Leo?” Julian stepped forward, pulling me gently into his arms. His chin rested on my shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across my neck. His long, elegant fingers traced soothing patterns on my back. “Leo had a blast,” he murmured. “He’s already crashed. The only thing missing was you. Next time, all three of us will go.” His voice dropped lower, a thread of husky intimacy weaving through it. “I missed you.” I felt the warmth of his chest against my back, but a chill spread through my core. A soft pressure, his lips, touched the back of my neck. My body went stiff. All I could hear were Vivian’s words from earlier, echoing in my head. I didn’t respond the way I usually did. I pushed back, just slightly, creating a space between us. “I…” My voice trailed off. I felt it—the barest hint of a flinch, a sudden tension in his body. I sensed his displeasure immediately. After a beat, Julian finished my sentence for me, his voice smooth again. “You’re exhausted. Go take a hot bath and get some sleep.” He had given me an out. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. I nodded and turned to go upstairs. Behind me, the man stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable, the atmosphere in the room turning heavy and cold. His eyes were locked on my retreating back, a back that was suddenly burdened with secrets. The next morning, I left for work as usual. Just as I was pulling out of the gated community, a familiar figure appeared. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Vivian saw my car and darted in front of it, forcing me to slam on the brakes. The car behind me laid on its horn. It was the middle of the morning rush hour. A security guard rushed over, trying to pull her away. But Vivian was relentless, screaming even as he dragged her back. “Nora Chen! Stop ignoring me! You have no shame, sleeping with your sister’s husband!” Her shrill voice attracted stares from every direction. I pulled my car to the side of the road and got out. I faced her, my expression like ice. Vivian gave a triumphant smirk, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?” she purred. “Embarrassed? Or just scared Julian will find out I’m back and kick you to the curb?” My voice was frosted over. “Vivian, you are seriously disrupting my life. This is your last warning. Stay away from me.” She ignored me completely, her smile widening. “Don’t pretend, Nora. You’re terrified. You’ve lived in my shadow your whole life. It’s only natural you’d be jealous and want to take my place.” She took a few steps closer, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “But a cuckoo in the nest always gets kicked out eventually. I’ll wait right here for Julian. When I explain everything to him, I know he’ll forgive me.” “And Leo,” she added, her voice hardening, “is the child I gave birth to. We have a bond you can never break. Don’t you ever think you can replace me.” I didn’t say another word. I just got back in my car. This time, she didn’t stop me. In the rearview mirror, I saw her standing there, a smug smile on her face. A chill ran through me. Vivian had been spoiled her entire life. She operated without rules or consequences. If anyone crossed her, she would throw a tantrum of epic proportions, a grown woman acting like a giant toddler. I took a deep breath, trying to force her from my mind. For ten years, I had painstakingly built this life, this career, this marriage. If we divorced, it wouldn’t just be me who suffered. Julian would too. Our entire empire was built on this partnership. Julian, at least, had a safety net. I had no one but myself. I sat in my office, my thoughts drifting back. When we were in elementary school, Vivian would spend every summer running wild, never touching her homework. On the first day of school, terrified of being scolded, she would demand to copy mine. My parents would always justify it. Nora’s such a good student, the teacher won’t mind if she doesn’t turn it in. But if Vivian doesn’t, she’ll be humiliated in front of the whole class. For the sake of Vivian’s pride, my work was always hers for the taking. Eventually, I just started doing two sets of homework every holiday. In high school, she discovered boys. She chased the captain of the football team, got into fights, and charmed her way into every teacher’s good graces. Her grades were terrible, but she was popular and vivacious. There was always someone to clean up her messes. I had to be careful. Every step I took was calculated. In college, she met Julian at an off-campus music festival. They started an indie band, performing in smoky bars. For two months, while I was juggling three part-time jobs to pay for tuition, they were on stage, basking in the glory of their reckless youth. I thought that after graduation, I would finally save enough money to escape my family for good. Then came the night Vivian stumbled home late, her face caked in makeup, wearing a crop top and shorts that were barely there. She was drunk. She started feeling sick, and my parents, frantic, rushed her to the hospital. The test results came back. Vivian was pregnant. A heavy silence fell over our house. My parents were in a state of shock. I was busy working a summer job to save for my senior year. The only calm person in the house was Vivian herself. It was as if the new life growing inside her was a complete abstraction. Because of the pregnancy, my parents made her stay home, stuffing her with supplements and fresh fruit. Meanwhile, they negotiated with the Hayes family. The plan was set: once the baby was born and a paternity test was done, the wedding would take place. The Hayes family, backed into a corner and desperate to avoid a scandal that could tank their company’s stock, reluctantly agreed. The night before the wedding, I took a four-hour drive home from college. The next morning, the wedding cars arrived, but Vivian was gone. All that was left in the room was a swaddled, sleeping Leo and the stony-faced members of the Hayes family. Julian’s expression was thunderous. My parents stood there, fidgeting, until their eyes slowly landed on me. My mother’s face lit up as if she’d found a lifeline. “We still have another daughter! She’s never even had a boyfriend!” My father immediately chimed in. “Yes! Nora! Quickly! Your sister’s gone. You’re the only one who can do this!” I stood there, stunned, my mind unable to process their words. Before I could react, they were on me, each grabbing an arm, trying to drag me into the dressing room to put on the wedding gown. I fought back, a cold dread washing over me. Disbelief warred with a volcanic anger. The first twenty years of my life had been spent in Vivian’s shadow. Was the rest of my life going to be a sacrifice for her, too? The injustice of it all filled my chest, and my nose began to burn. It was the first time I had ever truly broken down. I screamed, shoving their hands away. “Why?! Why should I be responsible for her selfishness? It’s been like this my whole life!” My father’s hand cracked across my face. “She is your sister!” I staggered back, my cheek stinging. My mother was sobbing. “What your sister did was terrible, we know. But you can’t just let our family be destroyed! The guests are all waiting for the bride!” My face was a numb mask. I finally squeezed the words out through my teeth. “I will not get married.” No matter how much they pleaded or how they tried to physically force me, I refused. I grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby platter and held it to my own throat, my eyes wild. “If anyone tries to make me, I’ll kill myself!” Everyone froze. I don’t know if they were afraid I would die, or just afraid that a dead body would be even more inconvenient than a missing bride. Either way, I didn’t care. I had graduated. Once I found a job, I would be free. The standoff was broken by Julian. He suggested he and I speak alone. The room cleared. In the bridal suite, it was just me and Julian Hayes.

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I was broke when I was in college, but I was dating a guy who was anything but. He was Leo Rhodes, of the New York Rhodes family. An heir to a fortune so old it was practically woven into the city’s DNA. Everyone in his circle called him by his last name, a title in itself. No one, from my world or his, saw our relationship as anything more than a temporary spectacle. Even he said it once, his voice a casual murmur over the rim of a whiskey glass: “We’re just having fun, Willa. Don’t make it serious.” So when I ended it, I did it for my pride. I lied and told him I’d fallen for someone else. That I didn’t want him anymore. The fury in his eyes was eclipsed only by the raw hurt that turned the edges of them red. He told me if I walked away, I’d better not live to regret it. I never looked back. Five years later, we met again. And the man the tabloids now called the cold, imperious head of the Rhodes Corporation cornered me on a dark film set. His voice was a raw whisper. “I told you to go, and you just… left?” He took another step, trapping me against the wall. “How could you be so goddamn cruel?” A tremor ran through his powerful frame, and his voice broke. “I’m the one who regrets it, Willa. I am.” 1 When the director announced that one of our investors was visiting the set, the name Leo Rhodes never even crossed my mind. At that moment, I was standing with my back to him, running lines with another actor. I could feel his presence more than see it, a gravitational pull surrounded by a hushed entourage of producers and executives. He was just a few feet away, standing behind the monitors. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers tightened on my script, the cheap paper crinkling into permanent folds. Thankfully, the lead producer, a man named Stan, scurried over to greet the star of our film. He gestured grandly in Leo’s direction. “Mr. Rhodes, I’d like you to meet our leading lady. She’s one of the hottest rising stars right now.” The woman, her makeup a flawless mask of ambition, turned a brilliant, practiced smile on Leo. “Mr. Rhodes, we met once at a gala at the Met. I don’t know if you’d remember?” Leo barely acknowledged her. He lifted his gaze for a fraction of a second before it dropped back to the monitors, his expression unreadable. He stared at the screen, his eyes dark and intense. For a split second, I saw a storm gather in their depths—a tidal wave of something fierce and unnamable—before it was gone, leaving behind only a calm, chilling surface. The producer, flustered by the dismissal, glanced at the monitor, trying to see what had captured the titan’s attention. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Rhodes? Is everything alright?” A slow, cool smile touched Leo’s lips. “Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice a low murmur that still managed to cut through the set’s low hum. “I just saw someone I know.” The words were casual, but they hit me like a physical blow. The back of my neck prickled. My heart began to pound a frantic, panicked rhythm against my ribs. “Oh! You have a friend in our cast? That’s wonderful! Who might that be?” Stan’s voice was slick with manufactured delight. In that instant, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes sweep over the set, searching. And then, I heard Leo’s voice again, as cool and sharp as ice. “Her.” 2 “Her. Maya.” The young actress standing in front of me, whose lines I had been running, gasped. I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. For a disorienting moment, I had been certain he meant me. Stan practically shoved me aside as he rushed forward, enthusiastically guiding Maya toward Leo. Watching them interact, a wave of dizzying relief washed over me, and the breath I’d been holding escaped in a silent rush. Thank God. Thank God it wasn’t me. All these years, and this was how we met again. The idea of some dramatic reunion of old flames wasn’t just cliché; it felt… rude. Disrespectful to the lives we’d built separately. Besides, they looked like old friends. Maya, completely unfazed by his reputation, playfully swatted his arm. “Leo! What are you doing here? I’m trying to run lines!” A lazy, familiar grin spread across his face, softening the hard edges of the man he’d become. “Your brother sent me,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “Said to tell you to stop messing around and come home.” He looked nothing like the volatile, short-tempered man I remembered. And from the sycophantic grin on Stan’s face, it was clear this reunion was a welcome one. So welcome, in fact, that the director and producers immediately suggested they continue their conversation over dinner at a nearby restaurant. Leo, surprisingly, didn’t refuse. I watched their retreating figures, a small crowd parting before them like the Red Sea. I clutched the script, now mangled beyond recognition, and let out another slow breath. I had survived. The day was finally over. But just as the group was about to round the corner, Maya suddenly turned back. Her bright, youthful voice echoed across the now-quiet set. “Willa! Hey, Willa! You want to come to dinner with us?” 3 For a heartbeat, time froze. The world went silent, and every face on set turned to look at me. When my brain finally rebooted, my first instinct was to hide. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face. “No, thanks! You guys go ahead. I’ve got plans tonight,” I called back, my voice sounding strained and unfamiliar. I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned and walked away, my steps quick and clumsy, bordering on a run. I had no idea if he’d recognized me. The lighting on set had been dim, chaotic. Maybe he never got a clear look. Or maybe he did, and the woman he saw now held no significance for him. The girl from five years ago was a ghost, and he had no interest in acknowledging her. After all, our breakup had been a public humiliation. I had wounded the pride of a man who had never known anything but victory. I had dumped him, coldly and decisively, in a way that had shocked everyone in our orbit. I was the one who walked away. But I was also the one who cried myself to sleep for months afterward. I could still hear his voice from that day, laced with a pain so deep it had curdled into rage. “Willa Hayes, if you walk out that door today, don’t you dare regret it.” His jaw was tight, his eyes burning. “Because if I ever see you again, I swear to God I will not let you go.” I knew he was capable of making my life a living hell. So I packed my bags that night and disappeared. I never looked back. Until now. Five years later, and we were breathing the same air. I chewed on my thumbnail, a nervous habit I thought I’d kicked years ago. A cold dread seeped into my bones. Surely, after all this time… he wouldn’t still want revenge, would he? 4 Leo Rhodes had a bad temper. That wasn’t just my opinion; it was a universally acknowledged fact by anyone who knew him during our college years at NYU. He was the crown prince of New York City, the kind of guy who commanded respect and fear with a single glance. He had the family name, the looks, and a mind so sharp he never seemed to have to try. If it weren’t for the fact that I was drowning in my mom’s medical bills, forcing me to take a gig as a promotional model at a luxury car event, our paths would never have crossed. I met him for the first time in a private, members-only club in SoHo. He was perched on a high stool at the bar, legs crossed, lazily propping his chin on one hand as he watched me on a small stage, trying to smile my way through a Q&A with the event’s host. The friend who got me the gig had said there was a bonus—a big one—for staying for the “private viewing” afterward, an exclusive showcase for the city’s young and wealthy elite. The word “bonus” was a siren song I couldn’t resist. So there I was, in a borrowed cocktail dress that was a size too small, teetering on heels and smiling at million-dollar cars until my face felt like it would crack. I knew I was pretty. My roommates always said I had the face of an ice queen but the eyes of a lost fawn, a combination that disarmed people who didn’t know the steel underneath. But I was naive. I had no idea how predatory their world could be. Before I had even stepped off the stage, a man with a fleshy, red face and a leering grin called out to me. “You’re one of those NYU girls, right? Need a little extra spending money? I can help with that.” A hot wave of shame washed over me. I wanted to scream, but the thought of that bonus kept my mouth shut. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. But in a place like this, a den of gilded excess, silence was encouragement. The murmurs around him turned into jeers and laughter. Just as the man lurched forward, his hands reaching for my waist, a barstool sailed through the air from the second-floor mezzanine. It crashed into him with a sickening thud, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood instantly matting his hair. He scrambled to his feet, clutching his head and roaring, “What the fuck? Who the hell threw that? You got a death wish?” That’s when Leo Rhodes descended the stairs. He calmly stubbed out a cigarette in a nearby ashtray, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. He scanned the room with a look of bored indifference until his eyes finally landed on me, cowering in the corner. He turned his gaze to the bleeding man. “That would be me.” His voice was quiet, but it silenced the entire room. His lips were pressed into a thin, merciless line. For a wild second, I was terrified they were going to brawl, right there, because of me. But the man, who seconds ago had been a raging bull, suddenly transformed. His face went pale, and a sycophantic, terrified smile stretched his lips. He started bowing and scraping, his hands wringing together. “A misunderstanding, Mr. Rhodes! A complete misunderstanding!” he stammered. “My apologies, sir!” He looked like a grotesque, bobble-headed doll. It was pathetic. And terrifying. That was the moment I understood. “Crown prince” wasn’t just a nickname his friends used. It was his reality. And it was the first time I saw his legendary temper up close. He completely ignored the man’s apologies. He simply nodded to the two security guards who had materialized at his side. “Break his arm,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “The one he was about to touch her with.” After it was done, he sank into a chair, lit another cigarette, and rested the sole of his expensive shoe on the man’s chest, pinning him to the floor. “Do me a favor,” Leo said, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Try to keep the filth in your head from now on. Otherwise, I might just have to arrange a little procedure for you. To make sure your particular brand of stupidity doesn’t get passed on to another generation.” 5 A cold night wind whipped around the trailers. I waited until I was sure they would have finished dinner, then pulled on a jacket and slipped out of the RV. The film set was blessedly quiet during the lull before the night shoot. I walked down the familiar path toward the small diner I frequented, a comforting routine in a chaotic world. As I rounded a corner, I saw a silhouette standing in the narrow, moonlit alley. At first, I thought it was a crew member returning from a break. But as I got closer, a jolt of recognition made me stop dead in my tracks. Under the stark glow of the moon, dressed in all black, Leo Rhodes was almost one with the shadows. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He looked up as I approached, his eyes meeting mine across the short distance. In the ethereal light, surrounded by a halo of smoke, his dark, painted-on eyes looked exactly as they had the first night we met. The night he saved me. The night he ruined me. 6 The wind rustled through the trees, the only sound in the unnerving silence. My body went rigid. My first instinct was to turn and run. But his voice stopped me. “You’re an actress on this film?” I froze, my back still to him. I managed a small, tight sound. “Mmm-hmm.” “What role?” “The third lead.” “Going to get dinner?” “Yes.” “You know who I am?” “Yes.” The investor. The man who holds my career in the palm of his hand. His rapid-fire questions made my palms sweat. I had no idea what he was doing, what game he was playing. Before I could process it, he asked another. “Are you afraid of me?” … “No.” “Then why are you looking at the ground?” “The… the wind is strong tonight.” A low chuckle, raspy from the smoke, rumbled in his chest. “You look like someone I used to know.” My heart leaped into my throat. “Is that so?” I forced a lightness I didn’t feel. “What an honor. I guess I just have one of those faces.” “Maybe,” he mused. “Happens all the time in your industry, right? People looking alike.” I had nothing to add, so I just nodded into the darkness. Silence fell again, thick and heavy. I watched him light another cigarette, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He seemed to be holding something back, a dangerous energy simmering just beneath the surface. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t understand the point of this conversation. I’d been in the entertainment business for three years. I looked different now, of course—more polished, more guarded. But I hadn’t changed that much. The dim light and his strange line of questioning left me utterly confused. Had he truly not recognized me? Or was I simply so insignificant to him now that I wasn’t worth remembering? Either way, it didn’t matter. This kind of casual, heart-to-heart chat was not something we were capable of. Not anymore. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. “Mr. Rhodes,” I said, my voice muffled. “I have a night shoot soon. If you’ll excuse me.” I stepped around him and started to walk away, my stride purposefully fast. “Willa Hayes.” The sound of my full name, spoken in his voice, made my heart stop. … 7 “Willa Hayes.” He said it again, tasting the syllables. “That’s your name, right? Maya mentioned it at dinner.” He paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “Same name as my ex-girlfriend.” “…” For a moment, my usually quick mind went completely blank. “What a… what a coincidence,” I stammered. “Yeah, a real coincidence,” he said, and in the darkness, I could almost see the ghost of a smile in his eyes. “Except she wasn’t as beautiful as you, Miss Hayes. Or as talented.” “…” The glint in his eyes, the subtle shift in his tone—it was like looking through a tear in time, seeing the boy he used to be. The boy I had loved. I was raised by a single mom. Her life was a sad, unlucky story. A cheating, gambling, abusive husband when she was young. She finally got a divorce, raised me on her own, and then, just as I was getting to college, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. So when people whispered that I was only with Leo for his money, I never denied it. Because it was true. I was desperate for money. And money was the one thing Leo Rhodes had in infinite supply. We were from two different universes. My world was scholarships and part-time jobs. His was trust funds and reckless freedom. The only things I had going for me were my grades and a face that people called beautiful. Everything I fought tooth and nail for, he possessed without a second thought. Even in academics, he could glance at a textbook once and ace an exam that I’d pulled all-nighters to study for. No one believed our absurd, mismatched love story would last. “He’s just playing with her,” they’d say. “There’s no way a Rhodes would ever get serious with a girl from her background.” Even I believed it. This was just a diversion for him, a way to kill time between parties and trips to Europe. But Leo… when Leo gave you three ounces of affection, he made it feel like a pound. I mentioned once, just in passing, that I missed the fall colors back home. Two days later, after flying for twenty hours straight from a business trip in London without any sleep, he showed up at my dorm, exhausted and rumpled, just to take me for a drive upstate. When I was delirious with the flu, he, a man who had probably never made himself a piece of toast, stayed by my side, clumsily trying to take care of me, on the phone with his family’s doctor one minute and trying to make me soup the next. He constantly made fun of my taste, calling it childish and boring. But he was always the one who showed up with a carefully chosen, ridiculously expensive gift that was exactly what I’d secretly wanted. He was the one who took me to the top of the Rockefeller Center, to the private observation deck, and attached a lock engraved with our names to the railing, right in the most prominent spot. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in his world. That he saw you, and only you. With my complete lack of romantic experience, I fell. Hard. I even let myself start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was different. Maybe I was special to him. All of those illusions shattered the day a girl named Sloane appeared. … 8 “Willa! Willa, snap out of it!” “Huh?” I blinked, yanked back to the present. Maya was tugging on my arm, and I realized it was my cue. The director was waiting. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus, and dove into the scene with Maya. During a break, her face suddenly scrunched up in annoyance. She muttered under her breath, gesturing toward the director’s chairs, “Ugh, why is she here?” I followed her gaze. Standing next to Leo, who was holding court like a king, was a woman smiling demurely. Sloane. Five years had passed, and she looked even more polished, more expensive. Standing next to Leo, they looked like a perfectly matched set. A power couple. Even the crew members were sighing. “They look so good together.” I tuned back in to Maya’s bitter commentary. “She’s like his shadow. Everywhere Leo goes, she’s right there. Why doesn’t she just have a house built on his belt?” “Look at her, smiling and smiling. Her mouth is going to crack from all that fake, innocent-little-princess crap.” I listened with a small smile, amused by the sheer force of her dislike for this woman. Perhaps sensing her vitriol, or maybe just feeling our stares, the couple looked over in our direction. Suddenly, my eyes met Leo’s. Remembering our tense conversation from the night before, the unspoken things hanging in the air, I quickly looked away. But my gaze landed directly on Sloane. Her brow furrowed in displeasure. Her eyes raked over me, up and down, with an undisguised hostility that hadn’t faded one bit in five years. It was the exact same look she’d given me the first time we met. … 9 It was three months into my relationship with Leo. My mom’s condition was stable, for the time being. The money from my part-time jobs, combined with our meager savings, was just enough to get by. As my boyfriend, the guy who could solve any problem with a checkbook, Leo handled it with a surprising amount of grace. He never just threw money at me, the way people assumed he would. He respected me. He had asked once, his voice gentle, “Do you need my help?” I said no. He nodded. “Okay. But when you do, you come to me.” He wanted me to turn to him not because he was a bank, but because he was my boyfriend, the first person I should think of when I needed someone. I remember he used to come with me to my waitressing job. I was stunned that he never complained about the grime or the long hours. He’d just slouch in a booth, looking bored, and then without a word, he’d take the heavy crate of beer bottles from my hands. “What can I say?” he’d mumble through a yawn, his voice raspy with fatigue. “You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” The words were a complaint, but the tone was laced with an undeniable, baffling tenderness. I’d watch him, with his pouting lips and weary eyes, and think that maybe he wasn’t the spoiled brat everyone made him out to be. That illusion was shattered on a rainy night, when I was cleaning up the last table. Sloane appeared out of nowhere. “So you’re the new girlfriend.” Her eyes, full of a strange mix of confusion and disgust, scanned me from head to toe. “His taste really has gone downhill.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Leo’s fiancée.” She let that hang in the air. “Yes, one of those old-fashioned family arrangements you see in the movies. A merger of dynasties. There’s no love between us, but let me be honest with you. Even if it weren’t me, it would never be you. Your… situation? Their family would never allow it. You’re not from the same world.” She smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. “Do you know why he isn’t here with you tonight?” She pulled out her phone and held it out to me. “Because he’s out street racing. You know what that is? Driving a car that costs more than your mother’s life.” I looked down at the screen. Leo’s defiant, handsome face filled the frame. The boy in the video was a stranger. Wild, reckless, and drenched in the kind of casual wealth I couldn’t even comprehend. It was exactly as Sloane had said: a world I could never touch. “Is he being patient with you right now? Gentle?” she cooed. “Don’t be a fool. You think you’re special to him? Everyone in our circle knows. He’s like that with everyone.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, making my skin crawl. But I still went to him. I had to ask. When I asked him about Sloane, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. After a long moment, he told me she was just some obsessed girl who was in love with him, that she wasn’t mentally stable, and that I shouldn’t believe a word she said. At the time, I chose to believe him. 10 Then my mother passed away. I was lost in a fog of grief for over a month. I barely saw Leo. When I finally picked up my phone, it was flooded with messages from him. A one-sided conversation of his growing worry. Sweetheart, are you feeling any better today? I miss you. I’m at a bar with some friends. If you see this, can you come get me? I sighed, a hollow ache in my chest. I took the cash I had scraped together from working nonstop since the funeral and went to the address he’d sent. I found the private room, but I stopped outside the door. I could hear their voices, loud and boisterous. “Rhodes, it’s only been a few days since your girl stopped calling. You look like hell. Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her.” “That Willa girl is gorgeous, no doubt,” another voice chimed in. “But you’re about to be engaged to Sloane. Don’t you dare bring that one home. Your old man would skin you alive.” Then I heard Leo’s voice, low and raspy. “We’re just having fun. Don’t make it serious.” Laughter. Then another question. “She’s so broke. You’re just throwing money down the drain lending it to her. You think she’s ever gonna pay you back?” Leo’s reply was impatient. “I never expected her to.” His words, so clear, so casual, pierced through me, one after another. My hand, clutching the wad of cash in my pocket, tightened until my knuckles were white. I knew Sloane had been trying to manipulate me. But I couldn’t deny the truth in what she’d said. The gap between Leo and me wasn’t just about family background. It was about worlds. So I borrowed money from everyone I knew, scraped together every last cent, and paid him back. And to salvage the last shred of my pride, I lied. I told him I’d fallen for someone else. I told him I didn’t want him anymore. His face contorted with rage. He demanded to know who it was, swore he would kill him. I couldn’t tell him a name because there wasn’t one. I never expected what happened next. Leo Rhodes, the proudest man I had ever met, grabbed my hand in front of all his friends, the edges of his eyes red with unshed tears, and begged me not to go. “Willa, please. Please don’t like someone else.” His voice was a broken whisper. “Please don’t leave me.” But I was cold. I pulled my hand away. “I have to.” The hurt in his eyes hardened into something dangerous. He spat the words at me, the final blow. “Fine. Go. But if you walk out that door, don’t you dare regret it.” And so I left. And I never looked back.

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The first time I saw my biological mother in eight years, I was handing out juice boxes at the St. Jude’s Home for Children. A procession of black cars, the kind that usually only appears in movies, had purred to a stop on the gravel driveway, looking completely alien against the backdrop of the worn-out playground. A woman in a cream-colored pantsuit stepped out of the lead car. “Maya,” she said, her voice smooth but unfamiliar. “I told you, didn’t I? As soon as Chloe was accepted into college, as soon as she was emotionally secure, I would come for you.” She smiled, a tight, rehearsed expression. “Her acceptance letter from Georgetown arrived yesterday. So, here I am. I’ve come to take you home.” I just stared at her, a carton of apple juice still in my hand. The name she used—Chloe—meant nothing to me. She sighed, a theatrical puff of air. “I know you must hate me. But Chloe… well, she always felt so insecure, knowing she wasn’t our biological daughter. You, on the other hand, were born to have everything. We were just asking you to wait a little longer to enjoy it.” She took a step closer, the scent of expensive perfume washing over me. “You’ve had a hard eight years here, I know. But once you’re home, we’ll make it all up to you.” The woman kept talking, a stream of words about not causing friction with this Chloe person. I held up my free hand, cutting her off. “I’m sorry,” I said, my brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Who are you?” The whole situation was utterly bizarre. A complete stranger was telling me she was taking me “home,” but I already had a home. My real parents had found me eight years ago. 1 The woman froze, pinned by my blank, unrecognizing stare. Then, a strange laugh escaped her lips. “Eight years in this place, and you’re still as stubborn as ever,” she said, shaking her head as if appreciating a private joke. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Chloe was… coddled, by her father and me. At least I know you won’t let her walk all over you.” Her expression quickly sobered, her tone shifting to one of stern warning. “But Chloe is sensitive. When you get home, you are not to mention a word of this biological nonsense. You are both my daughters. Do you understand?” She looked at me, expecting a nod. “From now on, you’re her older sister. You will look out for her, protect her. In my heart, you are both equally important.” Listening to a statement so transparently biased it was almost comical, the fog in my memory finally began to clear. I knew who she was. Eleanor Pierce. My biological mother. Eight years was a lifetime. She was a stranger to me now, and a stranger’s words held no weight. “Mrs. Pierce,” I said, my voice even. “When you left me at this children’s home, did it ever occur to you that I might find a new family?” In the system, a healthy ten-year-old is a prime candidate for adoption. Eleanor reached out, as if to stroke my hair, but I instinctively recoiled. Her hand fell awkwardly to her side. “I spoke with the director,” she said, her voice tight. “I made it very clear that you were only being fostered here. That you had parents. Who would possibly adopt a child who wasn’t an orphan?” She looked me up and down, a critical glint in her eye. “Besides, you were already ten. A child raised in the mountains, behind in school, with no skills, no polish. You were practically feral. No one would have wanted you.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as she cataloged my supposed shortcomings. “Now you’re eighteen with no elite education. What other option do you have besides coming home? Do you plan to die in this place?” Her words were a dull echo of the past. When they first discovered the hospital mix-up, Richard and Eleanor Pierce had brought me to their mansion. For one single day, they held me and cooed about how much I must have suffered. The very next day, their precious Chloe—the girl they’d raised as their own—threw a tantrum and threatened to run away. Just like that, I was shipped off to St. Jude’s. It wasn’t that I had some deep, abiding love for them. But they were my blood. They were supposed to be my parents. And they wouldn’t even grant me a corner of their home. I fought. I screamed. I pleaded. All it earned me was their disgust. “This mix-up wasn’t Chloe’s fault,” they’d said. “She’s the one who’s been by our side, who has loved us all these years. If you move in, people will start asking questions about her parentage. It would be devastating for her mental health.” Then came the final, hollow promise. “You are our daughter. Everything that should be yours, will be yours. Just wait. Wait until Chloe goes to college, until she’s no longer so insecure. Then we’ll bring you home.” That speech severed the last thread of connection I felt to them. I walked into St. Jude’s without looking back. I didn’t expect that Leo Monroe, the son of the wealthiest man in the state, would decide he wanted a sister and pick me out of a lineup. At that moment, I was pinning down a boy who had been bullying me for weeks. Leo had pointed at me, a wide grin on his face. “That one,” he’d declared. “She’s got spark. She’s definitely my sister.” And just like that, I became a Monroe. “You’re such a headstrong child,” Eleanor was saying now, pulling me from my memories. “You haven’t called us once in all these years. But I know, deep down, you were still thinking of your mother and father.” She smiled, a knowing, self-satisfied look on her face. “Otherwise, why would you have knitted this scarf and sent it to me? You do still care.” I almost laughed out loud. St. Jude’s was heavily funded by charitable donations, the Monroe family being the largest benefactor. The Pierces were donors, too. Every year, the children here made handcrafted gifts as a thank-you to the patrons. I did knit a scarf my first winter here, but it was just an assignment. The director must have passed it off as a personal gift from me, a gentle nudge hoping they might finally take me back. I realized I had nothing more to say to a woman I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Eleanor, however, interpreted my silence as shyness. “You’ve waited eight long years for this reunion. You must be ecstatic,” she prattled on. “Your father and I have been looking forward to this day for so long.” She paused, looking at her watch. “Chloe’s graduation party is next week. As soon as it’s over, I’ll be back to pick you up.” The home’s director, Mrs. Gable, had rushed over and was hovering nearby, trying and failing to find a moment to interrupt. Eleanor ignored her, signaling for her driver to unload gifts from the trunk of the car. Piles of glossy boxes and bags were placed on the gravel. “And do try to dress up a bit,” she said, her eyes flicking over my comfortable, dirt-smudged track pants and t-shirt. “You look like a beggar.” I glanced down at my clothes, perfect for playing with kids and gardening. A beggar? The motorcade finally purred away, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Mrs. Gable let out a long breath. “Didn’t Mrs. Pierce get my messages? I sent her the official adoption notice years ago.” I shrugged, continuing to hand out the last of the snacks. “It doesn’t matter. She’s a stranger.” I turned to our director. “Mrs. Gable, can we put all these gifts in the pantry? The kids could use the extra treats.” After finishing my volunteer shift, I remembered that the custom birthday gift I’d ordered for my mom was ready. There are only a handful of truly high-end jewelers in the city. I never imagined I’d run into Eleanor Pierce at Belmont Jewelers of all places. She was seated on a velvet sofa, listening to the store manager present a tray of diamonds. When she saw me walk in, her face lit up with a surprised smile. “Maya, darling! Were you thinking about me? Are you afraid I won’t come back for you? Did you follow me here for reassurance?” I felt a headache coming on. Had she developed this habit of narrating her own strange reality recently? Had she seen a doctor? I decided the best course of action was to ignore her and walk directly to the counter to pick up my order. She moved to block my path. “Maya, we need to talk about your presentation,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “When you’re in a place like this, you must pay attention to your attire. Why aren’t you wearing any of the clothes I brought you this morning? Coming here dressed like that… it’s embarrassing for me. It shows a complete lack of proper upbringing.” A hot flash of anger shot through me. No one, in my entire life, had ever questioned my upbringing. My voice went cold. “What I wear is my business. My family doesn’t have a problem with it, so why should you? Now please, move. I’m here to pick up a piece of jewelry.” Eleanor’s face tightened, her pleasant demeanor cracking. “So, you are still bitter about us leaving you at the home? We already explained the situation. There’s no need for this passive-aggressive attitude. It’s so… ungracious.” She shook her head slowly. “You’re nothing like Chloe.” “Mom.” A perfectly manicured hand linked through Eleanor’s arm. A striking young woman appeared at her side, radiating the effortless confidence that comes from a life of privilege. “So, this is my sister, Maya?” Chloe’s eyes scanned me from head to toe. “I was just wondering, what school do you go to? What are your talents? I’m not a prodigy or anything, but I’ve dabbled in piano, ballet, painting… you know.” She paused, a small, pitying smile on her lips. “Oh, my goodness, I completely forgot. You grew up in a children’s home. It must have been a struggle just to get into any college at all.” Her tone was a masterclass in feigned sympathy and overt condescension. “I don’t recall having a sister,” I said flatly, looking at the woman who was a stranger to me, yet wore a face that held a faint, unsettling echo of my own. “You might want to be careful who you claim as family.” Just then, the manager emerged from the back room with a velvet-lined box. I pushed past Chloe to get to the counter. I didn’t use much force, but she stumbled dramatically, crying out in pain as she crumpled to the floor. Eleanor looked at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “After eight years, your temper has only gotten worse! You’d push her before you’re even officially back in the family. If we had let you come home eight years ago, would you be a murderer by now?!” This was insane. They were the ones blocking my way, spouting nonsense. “Mrs. Pierce, I was adopted by another family eight years ago. Today, I am simply here to pick up a piece of jewelry. I did not come here looking for you,” I stated clearly. “My parents are wonderful to me. They treat me like their own daughter. I have absolutely no desire to be yours.” Eleanor’s face went rigid. “Don’t say such ridiculous things. Your mother is standing right here. There’s a limit to these jokes.” But I could see a flicker of panic in her eyes. For the first time, she seemed to realize she had no control over this daughter she hadn’t seen in eight years. Something was slipping from her grasp. Seeing she was being ignored, Chloe climbed to her feet. “Mom, maybe I shouldn’t be at home anymore,” she sniffled, her eyes welling up. “The Pierce family isn’t my real family. I’ve stolen everything that should have been my sister’s. I should give it all back.” She began frantically removing her jewelry. “Here, take it,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is all yours. I only ask for one small thing… can I please, please still be your daughter?” Her performance was worthy of an Oscar. Eleanor’s expression melted into pure, unadulterated sympathy. “That’s enough,” she snapped, turning her fury on me. “Chloe is humbling herself like this, and what more do you want? She just wants to be part of our family, she can’t bear to leave us. Why can’t you find it in your heart to accept her?” Her voice rose. “You haven’t even called me ‘Mom’ once! I’ve tried to be patient with you, but you show Chloe no respect! I can see you’ve been thoroughly ruined!” Chloe rushed to Eleanor’s side, grabbing her arm as if to restrain her. Then, with a look of profound sorrow, she held out the collection of discarded earrings, necklaces, and rings to me. “Sister, you’ve probably never seen such beautiful things before,” she said, her voice dripping with pity. “Any one of these pieces is worth more than you could earn in a lifetime of working. I’m not trying to show off how much Mom and Dad love me. I just… you’re coming home soon. You shouldn’t make Mom so angry.” The implication was clear: I was just a gold-digger making a scene for money. I glanced down at the pile of jewelry. My brother, Leo, could buy me a roomful of better stuff. This wasn’t worth fighting over. I motioned for the manager to hand me my package. I opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a custom-made brooch: a delicate, openwork design of gold leaves entwined around a magnificent, deep green emerald. I nodded, satisfied. It had taken me visits to several auctions just to acquire a stone of this quality—a true imperial emerald. The intricate openwork design was incredibly difficult and wasteful of the raw material. It had cost me years of my allowance, but my mom deserved the absolute best. “Ms. Monroe,” the manager said with an enthusiastic smile, “are you pleased with ‘The Evergreen,’ custom-designed for your mother?” He slid the receipt toward me. Just as I was about to sign, a hand snatched the brooch from the box. “So, it was for me,” Eleanor said, her mood miraculously improving. Chloe chimed in immediately. “I’m surprised this store works with glass now. It looks almost real.” She turned to me. “Mom, even though my sister’s gift is… inexpensive, it’s the thought that counts.” I was stunned. My flawless imperial emerald… was glass? Was it so perfect it looked fake? Chloe reached for the brooch, intending to pin it on herself. There was no way I was letting her touch a gift meant for my mother. “Give it back!” I snapped. In the ensuing struggle, Chloe, with her back to her mother, shot me a sly, triumphant smirk. Then, she let go. Years of reflexes kicked in. I lunged forward and caught the brooch an inch before it hit the marble floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sister,” she began, her eyes wide with fake innocence. “I didn’t mean to lose my grip—” Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of my palm against her cheek. A tooth flew from her mouth. The smirk was gone. Eleanor lunged at me, her hand raised to strike, but I shoved her back onto the velvet sofa. “It’s just a pin! What’s the big deal if your sister wears it?” she shrieked, all pretense of the graceful socialite gone. “It was meant for me anyway, and what’s mine is Chloe’s!” I took the silk cloth offered by the manager and began carefully polishing the brooch. “Is your name engraved on it? No? Then stop being so delusional.” Eleanor stared at me, bewildered. “But he said it was custom-made for your mother. Who else could your mother be but me?” I didn’t answer. My phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way home now. No, don’t worry about picking me up.” I quickly signed the receipt, took my package, and turned to leave. “Maya Pierce!” Eleanor grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. “You called someone else ‘Mom’? Did you really find new parents? Why didn’t the director tell me? Looking at how you dress, they must not be wealthy. A working-class couple making five thousand a month, barely scraping by?” She was practically seething, her eyes filled with a strange hatred. “You will cut ties with those… people immediately. It’s utterly humiliating. Including those peasants in the mountains, you’ll have had three sets of parents. What respectable girl has three sets of parents?” Her voice dropped, cold and menacing. “If you don’t end it cleanly, don’t blame me for using other means to set things right.”

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