Author: Momo Chan

In the fifth year of my marriage to Marcus, he found his true love. He was so worried I might hurt her that he kept her under a shield of fierce protection. When his best friend asked him why he didn’t just get a divorce, Marcus sighed. “Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She takes care of everything, the house, our lives. Nina’s too young for all that. She just needs to be with me.” Marcus wasn’t making a choice. He wanted it all. But I have no interest in collecting trash. 1 The first sign was the plant on Marcus’s desk. The money tree in its delicate white lotus pot was gone. In its place sat a succulent terrarium, a miniature, self-contained world. It had been a while since I’d last visited the office. This time, I had to be formally announced by his secretary before I could go in. Inside, a young woman in a crisp white pantsuit stood beside Marcus. She was his new assistant. The moment I entered, she snapped her folder shut and made to leave. I stopped her before she could escape. “Could you get me a coffee, please? Thank you.” She shot a quick, nervous glance at Marcus before scurrying out. I sat down across from him, and we began discussing our social calendar for the second half of the year—birthdays, anniversaries, business dinners. I took notes in my planner as we spoke. From the corner of my eye, I saw the assistant return with the coffee. I reached for it. Before my fingers even brushed the saucer, she let out a sharp cry. I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. Scalding liquid splashed across my skin. Marcus shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm. “I’m fine.” “It’s nothing.” We spoke at the same time. I looked up at the assistant. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she stared at Marcus, a picture of wounded innocence. He grabbed my hand, inspecting the red splotches. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” the assistant stammered, her voice trembling. “I thought Mrs. Thorne had a firm grip on it before I let go—” “Get out,” Marcus snapped, his tone cold and severe. The assistant bit her lip, her face a mask of grievance, and ran out of the room, wiping away tears. I’d never seen an employee so comfortable being emotional in front of their boss. “Should we go to the hospital?” Marcus’s question pulled my attention back. I shook my head. “How did you end up hiring someone so clumsy?” Marcus, for all his polished and gentle demeanor, had zero tolerance for incompetence. Assistants who couldn’t keep up with his train of thought were quickly dismissed. One who couldn’t even carry a cup of coffee should have been fired on the spot. “She’s from a small town, easily spooked,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Her family’s got it rough. It’s not worth making a big deal out of it.” I said nothing more, but my heart began a slow, heavy descent. The company had clawed its way to the top through ruthless efficiency, not charity. And Marcus was never the type to go soft on anyone, especially not for a pretty face. This was uncharacteristic. A woman’s intuition in these matters is a terrifyingly sharp thing. I just needed to know how far it had gone. 2 Marcus’s phone, lying face down on the desk, buzzed a few times. He ignored it, diligently reviewing the gift list with me one last time. As I gathered my things, I asked, “Where should we go for dinner tonight?” “Oh.” He glanced at his phone, a guilty expression flickering across his face. “I’ve got a work thing tonight. You could come along, but… everyone will be smoking.” I waved him off. “You go ahead. I’ll head home.” He walked me to the elevator personally. “I know things have been busy. Thanks for handling all this. I’ll try to get home early tonight to be with you.” His voice was a low, seductive murmur. When he turned on the charm, that soft, devoted look in his eyes, he was irresistible. I smiled and waved as the elevator doors closed. Down in the parking garage, I called our driver. “I left a file in Marcus’s car. Could you come down and unlock it for me?” He arrived quickly. He was a company veteran who had been driving for Marcus since before we were even married. The backseat of the car was my personal storage space—a spare handbag, a jacket, a custom-made neck pillow. I turned on the recording pen, tucked it deep inside the foam of the front passenger seat’s headrest, and grabbed a random folder on my way out. “Thanks for coming all this way,” I said. “Your daughter is graduating this year, isn’t she?” “Yes, ma’am. She said her practice exam scores are looking good. It’s all thanks to the tutor you recommended back then. We wouldn’t have known where to start otherwise.” I smiled. “She’s a smart girl who works hard. And you’ve worked hard all these years for Marcus.” The driver’s expression shifted, becoming uneasy. “Mr. Thorne has been… very busy lately, Mrs. Thorne,” he said softly. “You should take care of yourself.” 3 Marcus was having an affair. The driver’s warning couldn’t have been clearer. By the time I got home, I felt as though all the strength had been drained from my body. A tiny, foolish part of me still clung to a sliver of hope. I just couldn’t understand it. Why would he do this? I hadn’t sensed a single crack in our relationship. He planned thoughtful celebrations for every holiday, every anniversary. My friends all envied me, seeing me as the cherished wife of a perfect husband. But… the truth was likely a bitter joke. Perhaps all those expensive gifts were just his way of paying off his guilt. I rubbed my throbbing temples, my mind frantically sifting through the years, searching for a clue, a forgotten moment, a missed sign. I found nothing. That assistant seemed so… plain. Compared to the other women who had tried to flirt with Marcus over the years, she was bland, almost timid. Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Timid… I sank onto the sofa, covering my eyes with my hand as a hollow laugh escaped me. I knew who she was. 4 Nina. I found her name in the company’s HR system. She’d been hired less than two months ago. But her history with Marcus went back four years. She had once shown up at our doorstep, dragging a burlap sack half-filled with produce from her hometown, wanting to thank the “kind benefactor” who had sponsored her college education. Marcus’s company made charitable donations every year; everyone knew it was primarily for the tax write-offs. It was a win-win. Sponsoring underprivileged students had been my idea. The arrangement was anonymous, so I have no idea how Nina tracked us down. She was thin and dark-skinned back then, with an air of rural simplicity clinging to her. She couldn’t meet our eyes, wouldn’t even step inside. She just mumbled her thanks and pointed at the sack. “We don’t want it. Take it with you,” Marcus had said, appearing in the doorway with a frown. His voice was laced with impatience. “And you don’t need to thank us. Don’t show up here uninvited again.” The girl’s eyes instantly filled with tears. I had nudged him, thinking he was being too harsh. She had come all this way, and it was a sincere gesture. I accepted her gift and had our housekeeper pack a bag of fresh fruit for her to take back. She refused it and ran off. Thinking back on it now, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. She had changed so much. No wonder I hadn’t recognized her. She was nothing if not persistent. 5 Marcus came home very late. He was drunk. The driver helped him inside, and he was calling my name. But this time, I didn’t rush to his side. I let the driver deposit him on the living room sofa. Before leaving, the driver placed the car keys on the console table by the door. “I feel sick… Honey, my head… it hurts so much.” I glanced at him once, then turned and went down to the garage. The car reeked of stale alcohol, but underneath it, I could smell the sweet, cloying scent of another woman’s perfume. Much of the dashcam footage had been deleted. My lips pressed into a thin line, I retrieved the recording pen. Soon, a tearful, feminine voice filled the silence. “Why were you so mean to me?” “Did you spill that coffee on her on purpose?” Marcus’s voice was sharp. Nina didn’t deny it. “You have no idea how much I love you! If you leave me, I’ll die!” she sobbed. “I’m jealous of her! I want you all to myself!” The sound of rustling fabric, a sharp intake of breath from Marcus. “I can do this for you. Can she?” Nina’s voice was a seductive whisper. “Open your mouth.” Marcus’s breathing was ragged, his voice urgent. A muffled gasp from Nina that was anything but pain, followed by sounds that were… unbearable to hear. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat. It was disgusting. Utterly vile. I sat there, frozen in a cold sweat, forcing myself to listen, a strange form of self-torture. I don’t know how much time passed before the recording picked up new sounds. “You drank that much and you’re still going home?” It was Leo’s voice, our mutual friend from college and Marcus’s business partner. “A CEO taking shots for his assistant? It’s a little obvious, man.” “This isn’t like you, Marcus. Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her.” Marcus laughed, his voice thick with alcohol. “She’s so naive. She says she doesn’t want anything, she just wants to be with me. Being with her… it’s relaxing. A completely different feeling. I can’t stand to see her get bullied… it makes my chest hurt. Is that… love?” Leo made a sharp sound. “Just have your fun, but don’t do anything stupid. You know Claire doesn’t tolerate bullshit.” When Marcus didn’t respond, Leo’s voice grew urgent. “If you care about this Nina so much, why are you making her your mistress? Why don’t you just divorce Claire?” Silence filled the car. After a long moment, Marcus let out a heavy sigh. “Claire and I… Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She helps me take care of our home, our life. I still have feelings for her, but… it’s not love anymore. It’s family. She’s my family.” “I don’t want to hurt Claire, but I can’t stop thinking about Nina. I can’t control it. It’s a feeling I’ve never had with Claire.” “Jesus,” Leo muttered. “You’re drunk. Stop talking.” “I’m not drunk, Leo,” Marcus mumbled. “My head is perfectly clear right now.” “Nina’s young, and pathetically naive. She loves me so much. She makes me feel free, happy in a way I’ve never felt before. She needs me.” “Claire is great, too. I admire her, but… I’m also afraid of her. She’s not officially in the company, but Finance and HR are filled with her people. She holds all the connections to our biggest clients.” “I have to constantly please her, cater to her. I don’t feel like her husband. I feel like her son. No… more like her slave!” Leo seemed at a loss for words. “Man… that’s not fair to Claire.” “I know,” Marcus said. “That’s why I’ll never divorce her. I’ll give Claire the title, and I’ll give Nina my love.” Leo sucked in a sharp breath. “You want both? What happens when Claire finds out?” Marcus was silent for so long I thought he had passed out. Then, his voice, slurred but firm, cut through the quiet. “I won’t let her hurt Nina.” Leo’s voice was filled with disbelief. “If you had to choose one… who would you choose?!”

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My little sister, Karen, has always been fragile. The doctors called it depression—a delicate glass doll that couldn’t withstand the slightest shock. So my whole life was set to mute. To avoid upsetting her, I never laughed too loudly or cried too openly. Even when hurt, I wasn’t allowed to make a sound. Mom and Dad would pull me aside, eyes full of apology. “You’re such a good girl, Ava,” they’d say. “Karen’s recovery is a family effort. You’re the strong one. Can you be more patient?” That day, I knocked over a glass of water. The crash sent Karen spiraling. For the first time, my father hit me. “Can’t you be more careful?” he yelled. “Are you trying to push her over the edge?” He shoved me. My head struck the corner of the coffee table. Warm blood trickled down. But everyone rushed to a screaming Karen. No one looked at me. I lay on the cold floor, my vision blurring. They thought Karen’s feelings mattered most. That my head injury could wait. They didn’t know a brain bleed waits for no one. 1 The floorboards were cold against my cheek. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed from the back of my skull. I could feel something warm and sticky trickling down my neck, pooling into a dark crimson puddle on the polished wood. “Can’t you be more careful? Are you trying to push her over the edge?” Dad’s voice echoed in my ears, a painful ringing that made the bleeding feel worse. On the couch, Karen was curled into a tight ball, her hands clamped over her ears, letting out a series of ear-splitting shrieks. “She did it on purpose! She’s trying to kill me! Get her away from me! Get her away!” Mom knelt before her, stroking her back and murmuring soft reassurances. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. The bad sister is gone now.” I tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness slammed me back down. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, swallowing the world piece by piece. “Dad… Mom…” My voice was a faint whisper, lost in the chaos. No one looked back. My sight grew fuzzy, and scenes from the past began to flicker in my mind. I remembered racing home with my first straight-A report card, my heart soaring. “Mom, I got—” I burst through the door, the words catching in my throat. Mom snatched the report card from my hand and quickly shoved it into a drawer. “Ava, don’t let your sister see that.” Her voice was a tense hiss. “You know how she gets. Seeing you succeed… it’s a trigger for her.” I stood frozen in the doorway, the triumphant smile still plastered on my face. “But Mom, it’s my first time getting all A’s!” My voice trembled. “My teacher said I could apply for the early admission program…” “You’re the understanding one,” she said, stroking my hair, her eyes filled with that familiar guilt. “Karen’s recovery is a family effort. You’re the healthy one, the strong one. Can you just let her have this?” I nodded, retreated to my room, and swallowed the bitter pill of disappointment. The pool of blood on the floor was growing. My breathing became shallow, ragged. White spots danced before my eyes. “Mom, it hurts!” I gasped, stretching a hand out. She finally turned, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, stop making a scene. Can’t you see your sister is having an episode? We’ll deal with you later.” Karen’s screams intensified. “Get her out! Get her out of here!” She grabbed a glass from the coffee table and hurled it against the wall, sending shards of glass flying. Dad rushed to her side, scooping her into a protective embrace. “Shhh, my sweet star, Daddy’s here. It’s okay.” His voice was impossibly gentle. “Daddy sent the bad sister away. No one’s going to hurt you.” My fingers scraped weakly against the floor, leaving a thin, bloody smear. I remembered last month, when a group of girls cornered me in a bathroom stall. They poured toilet water over my head and drew ugly things on my face with lipstick. “Freak! Nerd!” their laughter echoed off the tiled walls. “You’re just as crazy as your psycho sister!” When I got home, Mom wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell? Go take a shower, quickly. Karen is sensitive to odors.” I hid in my room and cried for hours. But when Mom knocked and asked what was wrong, I wiped my tears and said, “Nothing.” I knew that if I told them I was being bullied, the “family discord” would trigger another one of Karen’s breakdowns. “Karen cannot be exposed to any form of stress, or her life could be at risk!” The doctor’s words were a curse laid upon our house. The darkness was closing in. I heard Dad on the phone. “…Yes, Karen’s had another episode. Okay, we’ll bring her to the hospital right away.” Hurried footsteps rushed past me. No one stopped to wonder why I was so quiet. “Ava, go get Karen’s medication!” Mom commanded, not even bothering to look at me. I tried to answer, but my lips wouldn’t move. “God, she’s still putting on an act,” Dad muttered in disgust. “Let’s see how long she keeps it up.” My last conscious thought was of the art studio. I remembered packing up my paints and brushes, locking them away in a storage locker. “Why are you quitting?” my art teacher had asked, shocked. “You’re my most talented student!” “The smell of the turpentine gives my sister headaches,” I mumbled, staring at the floor, unable to meet his disappointed gaze. “The doctor said… she needs a quiet environment.” Now, all those locked-away dreams were dying, right here on the floor, with me. The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I heard Mom cry out, “Karen! Hold on, baby! The doctors are almost here!” A clatter of footsteps, and the front door was thrown open, scattering some of the cloying smell of blood. “Where’s the patient?” a man’s voice asked. “Here! Quick! My daughter can’t take it anymore!” Dad answered urgently. Please, I begged the universe, let someone look down. Let them see another daughter, bleeding out, waiting to be saved. The paramedics walked straight to the couch, carefully lifting my thrashing sister onto a gurney. No one noticed the girl dying in the corner. “…a patient with a head injury can’t wait…” That was the last thing I heard before my world dissolved into absolute black. I floated above my own body, watching the scene unfold. It was strange. I thought dying would be agonizing, but instead, I just felt… light. My body was still there, the blood at the back of my head now dark and congealed, my face a waxy, pale white. The apartment was a whirlwind of motion. Dad flanked the paramedics, hovering protectively over the still-screaming Karen as they rushed out the door. Mom followed close behind, clutching a bottle of pills. No one spared a final glance for the daughter they’d left behind. “Hurry! The ambulance is waiting!” Dad’s voice was sharp with panic. Mom suddenly paused at the doorway, looking back. “What about Ava?” “Forget about her! Karen is what matters!” Dad yelled, already halfway down the stairs with his precious cargo. Mom hesitated for a fraction of a second, then ran after them. The door slammed shut, the force of it knocking our family portrait off the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the now-empty apartment. In the photo, Karen stood in the center, Mom and Dad on either side, their arms around her, all of them beaming. I was off to the very edge, an awkward afterthought who looked like I’d stumbled into the frame by accident. I drifted to the window and watched the ambulance pull away, its blue and red lights flashing silently. They hadn’t even realized I was dead. My phone started ringing in the bedroom. I floated through the wall and saw the screen light up: Mr. Davis. My homeroom teacher. It went to voicemail. “Hello, this is Mr. Davis. Ava wasn’t in school today and wasn’t marked absent. Is she sick? Please give me a call back as soon as you can.” Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the neat stack of textbooks on my desk. I had planned to buy a new art book after school. I wouldn’t be needing it now. My spirit was pulled, against my will, in the direction of my family. In the emergency room, Karen was given a sedative and finally fell quiet. A doctor was examining her, his brow furrowed. “She’s just shaken up. Nothing serious,” he said, removing his stethoscope. “A little rest and she’ll be fine.” “Oh, thank God!” Mom collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with relief. Dad wrapped an arm around her. “It’s okay. It’s over. Karen’s going to be fine.” I stood right in front of them, wanting to scream. Look at me! I’m dead! Your other daughter is dead! But my voice couldn’t cross the veil. A nurse came in with a clipboard. “Would you like to have her admitted for observation?” “Absolutely,” Dad said, jumping to his feet. “She needs the best care.” The nurse made a note. “Patient’s name is Karen, correct?” “Yes, she…” “And what about the other patient?” the nurse asked suddenly. “The paramedics mentioned there was another young woman injured at the scene?” Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look. “Oh, you mean Ava?” Mom waved a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. She just took a little tumble. She’s probably resting at home.” The nurse nodded and left. I closed my eyes in agony. They hadn’t even found my body. They didn’t know I’d stopped breathing hours ago. Karen stirred in the hospital bed, letting out a soft moan. Mom was at her side in an instant. “Baby, what’s wrong? Tell Mommy where it hurts.” “My sister,” Karen whispered weakly. “My sister tried to hurt me.” “Don’t be scared. Mommy won’t let her hurt you,” Mom soothed, stroking her hair with a tenderness I hadn’t felt in years. “She just knocked over a glass, sweetie. It was an accident.” “No!” Karen’s eyes flew open, suddenly agitated. “It wasn’t an accident! She hates me! She’s always calling me a burden, a curse on this family! She said she was going to kill me one day!” Her breathing hitched, and the numbers on the heart monitor began to spike. Doctors and nurses rushed back into the room, and the chaos began all over again. I drifted into a corner, a silent spectator to the familiar drama. All my life, whenever Karen said, “My sister hates me,” my parents would turn on me with accusing eyes, as if I were some kind of monster. “Karen said you hid her favorite doll.” “Karen said you woke her up in the middle of the night on purpose.” “Karen said you put something in her water!” Even now, with me dead and gone, they still believed her every word. Dad’s cell phone rang. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it. “Hello? Oh, Detective Miller. What?!” The color drained from his face. “No! That’s impossible!” His voice cracked. “Are you sure it was… our Ava?” I could almost hear the cold, dispassionate voice on the other end of the line. “Preliminary findings indicate the deceased is a 16-year-old female with a fatal wound to the back of the head. She’s been dead for at least three hours. We’ve confirmed her identity. The victim is your eldest daughter, Ava.”

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The boss I was secretly in love with suddenly gave me a fountain pen. In that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze on the spot, my mind reeling. I reached out and stroked the pen. The next second, the man sitting across from me—my boss—let out a sharp, muffled grunt. 1 Nobody is supposed to be in love with their boss. Except for me. Because he was good to me. Impossibly good. I’d been working in the Executive Office ever since I graduated, straight into the lion’s den of Cole Corp. My boss, Mr. Liam Cole, was a man carved from ice. He was cool, distant, and spoke only when necessary. But if someone on his team screwed up, he could dress them down with a glacial fury that left them weeping at their desks. But with me… I always felt he was different. It’s normal to be clumsy with procedures when you’re fresh out of college. The other executive assistants in the office were drowning in their own work, so no one had time to mentor the new girl. It was my own fault, really. I was just dumb enough to make a colossal mistake. The moment I was summoned to his office, the senior assistants all looked at me with the kind of pity you reserve for the condemned. My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked the green mile to his door. But inside, Liam Cole’s expression was perfectly calm. He just asked me if I was adjusting to the company, if I felt comfortable, if my colleagues were treating me well. He never even mentioned the mistake. When I walked back out, every head in the office snapped toward me. I quickly bowed my head, pretending to sniffle back tears. I might have been new to the corporate world, but I understood that much. Special treatment breeds jealousy. It was better to look like I’d been chewed out, just like everyone else. 2 I worked at Cole Corp for over a year. Every day, my senior colleagues were hounded and stressed, running around like their hair was on fire. I, on the other hand, had to pretend to be hounded and stressed. To deserve the quiet grace Liam Cole showed me, I threw myself into my work, becoming more meticulous, more dedicated than anyone. I couldn’t betray the unspoken faith he had in me. I could never quite figure out what it all meant. What I meant to him. But I wanted to do everything in my power to make him see me, to impress him. I knew, in that quiet place in my heart, that his kindness toward me was unique. It wasn’t overt, nothing anyone could point a finger at. Maybe it was just a hint of affection, a flicker of something more. I told myself not to overthink it. It was enough to see him every day. I was earning a fantastic salary for a job that, for me, was surprisingly calm. What more could I possibly ask for? 3 The company landed a massive new account. Everyone who had worked on the deal was getting a bonus. For the Executive Office, those bonuses were handed out personally by the CEO himself. I filed into his office with my colleagues. Liam Cole produced a stack of thick envelopes, his voice as cool and crisp as ever. “For your efforts.” As the newest hire, I was last in line. One by one, my colleagues accepted their envelopes, their faces lit with joy. When my turn came, there was nothing left. Liam’s face was unreadable. “Ellie, you’ve only been with the company for a little over a year. Your seniority doesn’t quite qualify for this tier. I got you something else.” My colleagues craned their necks, their curiosity piqued. He slid a sleek, dark blue box across the mahogany desk. “Open it.” What could possibly be better than a fat check? Confused, I lifted the lid. Nestled in the velvet lining was a handsome fountain pen, its body the color of a midnight sky. Tied around it was a tiny, almost comically delicate, pink ribbon. And in that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【OMG, he basically just handed over his junk! LMAO!】 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze, my fingers hovering over the box. Junk? Empathically linked? Stallion? Was I hallucinating? Maybe it was all the late nights I’d spent binge-watching shows. Liam Cole’s voice, a little strained now, pulled me back. “You don’t like it?” 【Aww, our poor guy is shattering.】 【What if she doesn’t like my gift? It’s literally my soul in a pen!】 【Ellie, just nod! Say you like it! PLEASE!】 【Look at him, trying to act all cool, but he’s probably gripping the underside of his desk so hard his knuckles are white.】 “I love it,” I blurted out. Then, on a whim, driven by a bizarre impulse, I reached into the box. My heart started to pound, a frantic, wild rhythm. I only meant to touch the pen, just to feel it. “Wait—” Liam started to say. But my fingers had already closed around the smooth, cool barrel of the pen, stroking it firmly. Across the desk, a low, guttural sound escaped his lips. He let out a sharp grunt, and the tips of his ears instantly flushed a deep, tell-tale red. The sound was so intimate, so charged, it sent a shiver straight through me. My colleagues stood awkwardly to the side, confused but too intimidated to speak. A slow smile spread across my face. “Thank you, Mr. Cole. This pen… I absolutely love it.” 【AAAAH! He’s dying! One touch and our boy is losing his mind!】 【I live for moments like this. When she plays him like a fiddle!】 【OMG, this is way too hot. Ellie, you keep doing you. Wreck him!】 【I’d be different. If my boss’s junk was linked to a pen, I’d stomp on it. Just sayin’.】 I caught it then—the subtle tightening of his jaw. Was he gritting his teeth? Fighting for control? “If you like it, then take good care of it,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Don’t disappoint me.” I nodded, my smile widening. “Of course. I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied.” I had no idea where he’d found a pen with an empathic link, but one thing was suddenly crystal clear. I was living in a trashy romance novel. And with a world built on bizarre rules like this, who was I to argue? 4 As soon as we left his office, Liam strode past us, his steps clipped and fast, heading straight for the men’s restroom. 【Hehe, couldn’t hold it in anymore? Gotta go relieve some pressure?】 【Just one little touch and he’s already at his limit. This guy has zero self-control. I’m worried for our girl’s future.】 【Wait, she’s reaching for it! What’s she gonna do?! Oh my god!】 【OMG, if she carries that pen with her everywhere, does that mean he’s going to be at full mast 24/7?】 So, Liam Cole was a closet freak. After more than a year of pining, the most he could manage was to secretly gift me his… remote control. Fine. I could be generous. I’d help him get his release. From now on, the ball was in my court. Back at my desk, I took the pen from its box. I untied the little pink ribbon and ran my fingers up and down its length. Then, I uncapped it and tentatively started to write on a notepad. Just as I suspected. The pen was full of ink. The characters flowed onto the page, rich and dark. 【AAAAAH! HE’S ON THE TOILET AND HE’S GONNA DIE!】 【HOLY SHIT, ELLIE, YOU ARE A NATURAL AT THIS!】 【Stop writing, stop writing! He’s literally biting his tongue!】 【Jesus, this guy is bold. Isn’t he afraid of dying from dehydration?】 An image of him, undone and losing control, flashed through my mind, and a wave of heat washed over me. Suddenly, a hand snatched the pen from my grasp. It was Chloe, my least favorite colleague. “Tch. It’s just a regular pen. Nothing expensive. I can’t believe he’d give you this as a bonus,” she sneered. This pen was linked to Liam Cole. It couldn’t be in her hands. That would mean he was… 【Phew, our guy is smart. The pen is only bonded to Ellie. Even he can’t activate it by touching it himself.】 【He must have planned for this. Knew that other people would inevitably touch it.】 【He’s coming out of the restroom now. Wonder what his face will look like when he sees his junk in someone else’s hand.】 【Ellie looks like she’s about to cry, my poor baby!】 “Give it back!” I snapped. Knowing it was safe, thanks to the chat feed, didn’t stop the surge of anger. I wanted to snatch it back, but I was afraid she wouldn’t let go. What if she damaged it? What would that do to him? “Whoa, so protective,” Chloe taunted, inspecting the pen from end to end. “There’s nothing special about it. Lame.” She tossed it back on my desk. “But seriously, Ellie. Are you into Mr. Cole or something?” Her voice was deliberately loud. The entire office turned to look. My face caught fire. “That’s ridiculous!” Just then, a cold voice cut through the tension from behind me. “What are you all talking about?” 【Ooh, you bad girl, Ellie. Just a minute ago you were playing with him until he was seeing stars, and now you’re denying it!】 【He’s breaking. I can practically see the cracks forming. His hands are shaking.】 【Oh my god, he’s the petty type. Ellie, you better watch out. He’s gonna get you back for this until you can’t see straight.】 【Hehe, and I, for one, can’t wait!】 I turned around. Liam’s face was so dark it looked like a storm cloud had settled over his features. I’m screwed. That was my first thought. Chloe immediately started playing the victim. “Mr. Cole, I just wanted to look at her pen, and she got so nasty with me.” Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, Liam let out a cold, humorless laugh. “That’s her property. Did you ask for her permission before you took it?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Chloe, you’re a senior member of this office. How have your manners gotten so sloppy?” He stared her down. “Give it back to her. And don’t make me say it again.” The other assistants were practically vibrating with the drama. With Liam backing me up, what did I have to be afraid of? “Chloe,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Could you please wipe it clean and put it back in the box for me? It was a gift from Mr. Cole, you see. I treasure it.” Chloe’s face contorted with rage. “Mr. Cole, look at her! You’re spoiling her! She’s getting arrogant, walking all over everyone!” Liam’s expression darkened even further. “Did you not hear what I just said?” Chloe deflated instantly. She fumbled for a tissue, wiped down the pen with shaking hands, and placed it back in its box. I looked up at Liam. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cole. I promise I’ll take very good care of your pen. I’ll keep it with me at all times, where no one else can touch it.” He gave me a long, deep look. Without another word, he turned and went back into his office. For some reason, he seemed even angrier than before. 【Ellie is being so formal. Our poor guy is heartbroken.】 【Well, she doesn’t know how he feels about her yet! She’s just trying to appease her boss.】 【When is this plot going to speed up? I’m so over the slow burn!】 5 That evening, I sat on my bed, staring at the pen in its open box. I was afraid to touch it, worried about what might be happening on his end. 【He’s in the shower! AAAAAH!】 【Damn, he has a nice body. Abs, pecs, delts… It’s just, that one area is all pixelated, I can’t see.】 【You don’t need to see it to imagine it. This is a spicy romance novel; you think the author would give him anything less than a cannon?】 【Whoa, he’s washing himself so… thoroughly. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this.】 He was in the shower? Without a second thought, I snatched the pen and wrapped my hand around it. The chat feed exploded in a collective shriek. 【AAAAAHHHHH! SO SUDDEN! His knees buckled! He almost fell! Thank god he caught himself on the wall!】 【OH MY GOD, ELLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! MORE! GIVE US MORE!】 【His face is so red! He looks like he’s about to pass out from pleasure!】 【Ellie, Ellie, your timing is impeccable!】 I thought for a moment, then uncapped the pen. As expected, a single, dark drop of ink welled at the nib and fell onto the tissue below. It had leaked. 【HOLY HELL. So he wasn’t washing himself?】 【He was ‘polishing the silver’! No wonder it seemed so weird!】 【I mean, his expression was so stoic, how were we supposed to know?!】 【I can’t wait to see if he keeps that same poker face when he’s doing the deed with Ellie…】 “Huh. The quality of this pen isn’t that great,” I murmured to myself. I took a tissue and dabbed at the inky tip, then gripped the barrel again. 【AAAAAH, is she gonna do it again?!】 【I think she’s going to write something. HOLY SHIT! Can he handle it? Don’t make him spit ink and stick his tongue out again!】 【Please, wait a second, Ellie! Let the man recover!】 【This novel is so damn good. Author, please write another one! I’ll preorder it right now!】 Suddenly, my phone rang. Liam’s voice came through the line, tight with restraint. “What are you doing?” What do you think I’m doing, baby? “Just looking at my phone,” I said innocently. “There’s a file that needs your attention,” he said, his tone clipped and professional. “Drop what you’re doing and come into the office.” Work overtime? He had to be kidding me. I squeezed the pen a little harder. 【AAAAAH, HE CAN’T TAKE IT, ELLIE!】 【He’s so desperate he’s resorting to making up work for her! He’s running on empty, baby!】 【Hahaha, is this the same overpowered male lead I know and love?】 【Well, she did make him spit a lot of ink at the office today. He’s probably scared.】 A beat of silence, then: “Are you… using the pen right now?” “I am.” Another pause. “Stop using it for now. The ink cartridge in that pen regenerates a little ink automatically each day. If you use too much, it’s bad for the… the pen. You should use it sparingly. Cherish it.” 【I have a feeling he’s not talking about the pen.】 【Of course he is, baby. What else would he be talking about? ;)】 【Girl, you’re reading a smutty novel and you don’t get the subtext? Come on!】 【Ellie’s blushing! Why is she blushing?】 【Something feels weird… It’s almost like Ellie knows…】 “I understand, Mr. Cole.” My voice became a little husky, a little sweet. “I’ll be very careful with the pen. But I don’t want to work overtime. Is that okay?” Perhaps it was the knowledge of the power I held. I couldn’t help but sound a little coquettish. His voice on the other end was barely a whisper. “Okay. Then… come to my office tomorrow.” “Mmm, I will, Mr. Cole,” I cooed. 【She’s so happy she doesn’t have to work overtime! She’s so cute, I could just die!】 【So sweet I’m getting a cavity. Of course our boy is at full mast again!】 【With this little self-control, Ellie is going to be the death of him.】 【I can’t wait, I can’t wait! Plot, move faster!】 【And just like that, he’s back to polishing the silver.】 【Ellie, touch the pen again! I’m begging you!】 I considered it for a moment, but decided to give him a break. I carefully wrapped the pen in a tissue and placed it back in its box for the night. 6 The next morning, I brought the file Liam had mentioned to his office. The door was shut tight. I remembered seeing Chloe go in just a few minutes earlier with coffee. Suddenly, I heard a woman’s sharp gasp from inside. Something wasn’t right. I gave the door a perfunctory knock. “Mr. Cole, I’m coming in.” “Wait—” His word was cut off as I pushed the door open. Inside, Chloe was kneeling at his feet, her hands on his thighs. The position was so compromising, it was impossible not to jump to conclusions. 【The side character spilled coffee on our man’s lap! I hope his family jewels weren’t scalded!】 【Aaaah, Ellie saw! Is she going to misunderstand?!】 【Ellie, punish him! Punish him hard!】 Liam’s face was flushed with anger. “Get out!” Chloe shot me a triumphant smirk. “Ellie, you really need to learn some manners. You can’t just barge in when the CEO doesn’t invite you. You should be more careful in the future.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Now, run along. Mr. Cole and I have things to discuss. You can—” “I was talking to you,” Liam bit out, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly cold register. I’d never heard him sound like that, not even when he was tearing into a subordinate. Chloe froze. “But, Mr. Cole…” “Get. The hell. Out.” He didn’t even look at her. Chloe stood, shot me a venomous glare, and stormed out of the office. “…What do you want?” he asked, his voice strained. I placed the file on his desk. “This is the document you wanted me to work on last night. It’s finished. For your review.” My eyes drifted down to the dark stain on his trousers. “Perhaps you should go change first, Mr. Cole?” The tension in his shoulders finally eased. He knew I hadn’t misunderstood. “Yes. You can go now,” he said. “Just leave the file here. I’ll look at it later.” “Of course.” I turned to leave. As he stood, glancing down at the coffee stain, he disappeared into his private lounge. 【Thank god Ellie didn’t get the wrong idea. That would have been so awkward.】 【Seriously, dude, you have a mouth, don’t you? Why didn’t you just explain?】 【He’s the classic cold, stoic type. He can only crush from afar in secret.】 【When are they finally going to hook up?! Is the ice ever going to break? This is killing me!】 I reached the door, then stopped. Slowly, I unclipped the fountain pen from my breast pocket. Gripping it tightly, I turned and walked back to his desk. I uncapped it, poised to write. Liam burst out of the lounge, his eyes wide and wild. The corners were startlingly red, his gaze almost wet with panic. “Ellie, what are you doing?!” I looked up. He had already taken off his shirt, revealing a torso of hard, defined muscle. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist—a perfect physique. But that wasn’t the most important part. The most important part was below his waist. His trousers were tented, forming a prominent, undeniable bulge. The size of it… My stare must have felt like a physical touch, because his entire body flushed a deep crimson. 【Damn, I think Ellie is about to have a nosebleed!】 【AAAAH, he’s so flustered! So flustered!】 【Oh my god, is it about to happen?!】 【Ellie, you’re still holding the pen! Do something!】 “Mr. Cole, I… I just remembered there was a spot on the file I needed to sign,” I stammered, my eyes still glued to him. He took a tiny, hesitant step forward. “Don’t… don’t use that pen. Find a ballpoint on my desk.” “Okay, Mr. Cole.” My voice was obedient, but my gaze didn’t waver. He squeezed his eyes shut in pure mortification. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he whispered. “I’m not a pervert, I swear. I thought you had come back for something else…” Such a prude, baby. “I know you’re not a pervert,” I said, a new, wicked confidence blooming inside me. My eyes drifted back down to the tent in his pants. “The coffee must have been hot. Thermal expansion, right?” 【AAAAAH ELLIE, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! How did you get like this?!】 【I’m going to faint. Ellie, you are so bad!】 【Is she flirting with him? Our girl is a pro!】 【I command you, right here, right now, get it on!】 【Is it just me, or did the tent just get bigger?】 “Mr. Cole,” I continued, my voice low. “If I hadn’t walked in just now… were you going to let Chloe help you change? Treat your… burn?” He shook his head frantically. “No. That was an accident. I told her to leave, she wouldn’t go…” I calmly walked right up to him until we were inches apart, staring directly into his panicked eyes. I held up the pen between us. “Don’t you think you’re a little overly concerned about this pen?” I asked softly. “Liam Cole. What exactly did you do?” He was so stunned by my shift in demeanor, so shocked that I had used his first name, that he couldn’t form a coherent thought. “I… I just wanted you to take good care of it…” “Really?” I pressed. His throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yes. It was your bonus. I just wanted you to treasure it.” 【He’s so close, how is he not kissing her?】 【Aaaah, Ellie, if you take one more step you’ll be touching the tent!】 【So our sweet Ellie is a bad girl underneath it all. I love it.】 【Keep going, keep going! Do the deed!】 Suddenly, the office door flew open again. It was Chloe. “Mr. Cole, I brought you a change of—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. “What are you two doing?!” What was with her tone? Like a wife catching her husband cheating. I turned and gave her an epic eye-roll. “Get out,” Liam said, his voice flat and devoid of patience. “I’ll go, but she goes with me,” Chloe demanded, pointing a trembling finger at me. Liam’s brows knitted together. “You will leave by yourself. We have things to discuss.” “What could you possibly have to discuss?” she whined. “You two are…” “Don’t make me say it a second time. Get lost!” “…Fine.” Chloe reluctantly closed the door, her footsteps echoing her defeat. The moment the latch clicked, Liam grabbed my arm and pulled me into the lounge, locking the door behind us. My back hit the cool wood of the door as he pressed his warm, bare chest against me. There was nowhere to run. He enveloped my hand, the one holding the pen, with his own. His voice was a raw, ragged whisper next to my ear. “Do you like the pen I gave you?” I turned my head, dodging the kiss I knew was coming. “Mr. Cole, you…” “It’s empathically linked to me,” he confessed, all at once. My head whipped back around to face him. “…What?” He moved his hips, pressing the hard ridge of his erection against my stomach. “This pen. It’s linked to me. When you touch it… I feel everything.” 【??? The male lead just confessed?】 【Wait, this is my second read-through, and something feels off. The plot is moving way faster than I remember!】 【So the secret is out just like that?】 【Is Ellie going to think he’s a total creep? Is this about to become a forced-seduction plot?】 【Oh, this is getting more and more interesting.】 Seeing the genuine shock on my face, a flicker of satisfaction crossed his. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Help me. Please? It’s… thermal expansion. It’s not going down.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384967”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During a video call with my boyfriend, his roommates started shouting, wanting to get a look at me. I was giving them a shy, polite smile when suddenly, the phone was snatched away. A magnetic voice, laced with a laugh, cut through the noise. “C’mon, don’t be selfish. Let the guys get a look at the lucky lady.” In the next second, I was staring at the face of my ex-boyfriend—the one whose breakup with me had been a spectacular train wreck. The smile slowly vanished from his face. After a long moment, his lips twisted into a smirk. “Fuck.” 1 The moment he leaned over, the star on the silver chain at his collarbone flashed past the camera. My breath caught the instant I recognized his face. A bead of sweat trickled down Jace Crawford’s sharp jawline, disappearing into the open collar of his basketball jersey. He stared at the screen, his pupils dilating in shock. “…Fuck.” The phone was thrown, the screen going black for a second before being hastily picked up again. My boyfriend, Liam, held it, his voice laced with annoyance. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jace paused, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “Your taste isn’t that great.” Liam, who was usually the gentlest person I knew, actually got angry. “My girlfriend is wonderful,” he said coldly. “Don’t talk nonsense.” “Yeah, man, what’s wrong with your eyes? She’s gorgeous!” one of his roommates chimed in. “Way hotter than the campus queen of the language department.” “I’d eat ramen for three years for a girlfriend like that!” “Get lost, I’d eat it for ten—” As his roommates erupted in boisterous chatter, Jace fell silent. Liam brought the phone closer. “Sorry about that, Stella. He probably just lost his basketball game and is in a bad mood.” A voice ground out from the background, laced with frustration. “I won! By twenty points!” Liam’s expression didn’t change. “Then he’s just having a brain fart. Stella, I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight.” … After the call ended, I lay back on my bed, the bright summer sun piercing my eyelids. I threw an arm over my eyes. It had been three years since I’d last seen Jace. I couldn’t believe he was still wearing that star necklace I gave him. It was so cheap. I remember the price tag: $20 for the matching set. My own was long gone, tossed away somewhere I couldn’t even remember. He looked the same, yet completely different. It was the same face, but maturity had sharpened its edges, like a gemstone cut and polished, revealing an untamable arrogance in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. My mind drifted back three years, before we’d even graduated high school. Jace, dressed in that same basketball jersey, had stood beneath my window, his eyes red as he begged me. “I’ll listen to whatever you say from now on. You don’t like me hanging out with her? I’ll never see her again. We were supposed to go to the same college—” His voice grew hoarse, a glint of moisture in his eyes under the night sky. “Just don’t break up with me. I’ll agree to anything, okay?” He looked so pathetic, on the verge of dropping to his knees. But I just stared at him, my face a mask, and said softly, “Jace, I changed my application. I’m not going to Tristan University anymore.” 2 My relationship with Jace began like a classic story: the new girl winning out over the childhood friend. It ended with the new girl losing to her. I transferred to his high school in my junior year and immediately shot to the top of the class rankings. The teachers had a habit of pairing a high-achieving girl with a slacking boy, hoping for some academic osmosis. So, I was seated next to Jace. He had zero interest in school, but he had a huge interest in me. He’d pull my hair or snatch my pen and hold it just out of my reach, a wicked grin on his face. “You’re so short, Stella.” He passed me a note in class. I opened it to find a little stick-figure drawing of me. I was about to curse him for being so childish when the teacher spotted it, held it up for the entire class to see, and sent us both out into the hallway. I was a model student. I’d never been punished for anything. Humiliated, I shoved him, my eyes burning with tears. “Jace, are you insane?!” He knew it was his fault and said nothing. A few moments later, the note with the drawing, now folded into a tiny paper star, was secretly pressed into my hand. I looked at the star, and a laugh escaped through my tears. Our relationship slowly thawed. I would force him to listen as I explained homework problems until he understood, and I checked his assignments to make sure he wasn’t just copying the answers. In return, he’d wait for me every day to walk to and from school together. We’d browse the little trinket shop near the school gates, and on a whim, I bought a pair of star necklaces and gave one to him. … Jace was a big deal at school—handsome, rich, the star of the basketball team. The number of girls who had crushes on him was endless. One of them cornered me and asked if I liked him. A mix of teenage pride and an inexplicable annoyance made me blurt out, “I would never like someone with worse grades than me.” The girl’s eyes shifted to a point behind me. I whipped my head around and saw Jace standing there. I had no idea how long he’d been listening. He walked past me without a word. After that, he stopped talking to me. He didn’t wait for me after school. We sat at the same desk every day in perfect, suffocating silence. I wanted to explain, but he never gave me the chance. A year later, he stunned everyone by matching my score on the finals, tying for first place in our class. That evening, he stopped me after school. “Stella,” he said, his voice serious, “my grades aren’t worse than yours anymore. Can you like me now?” The memories from that time are hazy now. I only remember that the jacaranda trees on campus were in full bloom, a sea of purple. As the wind lifted the petals into the air, the light in the boy’s eyes was brighter than a supernova, a radiance that traveled across light-years and landed squarely in my heart. In that moment, I heard myself say, “Okay.” And just like that, we were together. Young love is a wildfire, impossible to contain. We were inseparable. Jace introduced me to all his friends, even got my name tattooed on his body. I said I wanted to go to Tristan University, and he swore he would go with me. His mother was ecstatic about his newfound ambition. Since my grades didn’t drop, our parents and teachers decided to turn a blind eye. We became the only openly dating couple in school. Back then, I truly believed we would be together forever. Until I discovered there was another girl in his heart, one who would always be more important than me. 3 Jace had a childhood friend, Ava, who he’d grown up with. Ava’s father had been a driver for Jace’s dad. Years ago, during a sailing accident, her father had saved Jace’s dad’s life but drowned before he could be pulled from the water. Jace’s father, a man of principle, took Ava and her mother in, promising to raise Ava as his own daughter and support them for the rest of their lives. Ava was always with Jace. Even after we started dating, she was a constant presence, tagging along on our walks to and from school. I fought with Jace about it constantly. For a while, she backed off, but then, just a few days later, she reappeared, leaning heavily on Jace. “I’m so sorry, Stella,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I know you don’t want me walking with you, but I sprained my ankle, and Jace insisted on taking me home.” Jace’s attention was entirely on her. He frowned, scolding her gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you hurt your ankle? Were you just going to hop all the way home if I hadn’t found you? Get on!” I still remember that day. Jace carried Ava on his back, walking ahead of me. She chattered on about their childhood memories, and I couldn’t get a word in. “Jace,” she whined, “my ankle hurts so much!” I had never heard Jace’s voice so tender. “It hurts, huh? What can we do about that?” “I want a cake from that bakery on the corner. The most expensive one!” “Okay. I’ll take you home, then go get it for you.” “Jace… can I walk with you again from now on? When I walk alone, these creeps from outside of school stare at me. I’m scared.” Jace’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. From now on, you don’t walk alone.” Ava smiled and glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Okay.” … The setting sun stretched their shadows long, making them look inseparable. I fell further and further behind, but Jace never once looked back. It was only when he dropped Ava off at her house that he turned to me. “I have to go get Ava her cake, so I can’t walk you home today. Stella, you can get home by yourself, right?” I looked at him for a long moment, then turned and walked away. 4 After that, Jace and I didn’t speak for a whole week. At first, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. “I’ve always seen Ava as a little sister. How could I ignore her when her ankle was hurt?” “She has a mother who could have picked her up,” I said, my face blank. “Your family has drivers. Why did she have to wait for you? You see her as a sister, but does she see you as a brother? Are you going to tell me you don’t know she’s in love with you?” His gaze faltered. He sighed and pulled me into a hug. “Stella, I only love you. I’ll make things clear with her, I’ll keep my distance, okay?” I closed my eyes. “Okay.” Jace did talk to Ava. I don’t know what he said, but I saw her run out of the classroom crying, and she stopped seeking him out. I thought that was the end of it. But then, one day, Jace came to me, looking conflicted. “Ava says this guy from another school won’t leave her alone,” he mumbled. “She’s rejected him a bunch of times, but he’s persistent. He’s invited her out tonight with some friends, and she wants me to go and pretend to be her boyfriend to get him to back off.” He watched my expression and quickly added, “Just for one night. Just to make the guy give up.” “First it was a sprained ankle that needed you to carry her home. Now it’s a creep who needs you to play her boyfriend. What’s next?!” Jace had a short fuse, but with me, he was always patient. “If it wasn’t for her dad saving my dad, she’d still have a father to protect her. I can’t just ignore her. It’s just this once. If you’re worried, you can come with me, okay?” I knew arguing was pointless. I finally relented. “One night. And I’m coming with you.” A smile broke across his face. He cupped my face and kissed me. “You’re the most understanding girlfriend in the world. I love you so much!” 5 That night was my first time in a bar. As promised, there was a tall, burly guy hovering around Ava, constantly trying to sling an arm over her shoulder. He wasn’t ugly, just sleazy. Jace stepped forward, pushed the guy’s hand away, and pulled Ava into his arms. He glared at the guy, his voice low and dangerous. “Keep your hands to yourself. She’s my girlfriend.” Jace had taken martial arts since he was a kid. When he was serious, his presence was intimidating enough to silence the other guy, whose name was Zane. Others quickly tried to diffuse the tension. “Hey, let’s play Truth or Dare! Zane’s buying tonight, so order up!” Zane, the guy who was harassing Ava, apparently came from a family with mob ties. His father ran a protection racket on this whole street. He was a vocational school student who had met Ava through mutual friends and had been pursuing her ever since. Despite her rejections, he hadn’t given up. This gathering was his way of confirming if she really had a boyfriend. Jace scoffed and tossed an Amex Black Card onto the table. “No need. Everything tonight is on me.” All eyes were drawn to the card. “Is that a real Black Card?” one of the girls breathed. “Ava, you sly fox! You never told us your boyfriend was this hot and rich!” Ava smiled and leaned against Jace. My fingers curled into a fist. Jace glanced at me, but I turned my head, refusing to meet his eyes. Zane’s face darkened. The girl next to him, probably afraid a fight was about to break out, grabbed a bottle. “Let’s play Truth or Dare! Whoever the bottle points to is it!” The first few rounds were tame. Everyone chose truth, and the questions were harmless. Just as I started to relax, thinking the night might pass without incident, the bottle stopped, pointing directly at Ava. She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I choose dare.” My heart sank. A terrible feeling washed over me. Sure enough, the girl next to her squealed with excitement. “Okay, pick a guy here and give him a real kiss. Tongue and all!” Ava blushed and her eyes landed on Jace. He stiffened, his brow furrowed. “I choose—” As Zane’s expression grew uglier, Ava pointed without hesitation at Jace. Jace’s face was grim. “Pick another dare.” “C’mon, you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, what’s the big deal?” the girl teased. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Everyone started chanting. Zane’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you really her boyfriend?” Ava smiled sweetly. “Of course we are.” Her beautiful eyes pleaded with Jace as she draped herself over his arm, her red lips slightly parted. “Jace…” My blood ran cold. Jace stood rigid as Ava leaned in. The second before their lips touched, I shot to my feet. He turned his head at the last moment, and her kiss landed on the corner of his mouth. He reached for me in a panic, but I violently shook his hand off. Ignoring the stunned faces of everyone in the room, I stormed out. 6 I ducked into a small alley, but Jace caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “I didn’t let her kiss me, I swear,” he explained frantically. “I didn’t want to. Stella, please don’t be mad—” I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m done, Jace! We’re together! Don’t you know how to keep a respectful distance from other women?! If you can’t let her go, then don’t be with me!” “It’s not like that! I only see her as a sister—” Ava had followed us out. Behind her, Zane and a group of his friends cornered us, holding steel pipes and switchblades. Zane’s face was a dark cloud. He sneered, “So he’s not your boyfriend after all. You playing me for a fool, Ava?” Ava hid behind Jace, her voice choked with tears. “Jace…” Jace shielded her. He was tall, but Zane was built like a truck. Still, Jace looked down on him. “Whether I’m her boyfriend or not, she already rejected you. Are you deaf?” “Rejected?” Zane sneered. “Then why does she come out every time I ask her? Stringing me along while she’s chasing someone else. You’re a real piece of work, Ava.” I whipped my head around to look at her. She just sobbed, “I didn’t! Jace, he’s lying!” Zane laughed coldly. “Jace, you’ve got guts. I know your family’s rich, but your money’s no good here.” He waved his hand, and his friends closed in. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? So many girls wrapped around your finger.” He smirked and pointed between me and Ava. “Tell you what. You can pick one girl to take with you tonight. The other one stays and plays with me. I’ll take good care of her for you, don’t worry.” The blood drained from my face. I was his girlfriend, yes. But could a few months of our relationship compare to a lifetime of history between him and Ava? Would he choose me? Ava’s eyes widened, and she clutched Jace’s shirt. “Jace, you can’t leave me! If my dad were here—” “Shut up!” Jace finally snapped. He turned to Zane, his face an emotionless mask. “You’re not taking either of them today. If you’ve got a problem, you deal with me.” Zane’s expression hardened. “Let’s see if your bones are as tough as your mouth!” He swung a steel pipe at Jace’s head. The night wind whipped Jace’s black hoodie back. The pipe whistled past his ear as he caught Zane’s wrist, twisted it back, and a sickening crack echoed in the alley along with a scream of pain. The others swarmed him. Jace was a good fighter, but he was alone. After taking down two guys, he took his first hit. A switchblade sliced through the back of his hoodie. The pipes formed a cage around him, but he was a cornered animal, spitting blood and glaring at them with a feral intensity. As the standoff continued, Zane suddenly changed his target. He lunged at me with the switchblade. Jace’s face contorted in horror. He tried to move in front of me, but Ava, behind him, suddenly threw her arms around him, holding him tight. “Jace, I’m scared!” she shrieked. In the next second, the world went silent.

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After my billionaire husband died, the way his two sons looked at me started to get… strange. I was terrified they were about to throw me out on the street, and I spent my days walking on eggshells. One night, I logged onto Reddit and anonymously posted in a support forum: [Help! My wealthy husband suddenly died, but his sons seem to hate me. What should I do?] Some kind strangers replied: [Have they actually said they hate you?] I tried to think back. [Well, no… but the way they look at me is terrifying. Like they want to eat me alive TT_TT] Then, a reply from a mysterious user popped up: [Don’t worry. Just get a few boxes tonight and smooth things over.] A few boxes? Of what? I stared at the sentence, turning it over and over in my mind. That evening, my arms shaking, I brought home six boxes of Teddy Grahams. 1 Now, don’t underestimate the power of six boxes of Teddy Grahams. From what I could gather, both Marcus and Leo Covington had a sweet tooth. I’d spent the entire afternoon driving to three different gourmet markets to find these six limited-edition flavors. My legs felt like jelly. I carefully arranged the cookie boxes inside a decorative gift box, tied it with a satin ribbon, and placed it in the most conspicuous spot on the living room coffee table. I even added a handwritten note: “You’ve both been through so much lately. Just a little something I love, and I hope you will too. For Marcus and Leo. ^_^” As a little preview, I posted an Instagram story for my “Close Friends” list—which now consisted of only the two of them: [Six boxes. Plenty to go around. First come, first served!] I didn’t include a picture, of course. The magic of a surprise is in the unwrapping, isn’t it? I stood back, admiring my handiwork, and couldn’t help but anticipate the looks on their faces. 2 Two weeks ago, my husband, Arthur Covington, fell during a rock-climbing expedition at Devil’s Pass. After days of searching, the rescue team never even found a body. After two years of marriage, I thought I’d finally made it. I spent my days dreaming of inheriting his massive fortune—hello, yachts, male models, and sprawling villas. I was ready to ascend to the peak of my life. But when the lawyer read the will, I discovered the old bastard had left everything to his sons. I didn’t get a single cent. My fate, the will stated, was to be “arranged at the discretion” of his children. A sob escaped my lips—a genuine one. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to a life of effortless luxury. The last thing I wanted was to go back to my old, miserable life. If I had known this would happen, I would have spent the last two years charming the hell out of those two boys. Arthur had two sons from two different mothers. The eldest, Marcus, had already taken over the family corporation. He was a tall, imposing man who had inherited Arthur’s sharp, dark eyes. He rarely smiled, radiating a quiet, almost intimidating aura of self-control. The other was Leo, who was still in college. With a quarter Slavic blood, he was aggressively handsome. He had a perpetual smirk on his face, but it was the smile of a predator. The two half-brothers had exactly one thing in common: they barely knew me. And ever since Arthur’s death, the way these two strangers looked at me had grown stranger by the day. They were definitely planning to kick me out. I cupped my face in my hands, my brow furrowed with worry. All my hopes were now pinned on the advice from that mysterious Redditor. These six boxes of cookies… I just hoped it was enough. I hadn’t even saved one for myself. 3 The sound of the front door opening echoed through the foyer. Tonight, Marcus and Leo came home together, which was rare. Seeing me waiting on the sofa, Marcus paused, his expression unreadable. Leo, however, simply raised an eyebrow in my direction. “You’re home!” I chirped, trying to sound breezy. I gestured toward the pink gift box on the table. “I’m sorry,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “I was always so busy taking care of Arthur that I neglected you both.” “This is something I picked out just for you today. Now that… now that your father is gone… it’s just the three of us left to fend for ourselves, isn’t it?” I was on the verge of tears, my eyelids puffy and red from the onion I’d chopped earlier. I pretended to dab at the corner of my eye. I made sure to emphasize “the three of us,” a desperate hint that our future lay together. “That’s thoughtful of you, Stepmom. Thank you,” Leo answered first. Seeing Marcus standing frozen in place, Leo leaned in closer to him, his voice laced with a playful challenge. “Brother, if you don’t want the gift, you can give it to me. Don’t just stand there scowling. You’ll scare her.” I quickly waved my hands. “It’s no problem…” Besides, I thought, if he doesn’t want it, I can eat all six boxes myself. But before I could finish the thought, Marcus strode to the table. His long fingers picked up one of the small, pink-wrapped boxes. “I never said I didn’t want it.” He looked down at the little box, and for a reason I couldn’t quite grasp, he seemed… serious. Almost tense. Leo followed suit, grabbing a box for himself. He shook it gently, and hearing the rattle inside, the corner of his mouth curved into a wider smile. But the moment he tore it open, his expression froze. “‘Plenty to go around. First come, first served.’ This is what you meant?” Across the table, Marcus had also opened his gift. He stared at the raspberry-flavored teddy bear cookies in his hand, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Wait—was Marcus… happy? But Leo clearly was not. He stood directly in front of me, leaning in so close I could feel the warmth of his body. His gaze locked onto my lips, and he let out a long sigh. “Stepmom,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You really think a few little snacks are enough… to satisfy the two of us?” 4 “Of course not!” I scrambled to defend myself. “I know you have big appetites, so I made dinner myself. The cookies are for dessert.” For a moment, Leo was speechless. He narrowed his beautiful, amber eyes, as if he was about to say something else. But then, Marcus’s hand landed on his shoulder. In a voice softer than I’d ever heard from him, Marcus said, “Rosalind. Thank you for the dinner and the gift.” “Father just passed, and you’ve been running around taking care of everything. You’re exhausted. From now on, you don’t need to do things like this yourself. Let the staff handle it.” From now on? Did he just say from now on? That means he’s not kicking me out! I seized on that keyword, my face breaking into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh, you’re so right! I’m completely worn out. And the smoke from the candles at the memorial was so strong, it made my eyes water for hours. They’re still red and swollen. I really should get some rest…” The truth was, during the memorial, I was thinking about how Arthur hadn’t left me a dime. I was so furious I wanted to scream. When no one was looking, I’d “accidentally” spilled a glass of red wine on his favorite portrait. But I would never, ever tell them that. I had to maintain my persona as the grieving, helpless little widow. I was going to stay in this house forever. 5 Late that night, a storm broke. Rain hammered against the windowpanes, a rhythmic, almost soothing percussion. Finally feeling relaxed, I was soaking in a bubble bath, sipping champagne. I’d always worried that Marcus would be the ruthless one, the one to show me the door without a second thought. But it seemed he was surprisingly reasonable. I pulled out my phone and found the anonymous Redditor who had given me the advice. I sent them a direct message: [Thank you so much! Your suggestion worked wonders!] [Although, I think I bought too few cookies, and the boxes were too small. They didn’t seem completely satisfied. I’ll be sure to buy more next time.] The mysterious user didn’t reply. Humming a little tune, I stepped out of the tub. Knock, knock. A rap on the master bedroom door. Assuming it was the maid with my usual glass of warm milk, I cinched my robe tighter and went to open it. The moment the door swung open, the smell of alcohol hit me like a wave. A tall figure stumbled into my arms. Strands of Leo’s brilliant blond hair were damp, as if he’d just come in from the rain. His warm breath ghosted across my bare neck, mingling with the sweet scent of my body lotion. I froze on the spot, my mind a complete blank. Leo’s voice was muffled against my shoulder. “When I was a kid, Dad would always hold me during thunderstorms like this. I wonder how he’s doing now. Is it raining where he is?” His voice cracked. “I really miss him…” He sounded utterly lost, desperate for comfort. I could understand that. The pain of losing a parent was immense. But this was way, way too close. I was only wearing a bathrobe! I tried to push him away gently. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in even tighter. “Stepmom,” he whispered. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” 6 What? Had he lost his mind? He had to be drunk. “No,” I said flatly. “I know you’re sad, but you can go sleep with your brother. His room is right next to yours…” Leo’s damp eyes filled with disappointment. “But you’re my stepmom, aren’t you?” “You said it yourself today—that you’d take care of me from now on. Why are you pushing me away? Was all of that a lie?” He seemed completely oblivious to how inappropriate his request was. “I did say I’d take care of you,” I stammered, my face flushed. “But us… sleeping in the same bed… that’s not right!” Leo looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Stepmom, what are you thinking?” “I meant on the floor. In your room. Nothing else.” I blinked. A hot, embarrassed blush crept up my neck. Right. I was five years older than him. He was in college, surrounded by beautiful young women. Of course he wouldn’t be interested in me. My refusal… it made me sound like the one with inappropriate thoughts about her stepson. Seeing my hesitation, Leo’s shoulders slumped. “I knew it. That’s why you were so quick to say no. What kind of person do you think I am?” “My dad used to let me sleep in this room when I was little. That’s why I…” He was starting to get lost in his dead-dad memories again, and I was so mortified I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Fine, fine! Stop talking. You can come in.” At my approval, Leo finally let go, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Stepmom. You’re the best.” As he closed the door behind him, his gaze suddenly flickered toward the staircase. Standing there, a figure emerged from the shadows, his face unreadable. Leo just smirked.

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The first call came as we were racing to JFK for the red-eye to London. It was my boss’s fiancée. “Ava,” she breathed into the phone, her voice tight with panic. “Nathan hasn’t texted me back in three minutes. Three minutes. Is he tired of me?” I glanced at Nathan Hayes, who was deep in conversation with our legal team on his own phone. My laptop was balanced on my knees, ten different files for the Axiom-Hartwell acquisition open, each one a blinking cursor demanding my attention. I tried to sound patient. “Cecilia, he’s just wrapping up a call. We’re in crunch time.” Fifteen minutes later, she called back. Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s going to be a dinner after the presentation, right? With drinks? You need to watch him, Ava. Don’t let any of those women get near him.” The final pre-flight checklist was still sitting half-finished on my screen. “Of course,” I said, the words tasting like plastic. I hung up before she could say more. She called back instantly. “And one more thing. I need him to send me a photo every five minutes. Just a quick selfie, so I know where he is. I’ll text you the poses I want.” The final boarding call for our flight echoed through the terminal. My patience, already worn thin from a 36-hour work binge, finally snapped. “Cecilia,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “I’m his executive assistant, not his parole officer. I cannot monitor his private life for you.” I hung up, powered down my phone, and boarded the plane. I thought she would get the message. I was wrong. When we landed at Heathrow ten hours later, my phone nearly bricked itself trying to process the flood of notifications. One hundred and twenty-seven text messages. Ninety-nine missed calls. All from Cecilia Montgomery, each one more unhinged than the last. 1 My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, a furious buzzing in my palm. I finally managed to unlock the glitching screen. It was a waterfall of accusations. Ava, what the hell was that? Why wouldn’t you agree to help me? Why are both your phones off? Are you with him right now? ARE YOU?! I knew it. I knew you only took this job to get close to him. You bitch. I’m not going to let you win. The screen was filled with the vilest, most graphic assumptions about what I’d been doing with her fiancé for the last ten hours. A hot, dark anger bloomed in my chest. I had fought tooth and nail for this position, beating out dozens of other candidates. I worked myself to the bone, fueled by black coffee and the sheer ambition to prove myself. And in her twisted mind, all of that effort was just a long con to sleep with my boss. This acquisition was everything. It was the move that would define Hayes Industries for the next decade. I saw Nathan looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern at the expression on my face. I just shook my head slightly, forcing myself to scroll past Cecilia’s poison to find the few work-related messages buried within. Before I could open one, a video call from Cecilia lit up my screen. I squeezed the bridge of my nose, fighting the overwhelming urge to just throw the phone into the nearest trash can. I answered. Her face filled the screen, and I flinched. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, her usually perfect blonde hair a tangled mess. She’d clearly been up all night, stewing in her own paranoia. “Ava Chen! What were you just doing with Nathan?” she shrieked, her voice raspy. “Why did your phones turn on at the exact same time? Why are your locations identical? Are you in his bed right now? Did you fuck him?” Before I could form a sentence, she barrelled on. “Thirteen hours! How many times did you do it? Did you use a condom? I’m telling you, as long as I’m alive, you will never use a baby to trap him!” “Cecilia, you need to watch what you’re saying.” My voice was low and dangerous. I flipped the camera around, showing her the bustling international arrivals terminal at Heathrow. “My phone was off because we were on a transatlantic flight. Our location is the same because we are on a business trip. Your accusations are slanderous, and they are damaging my professional reputation. I don’t want to hear them again.” “A business trip?” she sneered, her face contorting with disbelief. “Why wouldn’t he take a man? You schemed your way onto this trip, didn’t you? Just the two of you, alone. So much easier for something to… happen.” She shoved her face closer to her camera, her voice rising to a hysterical scream. “You think I’m an idiot? Taking this call from the airport to try and fool me? Just you wait, Ava Chen. You are going to pay. Some men are off-limits.” “Pay for what, exactly?” A deep voice cut through her tirade. Nathan was now holding my phone, his expression thunderous as he stared at the screen. “Ava is my most capable associate,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “She has been leading the charge on this acquisition from day one. Who else was I supposed to bring? Someone who knows nothing?” I had no idea how much he’d heard, but it was clearly enough. No CEO wants to be embroiled in a cheap scandal with his assistant. It’s poison for the company’s image. The other end of the line went silent. Cecilia froze for a second, then her face crumpled, and tears began streaming down her cheeks. It was a practiced, heartbreakingly effective display. She bit her lip, her voice now a small, wounded whisper. “Nathan, I’m just so insecure. I love you so much. The thought of losing you… it feels like my heart is bleeding.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. I’ll never do it again, I promise. I’ll have dinner waiting for you when you get back, okay?” The hard lines of Nathan’s jaw softened. He let out a long, weary sigh. “I’m not angry. You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you? Cece, go get some rest. Be good. I’ll be home soon.” Cecilia nodded, a sad little smile on her face, and blew a kiss at the screen before hanging up. Nathan handed the phone back to me, rubbing his temples. His voice was gravelly with exhaustion. “I’m sorry about that. Cece… she hasn’t been the same since my mother tried to set me up with that heiress from the merger last year. She found out and has been terrified of losing me ever since. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with genuine apology. “When we get back, I’ll have accounting wire you a bonus. Three months’ salary, for the… emotional distress.” The mention of money was like a shot of adrenaline. Suddenly, the anger, the exhaustion, the humiliation—it all just evaporated. I felt lighter. I nodded crisply and took my suitcase from him. “I understand, Mr. Hayes. The hotel is booked. We can head straight there.” As we walked out of the airport’s automatic doors, a strange feeling prickled the back of my neck. I glanced back over my shoulder, scanning the crowd. It felt like someone was watching me. A moment later, my phone buzzed. A picture message. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It was of the exact moment I’d taken the suitcase from Nathan. But the angle was deceptive, making it look less like he was handing me a bag and more like he was holding my hand. Beneath it, a single line of text: You’re going to pay for this. 2 I knew instantly who had sent it. I just hadn’t realized Cecilia was deranged enough to hire someone to follow Nathan in another country. I immediately showed the phone to him. He let out a deep, frustrated breath. “I’ll deal with her when I get back. Right now, the acquisition is all that matters.” He was right. She was thousands of miles and several time zones away. There was little she could do from there. I pushed the incident to the back of my mind, vowing to cash in all my saved vacation time the moment this trip was over. I needed to get away from this drama. I had no idea the drama was already on its way to my hotel room door. We spent the rest of the day and all through the night in a conference room, refining our strategy, ensuring every comma in the proposal was perfect. By the time we finished, the sun was rising over London. We had been running on fumes for nearly two days straight. My brain felt like a sputtering engine, and my heart was pounding a heavy, exhausted rhythm against my ribs. I stumbled back to my room, my head throbbing. I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights before collapsing onto the bed, desperate for sleep. As consciousness began to fade, drifting into a heavy, dark fog, I felt something slithering over my skin.

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The picture of Caleb Hayes carrying another woman went viral while I was watching the sun come up. The mountain was cold. The light offered no warmth. When I got back into cell service, I sent Caleb a text ending our engagement. I didn’t want him anymore. I just wanted out. Whatever it took. … Caleb couldn’t wrap his head around it. All he did was miss a sunrise with Mia Taylor. And now, the ever-compliant, ever-gentle Mia was actually threatening to call off the engagement. He didn’t take it seriously. The photos were scrubbed from the internet within an hour. There was nothing going on between him and Seraphina, not really. So he didn’t call Mia. But by the time he finally thought to reach out, he had the sinking feeling he’d already lost her for good. 1 Caleb didn’t bother to hide his phone when he took the call. It was his assistant, just as I’d expected. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze locking onto mine. “Something’s come up. An emergency.” “Do you want to head down with me, or are you going to—” “Can’t it wait?” I cut him off, my voice laced with a pleading I didn’t know I was capable of. “Can you please just stay and watch the sunrise with me? Please?” The moment the words left my lips, regret flooded in. Caleb said nothing. He just turned and started down the mountain path, the look he gave me over his shoulder colder than the biting pre-dawn air. I forced a brittle smile. A strange calm settled over me. I reached the summit at 5:58 AM, just in time. As the sun crested the horizon, the entire peak was bathed in a layer of liquid gold. But God, it was so cold up here. The sun didn’t warm a thing. A young couple who’d hiked up with the same tour group were huddled together, wrapped in each other’s arms. They asked if I’d take a picture for them. They looked so happy it hurt to see. The boy walked over, handing me his phone. He leaned in and whispered, his voice trembling with nerves and excitement. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but could you actually take a video?” “I’m going to propose to my girlfriend.” And that was it. That was the exact moment I decided to leave Caleb. I watched through the screen as the boy gently placed a small, delicate veil on the girl’s head before dropping to one knee, holding out a ring. When she turned, her gasp was a perfect mix of shock and pure joy. I tilted my head back, but the tears I’d been holding back—the humiliation of being abandoned halfway up a mountain—finally spilled over and ran down my cheeks. 2 After the sun was fully up, I followed the stream of people to the shuttle bus stop at the base of the mountain. Caleb was long gone. The private driver he’d arranged for us never came back. I bought a bus ticket and found a seat in the back row, by the window. My phone, tucked away in my purse, began to vibrate violently. I pulled it out. A flood of notifications. Aside from Caleb’s pinned chat, a message from his cousin, Chloe Hayes, was at the very top. “The real queen is back in town. Do you really have the shameless audacity to think my cousin is still going to marry you?” “Mia, if I were you, I’d be the one to call off this sham engagement.” “[VIDEO]” I tapped the link. It was a screen recording of the TMZ homepage. 【SERAPHINA MONROE ATTACKED, CALEB HAYES RUSHES TO ASPEN TO BE BY HER SIDE】 【ARE SERAPHINA MONROE AND CALEB HAYES HOLLYWOOD’S HOTTEST SECRET COUPLE?】 【EXCLUSIVE: BILLIONAIRE HEIR CALEB HAYES IS ACTRESS SERAPHINA MONROE’S MYSTERY BENEFACTOR】 The headlines were a gallery of their names, intertwined. A photo of Caleb carrying a distraught-looking Seraphina in his arms. A paparazzi shot of Caleb in a baseball cap, on vacation with a bundled-up Seraphina. A long-lens photo of Caleb and Seraphina kissing on the deck of a yacht. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, I opened my chat with Caleb. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the screen. When his assistant had called, I’d heard him say her name. Seraphina. “Caleb, when you get back to New York, we need to schedule a meeting with our families.” “It’s time to discuss calling off the engagement.” We’d been engaged for three years. I had chased him for three years. Even when he was cold and dismissive, I endured it all, telling myself that one day, he would come to love me. But now, I didn’t want to love Caleb Hayes anymore. And I certainly didn’t need his love. I was done. 3 It took Caleb three days to get back to New York. We ran into each other at the airport. He was shielding Seraphina from the cameras, and a team of bodyguards was shielding them both. He froze for a second when he saw me, then quickly averted his gaze. “Caleb, wait.” Seraphina stopped him, then walked right up to me. “You must be Mia,” she said. “I’ve seen pictures of you. Can I please explain?” Her voice was level, neither arrogant nor submissive. But underneath, I could hear a carefully curated note of wronged vulnerability. I didn’t break my stride. I didn’t even look at her as I moved to walk past. But Caleb’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a steel cuff. “Mia, Seraphina is talking to you. Where are your manners?” His voice was harsh. So harsh it brought an instant sting of tears to my eyes. “Caleb, don’t be like that,” Seraphina murmured, her voice soft and sweet. “Mia, I am so sorry we had to meet like this,” she said, turning back to me. “I heard Caleb was supposed to be watching the sunrise with you. It was my manager who called him, not me. I never would have interrupted.” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “So… was it beautiful? The sunrise?” I wanted to laugh. I couldn’t. I wanted to scream at her. It didn’t seem worth the energy. In the end, I didn’t answer her perfectly crafted, venomous question. I just looked at Caleb. He really, truly couldn’t stand me. For the first time in three years, I felt the full, undiluted force of his annoyance. “Caleb, you saw the message I sent you, didn’t you?” “Set a time that works for you and let me know. I’ll fly my parents in.” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the airport noise. “Caleb. I’m the one ending this.” 4 I thought he would be pleased. Instead, he looked furious. A fire I couldn’t quite decipher blazed in his eyes. Then again, it made sense. A man like Caleb Hayes, a man who lived his life being worshipped, had just been publicly dumped by me. He had every right to be angry. I maneuvered around them and headed for the security line. It wasn’t until the plane was taking off, leaving the lights of New York behind, that a sense of unreality washed over me. I had loved Caleb Hayes for so many years. I was the one who had begged for this engagement in the first place. But letting go… it felt surprisingly easy. Three years ago, I’d heard from a mutual friend that Caleb’s family was pressuring him relentlessly to get married. So I went to my grandfather. My grandfather, who had always spoiled me, made a call to the Hayes family. And just like that, the merger—the engagement—was arranged. Caleb never said yes, but he didn’t say no either. He just pulled me aside after the engagement party. “Mia,” he’d said, his voice flat. “I don’t love you, and I will never marry you.” “But I can promise you this: until the day you decide to end this, I won’t do anything to disrespect you.” I’d bitten my lip, my voice small. “What do you mean by disrespect?” His answer was immediate and clinical. “Holding hands, hugging, kissing. And sleeping with someone.” Everyone in New York knew his reputation. Caleb Hayes always had a beautiful woman on his arm, a flavor of the month he’d replace every two months like clockwork. But after our engagement, the revolving door of women had stopped. Until Seraphina. And Seraphina had lied. Our first meeting wasn’t at the airport. It was a week ago. She had secretly flown into New York and asked to meet me. She introduced herself as Caleb’s girlfriend. 5 I was stunned when I saw Seraphina Monroe sitting there at the café. She gestured gracefully to the chair across from her. “Mia. I’m Seraphina.” She paused for effect. “Caleb’s girlfriend.” I pressed my lips together, a crushing weight settling on my chest. It felt hard to breathe. Chloe had told me, of course. She’d always said there was someone Caleb kept enshrined in his heart. I never believed her. Hearing it from Seraphina herself sent a dull, throbbing pain through me. “I’ve been working overseas these last few years, either on set or in acting workshops,” she continued, her tone conversational. “I honestly had no idea his family had forced him into an engagement.” “You must know, Mia.” “Caleb doesn’t love you.” “He made a promise to me. That he would wait until I turned twenty-seven.” As if to prove her status, she pulled out her phone and called him, right there in front of me, putting it on speaker. He picked up on the first ring. His voice, clear and warm, filled the space between us. A voice I’d never heard him use with me. “Seraphina, what’s up?” She let out a low, intimate laugh. “Nothing. I just missed you.” There was a brief silence on his end. Then, “I have a business trip to London the day after tomorrow. I’ll come see you then.” “Oh, and that script you mentioned? You got the lead.” She hung up and looked at me with a faint, triumphant smile. It was a taunt. “You can call him too, if you like. Ask him yourself.” I just shook my head. Caleb almost never answered my calls. Why would I subject myself to that humiliation? Before the waiter could even bring the coffee I’d ordered, I managed a weak smile and fled. 6 But my composure didn’t last. After seeing Seraphina that afternoon, I went straight to Caleb’s office. He’d told her he had a business trip to London. I had to ask. “Caleb, do you have any plans the day after tomorrow?” “Grandpa Hayes keeps asking me to bring you over for dinner at the estate. Do you have any time?” It wasn’t a lie. Every time his grandfather called me, he’d tell me to drag Caleb home for a family meal. Caleb never wanted to go. I’d made up so many excuses for him, time and time again. But after learning about Seraphina, I was suddenly tired of lying for him. That day, Caleb’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He placed his pen down on the desk, his expression sour. “Ms. Taylor, are you underworked, or do you simply lack professional etiquette?” “It’s working hours. Are you not aware of that?” His words hit me like a slap. A dense, sharp pain bloomed in my chest. He had been in a meeting when Seraphina called him. He had his assistant escort me out of his office. As the door closed, the assistant offered a kind, pitying look. “Mr. Hayes has always kept his work and private life separate. Please don’t take it to heart, Ms. Taylor.” But I remembered what Seraphina had said. “Everyone in the industry is trying to guess who my powerful benefactor is.” “Who do you think it is, Mia?” My throat felt tight. I clenched my fists. I decided to give us one last chance. One final, definitive chance. That evening, after work, I sent him a text. “Caleb.” “It’s my birthday in a week. Can you take me to see the sunrise?” But now I knew the truth. Someone who doesn’t love you will never love you, no matter how many chances you give them. 7 The plane landed in Aspen. My parents were there to pick me up. As we drove along the highway, the windows were sealed tight, but I could feel the chill in the air. Autumn in Aspen was much colder than in New York. “Are you sure about this? No regrets?” My mom squeezed my hand, her voice filled with concern. When I had first insisted on the engagement to Caleb, I’d staged a full-blown melodrama, locking myself in my room for two days. I was stubborn, determined. My parents were furious, not speaking to me for days. In the end, my grandfather sighed, gave in, and called the Hayes family. The Hayes family was a dynasty in New York. The Taylor family was no small name in Colorado. Our families, otherwise disconnected, had a link through our grandfathers, who were old war buddies that built their empires together. “I’m sure. No regrets,” I said, my voice firm. “I also quit my job at Hayes Design. I’m staying in Aspen to be with you and Grandpa.” Hayes Design was Caleb’s architecture firm. Before leaving New York, I’d sent my resignation email to HR. As a ‘special consultant,’ there were no formalities. I just had to walk away. The things I did to be close to him. It was pathetic. I rested my head on my mother’s shoulder. My gaze drifted to the golden aspen leaves outside the window. The sight was beautiful and bittersweet. Right after we landed, Chloe had sent me another video. I watched it. Caleb was sitting in the center of a plush sofa in what looked like a private club, Seraphina nestled beside him. Someone off-camera asked, “Caleb, Mia Taylor has always been so docile. What’s this about her suddenly wanting to end the engagement? Is it for real?” Caleb let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “I missed one sunrise with her. She wants to throw a tantrum, let her.” “I was never going to marry her anyway.” 8 He was never going to marry me. That’s why he never put any effort into me. The only reason he even agreed to that sunrise trip was because his grandfather had called, yelling and practically ordering him to go. Before we left, I had told him. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. You don’t have to force yourself.” Caleb had given me a long, condescending look. “And have you run and tattle to the old man?” I’d looked down, saying nothing more. All I had told his grandfather was that I was planning a trip to see the sunrise. I never even mentioned Caleb. But his grandfather insisted Caleb should go with me. “Relationships need nurturing,” he had said. And so, all Caleb remembered was the sunrise.

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The charity case my mother sponsored has a crippling addiction to stealing my life. On the first day of freshman year, she made sure to step out of the Maybach first. Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Get a grip, Lucy,” she’d said, her voice dripping with pity. “You’re just the charity case my family sponsors.” “You take the money your mother earns as our housekeeper and blow it on pretending to be some heiress. Do you ever stop to think how hard she works for that?” In my past life, that was how she did it. With those perfectly crafted, self-righteous lies, she convinced everyone that she was the daughter of the house. She didn’t just steal my identity at school; she orchestrated a campaign of cyberbullying that tore my life apart. But this is not my past life. I’ve been born again into this moment. I looked at the smug, arrogant face of Isla Corbin, and without a word, I raised my hand and slapped her. Twice. The sharp crack echoed in the humid air. Before she could recover, I grabbed the collar of the Celine runway jacket she’d stolen from my closet, ripped it from her body, and threw it in the trash. I leaned in, my voice a low hiss. “You’re a parasite living in my house. Don’t you ever forget who provides the life you’re so desperate to claim as your own.” 1 The heat was suffocating, a thick hundred-degree blanket smothering the Westwood University campus. The moment our driver, Art, brought the car to a stop, Isla practically threw the door open. She positioned herself in the thickest part of the student crowd, a performer finding her light. Then came the lines I already knew by heart. “Get a grip, Lucy! You’re just the charity case my family sponsors.” Her voice was a masterclass in performative concern. “You take the money your mother earns as our housekeeper and blow it on pretending to be some heiress. Do you ever stop to think how hard she works for that?” Heads turned. Whispers started, little barbs of judgment flying my way. I saw the scene play out exactly as it had before, a perfect, horrifying replica, and I knew with chilling certainty that I was back. Back on the first day of my freshman year. In my first life, this was the day Isla branded me. I became the ungrateful leech, the white-trash girl sucking her parents dry to live out some pathetic fantasy. And she, in turn, slipped seamlessly into my life, becoming the beloved, generous heiress. She thrived. When I had confronted her then, she had just laughed. “It’s about presentation, Lucy. I just have a certain… quality. I look the part more than you do. It’s no wonder they believe me.” I’d felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re twisting everything. You started a witch hunt online. My private information is plastered all over the campus forums. You need to tell them the truth. You need to fix this.” Isla had rolled her eyes, a perfect picture of boredom. “No. Why would I? I’m not the one getting hate mail. It’s not my problem.” She’d fed the fire daily, spinning tales to her new friends. “I just don’t know what to do about Lucy,” she’d sigh dramatically over lattes. “It’s so sad. Her family has nothing, and she’s forcing them into debt just to keep up this facade. It’s pathological.” I finally snapped. I found her in the student center, ready to scream the truth in front of everyone. But Isla was always one step ahead. She gave a subtle nod to her clique. They surrounded me, clamping a hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the nearest women’s restroom. They locked me in a stall as bucket after bucket of ice-cold water crashed down on my head. The memory of Isla’s vicious, triumphant face then merged with the smug expression she wore now. “My family has more money than you can dream of, Lucy,” she was saying, her voice a condescending purr. “The scholarship I give you? It’s less than what I’d spend on a handbag.” “But I’m not a fool. I won’t just throw money away. If you don’t start focusing on your studies and showing a little gratitude, I might just have to reconsider my investment in you.” 2 A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Have you bothered to check the balance on your bank account before spouting that nonsense?” I took a step closer, enjoying the flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Your memory must be short. Wasn’t it just last week you were in tears, telling me your family couldn’t afford tuition, that you’d have to drop out? You begged me, literally begged me to ask my mother to help you. Did you forget that part already?” Isla scoffed, crossing her arms. “That’s hilarious. This jacket alone is worth more than your entire wardrobe. You really expect anyone to believe I need your charity? Look at you. You look like you bought that top from a clearance rack at Walmart.” I glanced down at my Loewe tank top. It was simple, understated. And five hundred dollars. I closed the distance between us in three long strides. Her eyes widened in shock as my palm connected with her cheek. And then again with the other. I didn’t stop there. I grabbed the stolen Celine jacket, my fingers digging into the fine fabric, and peeled it off her. I crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “A parasite living in my house for a few weeks and you already think you have the right to steal my clothes? You’ve got a hell of a nerve.” Isla’s eyes darted to the trash can, a flash of genuine pain on her face. Then her gaze snapped back to mine, filled with venom. “Are you insane? Who said you could throw that away?” All she had on underneath was a tiny black bralette, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Our driver, Art, saw the commotion in the rearview mirror. He quickly got out, grabbing a new jacket from the back seat. “Lucy, what are you doing? Why would you get physical with Miss Isla?” I froze, turning slowly to face him. “What did you just say, Art?” A driver who called me by my first name, but referred to the charity case as Miss Isla? Art saw the red handprints blooming on Isla’s face and his tone shifted, becoming scolding. “Lucy, that was too much. You can’t just hit Miss Isla in front of all these people.” The warmth of the day turned to ice in my veins. “Art, I am the only daughter of this family. There is no Miss Isla.” I gestured to the jacket in his hand. “That Balenciaga is worth ten thousand dollars. You’ve worked for my family for a long time, so I’ll let this slide with a warning and dock one month of your pay. But if I ever see you giving my property to someone else again, I’ll find a new driver.” The color drained from Art’s face. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so decisive, so brutal. “…Yes. Yes, ma’am.” 3 Dormitory B, fifth floor. Room 501. I finally wrestled my two largest suitcases up the five flights of stairs, my lungs burning, only to find our housekeeper, Maria, carefully making Isla’s bed. The dorms had a strict no-men-allowed policy, and I had a mountain of luggage, which is why I’d specifically asked Maria to come help me. But when I’d gone back downstairs to find her, she had vanished. I leaned against the doorframe, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Maria. My parents pay you a salary. Does Isla pay you now, too?” She jumped at the sound of my voice, turning to face me. “Oh, Lucy,” she said, flustered. “Isla just… she doesn’t know how to make a bed with hospital corners. I thought I’d help her get settled quickly, and then I was coming right back down for you.” Isla, meanwhile, was perched on her desk chair, leisurely sipping an iced Americano. She smirked at my sweat-drenched appearance. “Wow, it’s a hundred degrees out there, Lucy. You’re going to look like a drowned rat by the time you haul all ten of those suitcases up here. Have fun with that.” Maria shot Isla a nervous glance before turning back to me, her voice placating. “I’m almost done here, Lucy. Why don’t you go grab another suitcase, and I’ll be right down to help you.” “Maria,” I said, my voice sharp with annoyance. “If this job is too much for you, you can just say so.” Her hands froze over the duvet. “Why would you say something so serious?” she asked, her face a mask of hurt. My parents were always buried in work, rarely home. Art and Maria, a married couple, had been hired to look after me. They’d worked for us for thirty years, always diligent, always professional. They knew their place. Until my mother decided to sponsor Isla. “Honey,” Mom had said over the phone, “Dad and I are swamped. Would you like to have that girl we’re sponsoring come live with us? It might be nice to have some company.” “Sure,” I’d said, spitting out a watermelon seed. “Why not?” From the day Isla moved in, the lines started to blur. Whatever Isla craved, Maria would procure. Lobster, king crab, wagyu beef, imported cherries… anything expensive, Isla would request it. “You poor thing, you’ve had such a hard life,” Maria would coo. “Whatever you want to eat, Miss Isla, I’ll make it for you.” Meanwhile, I had asked for a simple glass of orange juice two weeks ago and was still waiting. 4 Reluctantly, Maria put down the bedsheet she was holding. When we got downstairs and she saw the sheer number of suitcases still lining the curb, her expression tightened. “Oh, Lucy, my old back injury is acting up again. The doctor said I really shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy…” I almost laughed. “Your back was fine when you were carrying Isla’s things, but it magically gives out when it’s time to carry mine? If you’re not feeling well, Maria, I can just tell my mother. She can give you a long vacation. A few years, maybe. To rest up.” Maria’s face went pale. “No, no, a vacation isn’t necessary! I just have to be careful.” She looked around, then pointed at Art. “Look, why don’t I take one of the small ones, and Art can help you with the rest?” Art shot her a look, trying to shut her up. I watched, stone-faced, as Maria circled the luggage, finally picking up the smallest, lightest vanity case. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Maria. If my luggage is not in my room today, you can go directly to my father’s accountant, collect your final paycheck, and leave.” Her expression soured. She muttered something under her breath, a complaint, but Art cut her off. “Be quiet!” he hissed. “Miss Hayes pays us to work. You don’t make the daughter of the house carry her own bags. Now get all of it upstairs. Now.” Realization finally dawned on Maria. Terrified of losing her job, she grabbed a suitcase in each hand and started the long trek up the stairs. It took her eight trips. It took three hours. As she was leaving, she tried to smooth things over, her smile forced and placating. “You get some rest now, Lucy. Call me if you get hungry. I’ll bring you whatever you want.” 5 I came back from the dining hall with a takeout container of fiery ramen to find my roommates—the same ones who had tormented me in my past life—had all arrived. They shot me a venomous look. “I can’t believe our luck,” one of them, Brianna, said loudly. “Stuck in a room with a bloodsucking leech who wastes her parents’ life savings.” “I’m locking up all my valuables,” said the other, Chloe. “Who knows what might go ‘missing’ around here.” Isla, hearing her cue, looked at me with faux pity. “It’s not just that she’s a leech. She likes to pretend she’s me. She tells people she’s the one sponsoring me. I honestly think she might be, you know…” Isla tapped her temple meaningfully. “Sick.” Brianna made a gagging sound. “Some people don’t deserve charity. Instead of being grateful, instead of working her butt off to repay you, she tries to steal your identity? Honestly, Isla, you should just cut her off. Let her get kicked out of school.” Brianna. In my last life, more than half of the hundreds of hate posts about me were traced back to her account. I walked over to her, popped the lid off my still-steaming ramen, and calmly dumped it over her head. “Your mouth is a sewer,” I said sweetly. “Maybe this will rinse it out.” The thick, spicy broth clung to her hair, dripping down her face. After a moment of stunned silence, Brianna let out a piercing shriek, a stream of curses erupting from her mouth. “Are you crazy? You tried to burn me! This is assault! I’m telling the RA!” Isla jumped to her feet, pointing a finger at me. “You’re a monster, Lucy! It’s the first day and you’ve already disfigured your roommate! You get on your knees and apologize to her right now!” I just smiled. “Were you born without a brain, or did they cut it out with the umbilical cord?” Brianna spent the next hour in the shower, but still complained about the smell. Muttering threats, she stormed out to get a professional hair treatment. Isla announced she was taking the other two out for dinner to make up for the trauma. As they left, a thought struck me. I pulled out my phone. Isla was taking them out to dinner… with my money? I called my mother immediately. “Mom,” I said, no preamble. “I don’t want to sponsor Isla anymore. Can you please tell accounting to stop the payments?” My mother didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, honey. Her monthly allowance hasn’t gone out for this month yet. I’ll have them cancel it right now.” Isla’s family was dirt poor. On top of her tuition, my mother had arranged for a two-thousand-dollar monthly stipend for her expenses. Without that, let’s see how long she could keep up the act. The three of them didn’t get back until after midnight, slamming the door and chattering loudly about some guys they had met at a bar. 6 A message popped up in the freshman class group chat. It was the class president, suggesting a welcome party. Everyone was enthusiastic. [Sounds great! Where should we have it?] Brianna immediately typed: [Isla’s family has a huge villa! We should go there!] She looked up from her phone. “Isla? Is that cool?” “Of course,” Isla said without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll just call the housekeeper and have her get things ready. You guys can even stay over for a couple of days if you want.” She typed back in the group: [Everyone’s welcome at my place! Let’s have a party!] Brianna and Chloe exchanged an ecstatic look. “This is going to be amazing!” Lying in my bed, I watched the notifications explode. I lowered my phone. “Did you happen to ask for my permission before inviting the entire class to my house?” Isla crossed her arms, sneering. “I don’t need your permission to invite friends to my own home. What does it have to do with you?” Brianna chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, someone sounds jealous! Don’t worry, Lucy. It’s a class party. I’m sure you can come, too. It’ll be a good experience for a country bumpkin like you to see how the other half lives.” My jaw tightened. “That is my house. You have no right to make that decision, Isla.” Brianna burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god, you’re actually delusional. Your main character syndrome is getting seriously out of hand.” Chloe giggled. “Yeah, yeah, the villa is yours. The whole world is yours, okay? Whatever you say.” My expression turned to ice. “Fine,” I said, my voice low and even. “I can’t wait to see how you pull this off.” 7 I rolled over and sent a text to Maria. [Maria, I’ve decided to stop sponsoring Isla. She is no longer welcome in our home. Do not let her or any of her friends inside.] After the incident with the luggage, Maria was clearly on edge. She replied almost instantly. [Yes, Miss Lucy.] I yawned, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. For the next few days, there was no more talk of a party. The class group chat went quiet. 8 One night, I was walking back from the library. It was almost midnight, but the dorm was eerily silent. My room was empty. The rooms next door were dark. A strange feeling prickled at the back of my neck. I had a very bad feeling. I called an Uber and went straight to my family’s villa. From the street, I could see the house was ablaze with lights. The bass of some deafening pop song vibrated through the manicured hedges. I let myself in. The living room was a disaster zone. Beer bottles and snack wrappers littered every surface. Potato chip crumbs were ground into the Persian rug. Maria emerged from the kitchen with a platter of cut fruit, a cheerful smile on her face. When she saw me standing in the foyer, her eyes went wide with shock. “Lucy! You… what are you doing home?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “What? Do I need to make an appointment to visit my own house now?” Someone killed the music. The entire party went silent, and every single person turned to stare at me. Brianna’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with disdain. “You have no shame, do you? Isla didn’t even invite you, and you stalked her all the way here.” I arched an eyebrow. “Stalked her?” “Yeah,” she shot back. “How else would you know where Isla lives?” My eyes found Isla across the room. My voice was cold as steel. “I took pity on you, so I had my mother sponsor you. It’s clear now that you didn’t deserve a dime. Get out of my house. Now.” A flicker of pure hatred crossed Isla’s face before she masked it. She was still committed to the lie. “This is my house! Have you been reading too many fantasy novels? Can’t you tell the difference between reality and your pathetic delusions anymore?” She shook her head, a perfect imitation of concern. “I really think you should see a psychiatrist, Lucy. For your own good. It’s not healthy to let these things go untreated.” 9 “Yeah, seriously, get some help!” “Isla is so good to you, sponsoring you and everything, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful bitch, get out!” The insults came from all corners of the room. But my attention was fixed on the wall above the fireplace. On the spot where our family portrait was supposed to be. The photo of me with my parents was gone. In its place was a portrait of Isla with my parents. For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe. Then, a white-hot rage unlike anything I had ever felt surged through me. “Maria!” My voice cracked like a whip. “Who changed the photo in the living room?” Maria scurried over to me, her face pleading. “Lucy, please. This is Miss Isla’s first time having friends over. Whatever it is, can we please talk about it tomorrow?” I looked at her guilty, evasive eyes and felt nothing but contempt. “I gave you a direct order. I told you Isla was not to set foot in this house again. And you not only let her in, you let her throw a party? You’re fired. Effective immediately.” I raised my voice so everyone could hear. “And now, you’re going to tell all of them. Whose house is this? Mine, or Isla Corbin’s?” Brianna took a bite of a steak crostini and rolled her eyes. “Just tell her, Maria, so she can stop living in her fantasy world.” Maria looked at Isla, who was standing tall and defiant in the center of the room. Then her gaze shifted back to me. After a moment of agonizing internal debate, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Lucy… Miss Isla was kind enough to sponsor your education. You can’t be so ungrateful. You should go.”

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Other families have sister drama—the kind of love-hate dynamic that fuels reality TV. My sister and I? Pure, unadulterated hate. I despised her for always being the golden child, acing every test, every competition, leaving me in her dust. She, in turn, loathed me for being the wild one, the troublemaker, yet always seeming to be our parents’ favorite. How deep did the hate run? We wished each other dead. When she got into an Ivy League university, my parents poured all their savings into my art school application. That day, she actually held a kitchen knife to my throat. I shoved her back, hard, and she ended up in the ER. Afterward, she vanished from the hospital, never looking back. Years later, when my marriage imploded and domestic violence landed me in the hospital, I found my attending physician was her. 1 “Skylar Hayes, are you trying to ruin my life?!” Autumn Hayes burst into my room, a gleaming chef’s knife clutched in her hand. Mom and Dad stumbled in behind her, their faces etched with panic. Autumn clamped my arm, pressing the blade against my throat. I felt the cold, sharp edge pierce my skin, a thin line of pain blooming there. Her hand trembled as she screamed, a raw, desperate sound, at Mom and Dad across the room. “How dare you tell me I can’t go to school, giving all our money to her?!” Dad’s brow furrowed, his voice rising to match hers. “Nobody said you can’t go to school! You’re smart, you can retake the SATs, apply again next year! Are you even listening to yourself? Have you no respect for your father?” Mom frantically tried to pull Dad’s arm away, tears streaming down her face. “Autumn, honey, how can you call your sister useless? Please, Mom’s begging you, Skylar’s art school spot… it took so many favors to get. If she doesn’t go now, Professor Davies’ class will be full.” Professor Davies. The renowned art professor at the Mather Institute of Art. A guaranteed path to a prestigious career, if you got into his class. “Autumn, please be understanding this once. Let your sister use the money for tuition. Just two years, sweetheart. We promise, we’ll save up enough for your university tuition, okay? Just two more years.” The warm trickle of blood on my neck intensified, the pain sharper. Autumn was serious this time. She tugged me towards the window, her voice chilling. “What else would you call her? Useless?” She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze fixed on our parents. “Why do I always have to give in to her? Why, since we were kids, has she always been your priority?” “When I was little, I could’ve skipped a grade, but you insisted Skylar was too wild to be alone in kindergarten. So I stayed with her for another two years because she ‘couldn’t keep up’ in first grade.” “You always made us go to the same schools, the same classes, saying I could tutor her. But I’m two years older! If it wasn’t for her, I’d be in college already!” “Every time Skylar struggled, you made me hold back with her. Haven’t I been ‘understanding’ enough?” “Now she’s failing out and needs to go to art school, and I have to sacrifice another year for her?” “What are you complaining about with your sister?!” Dad roared, slamming something onto the floor. “I’ve given you everything, spoiled you both, and this is the selfish, ungrateful daughter you’ve become?” That ignited Autumn completely. All her pent-up resentment poured out. “You never think you’re wrong. You never see how unbelievably biased you are!” Dad pointed at her, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “Who gave you the right to accuse your parents of wrongdoing?” 2 Autumn ignored Dad, completely lost in her tirade. “Skylar fought, she cheated, she skipped class—how many messes did you clean up for her? I worked myself to the bone just to get an ounce of the attention you showered on her, and still, everything revolved around her.” “Why? Just because I’m the older sister? Am I supposed to be her lifelong blood bank, dragged down by her failures?” The throbbing in my neck was unbearable, and her words ignited my own fuse. “You think I want you as a sister?!” Years of playground brawls had taught me a thing or two. I broke free from her grip, shoving her hard. She stumbled backward, hitting the corner of my dresser with a sickening thud. A faint thwack. My vision was red with rage; I barely registered her trembling form. “You were always perfect, always the best. I could never measure up.” She lay curled on the floor, her face ashen. Dad, still fuming, stood with his hands on his hips. Mom started to move towards Autumn, but Dad held her back. “Don’t touch her! Let her cool off. Holding a knife to her own sister? Unbelievable! What a heartless child I’ve raised!” Tears welled in my eyes, my voice shaky. “Every teacher we ever had said, ‘How could this straight-A student have such a dim-witted sister?’ Every family gathering, relatives would say, ‘Autumn’s the one to count on.’ And me? Everyone just shook their heads.” “They’d all point at me and say, ‘You two are sisters, but one’s an angel, the other’s a devil.’ Autumn, you’re smart, you’re brilliant, but why does everyone have to step all over me to praise you?” “And you call me a parasite? You think I wanted you as a sister?” I stepped over her, pushed past Mom and Dad, and flung open my bedroom door. This house was suffocating. I needed to get out. Professor Davies’ class, tuition money, who cared? Before I even reached the front door, I heard Mom’s horrified scream. “Blood! Oh my God, Miles, Autumn’s bleeding from the back of her head!” I spun around to see Dad scoop Autumn into his arms, rushing towards the exit. Autumn was taken to the hospital. Several stitches in the back of her head. A large patch of her long hair was shaved off. Mom and Dad sat in silence until she woke. Autumn opened her eyes but refused to speak. Mom held her hand, tears of pity streaming down her face. “Autumn, don’t be mad at your sister, she didn’t mean it. You know how she is, always a tomboy, never knowing her own strength. See, you even cut her neck, and she didn’t say a word.” 3 I lowered my head slightly, feeling the bandage around my neck. The cut wasn’t deep; the blood had almost clotted by the time they bandaged it. Autumn still didn’t speak, closing her eyes, shutting us out. Dad, seeing her stubborn silence, stood up, his brows furrowed, ready to erupt again. Mom pulled him and me out of the room. Outside, Mom gently pushed Dad. “Say less, she’s hurting. Don’t argue with her.” Then she looked at me. “Skylar, does your neck still hurt? Don’t blame your sister, going to an Ivy League was always her dream.” I stared at my shoes, then mumbled, “She cut me, I pushed her. We’re even. I couldn’t care less.” Mom patted my head, a relieved smile on her face. “That’s my Skylar. Big-hearted, doesn’t hold a grudge.” I remained silent, listening to the sounds from inside the room. Autumn shifted under the covers, turning away. Dad walked back in, placing a bowl of porridge on the bedside table. His voice was awkwardly strained. “Eat this after your shot. Your mom and I are going to pay Skylar’s tuition. Let’s just forget about this, okay?” “You’re old enough, be sensible. Stop making a fuss. You and Skylar are sisters. If you don’t support each other, who will?” Autumn stayed hidden under the duvet, silent and still. Dad picked up his car keys and left, Mom pulling me along. She paused at the door, speaking to the lump under the blankets. “Autumn, wait for us here. We’re just going to register Skylar for her classes.” In the car, Mom pulled out the thick envelope. “Skylar, you have to work hard for Professor Davies. Our entire savings, every last penny, is riding on you.” I clutched my backpack, a suffocating weight in my chest, and didn’t reply. Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the towering building. Professor Davies’ workshop was on the 33rd floor. I gripped my backpack strap, my voice barely a whisper. “Dad, Mom, maybe Autumn should go to college instead. I’m just not cut out for school.” Dad shot me a furious glare. “If you dare mess this up, I’ll break your legs.” Mom took my hand, pulling me into the elevator. “It’s okay, Skylar. Just focus on your studies. Autumn’s smart; she’ll get into an Ivy League eventually.” When we returned to the hospital after registering, the nurse informed us Autumn had checked herself out. She was gone. By the time we got home, she had taken her ID and university acceptance letter, packed a few clothes, and left. Dad swore, “Neither of you is any help,” grabbed his car keys, and rushed out to search. Mom, terrified, followed him. I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, my gaze falling on Autumn’s open bedroom door. I sat there, the image of her lying on my floor, blood pooling behind her head, replaying in my mind. Whatever. I’d always wished I didn’t have a sister. Now she was gone; I should be happy. Good riddance. Autumn vanished. Mom and Dad searched everywhere she might possibly go, but found nothing. After twenty-four hours, they filed a missing person’s report. Leaving the police station, Mom’s hands were still trembling. “Where could Autumn have gone? Why is she being so difficult? This is too much.” I supported her, saying nothing, as the three of us silently returned home. Hours later, the police called. They had contacted Autumn. 4 Mom panicked, immediately asking for her address. But the police said Autumn had explicitly stated she was safe and did not want her whereabouts disclosed. Autumn was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, so the police had to respect her wishes. They only relayed that she was safe, providing no address or contact information. After they hung up, Dad slammed the phone onto the table. “That girl is completely out of control!” I stared at the still-lit screen, a guess forming in my mind. A City. The place where her beloved Ivy League university was. Autumn had gone to college. But her major there was incredibly expensive, and our family’s savings could only cover one of us. How could Autumn, running away like that, afford her tuition? I knew where Autumn was, but I just sat there, saying nothing. I didn’t want Autumn to come back. “Waiting another year” to retake her SATs? I didn’t want to live in her shadow a moment longer. Thanks to Professor Davies’ connections, and my parents’ endless gifts and cash, the following year, I barely scraped into Mather Institute of Art. Mom and Dad were overjoyed, throwing a lavish celebration. During the party, relatives asked where their elder daughter was. Dad’s face darkened, and he scoffed. “Who knows where she went. Ungrateful child. Abandoned her family.” After college, I asked Mom and Dad for some money and took a grand trip. On the road, I met a guy from my city. We fell in love quickly—a whirlwind romance culminating in marriage. Autumn didn’t show up to my wedding, and no one mentioned her. But as Mom held my hand, wiping away tears on stage, her gaze kept drifting towards the door. I knew who Mom was waiting for, but I wouldn’t say a word. This was my shining moment; I didn’t want her to steal even a fraction of my spotlight. After the wedding, my husband, Adam, got a job transfer, and we moved to A City. My temper was as volatile as ever, and we had our share of arguments. I was still the same—if I couldn’t win with words, I’d resort to insults; if insults failed, I’d get physical. During an unprecedentedly heated argument, he hit me for the first time. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against my head. My temple hit the coffee table. The world went black for a split second. Before I could shake off the dizziness, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. Blood. So much blood. Just like the blood that day, when Autumn lay on my floor. He was terrified. He picked up his phone, but didn’t call 911. He called his mother, his voice trembling as he told her he’d hit me, and there was blood everywhere. I ended up in the hospital. I’d been a month pregnant and had just miscarried. I woke from a daze, my head wrapped in gauze. He wasn’t there. I was alone in the hospital room. I picked up my medical records and a thick stack of reports, seeing the miscarriage diagnosis. And then, clearly visible in the doctor’s signature line: Autumn Hayes. A sharp sting in my arm. My IV drip was empty, and blood was backing up into the tube. A nurse checked the bag, replaced it, and left. After she was gone, the door opened again. I saw Autumn, dressed in a white lab coat, walk in.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384961”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Caleb Prescott asked me out to spite Claire Kensington, the girl he could never have. I was the charity case he chose as his weapon. I said yes. Later, Claire cornered me, her eyes a mix of pity and contempt. “Some friendly advice? Get a few designer bags out of it while he’s still mad at me. Think of it as compensation.” I didn’t care. Whether he liked me or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that Caleb Prescott was handsome, rich, and now, he was mine. I was the one winning this game. Years later, at my wedding to Caleb, Claire burst in, a desperate vision in a white dress that wasn’t meant for her. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she begged him to leave with her. “I was selfish, I didn’t know how to appreciate you,” she cried. “But it’s not too late.” The man beside me didn’t flinch. His expression was calm as he signaled for security to remove her. Then he turned to me, his voice low and sincere. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I should have handled that loose end. I promise, it will never happen again.” See? Taming a stray isn’t so hard after all. 1 I knew from the very beginning that Caleb Prescott’s confession of love was all part of a game he was playing with Claire Kensington. I was working a late shift at the campus Quick Mart, a temporary gig to make ends meet. The night had settled into a heavy stillness, the kind where the only sounds are the hum of the coolers and the frantic buzz of moths flinging themselves at the streetlights. Their argument shattered the quiet, a sharp, angry blade slicing through the empty store. It was impossible not to notice. My drowsiness vanished. I leaned forward, shamelessly listening. And then I heard my name. A jolt went through me. I looked up. Two figures stood just outside the glass doors, silhouetted against the night. Even in the gloom, they were unmistakable. Caleb Prescott and Claire Kensington. Northwood University’s golden couple, the permanent residents of the campus gossip pages. Caleb’s face was a mask of fury, but his eyes—those handsome, dark eyes—were clouded with a deep, wounded disappointment. “So you really want me to be with someone else?” he demanded, his voice tight. Claire stood with her arms crossed, her delicate features unreadable. “Ava Monroe is the campus queen, top three in her major, she’s gorgeous and sharp. What, are you losing out by being with her?” I stroked my chin. Can’t argue with that. Caleb’s eyes were turning red. “Claire, you know damn well…” he started, his voice trembling. She pressed her hands over her ears, a theatrical gesture of refusal. La la la, I can’t hear you. Even without the rest of the sentence, the meaning was clear. Caleb was in love with her. It made sense. They’d grown up together, one of those picture-perfect childhoods that bleed into an inevitable, complicated adulthood. Defeated, Caleb’s shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he bit out. “You’ll get what you want.” Claire turned and walked away without a backward glance. Caleb stood there for a long moment, a solitary figure drowning in the pale glow of the streetlight. Then he pushed his way into the store, wandering the aisles with no direction. I was grateful for the cheap paper mask I was wearing. It hid my face, saving us both the excruciating awkwardness. He eventually settled on a single can of beer and a few skewers from the sad-looking hot dog roller. He took a seat at the small counter by the window, a lonely silhouette against the dark glass. Pretending to restock a shelf of chips, I watched him. His long lashes trembled, the tip of his nose was pink, and from the side, he looked like he was about to shatter. I’m the one who’s about to be used as a pawn, I thought wryly, so what are you falling apart for? The reality of the situation settled in. I was about to be asked out by Caleb Prescott. My mind, always spinning, went into overdrive. He was dressed in understated luxury from head to toe. Even his casual clothes had a tailored precision that made him stand out. A quiet flex. I’d heard the rumors when I first got to Northwood: the Prescott heir, incredibly wealthy but surprisingly low-key. No flashy cars, no ostentatious parties. Good grades, active in a few campus clubs. A model son. Watching his ramrod-straight back, I noted that even when he was seething with anger, he didn’t throw things or curse. He just sat there, quietly nursing his beer, trying to process it. Good breeding on top of a great fortune. And easy on the eyes. All in all, a solid package. My fingers tapped out a silent calculation on the counter. If he wanted to invite me into his drama, well, either way, I came out ahead. 2 The next time I saw Caleb was a few days later in the campus dining hall. I was working a part-time shift at the build-your-own-bowl noodle bar. The lunch rush had died down, and he strolled in, looking completely out of place. He stood before the vast array of vegetables and proteins, holding his brand-new student ID card like it was a foreign object. Clearly, the silver-spoon set didn’t frequent this establishment. I handed him a bowl and a pair of tongs. “You pick what you want, then they’ll cook it and you pay at the end,” I explained, my voice friendly and helpful. After he fumbled through his selections, he handed the bowl to me with a polite smile. “No spice, please. Thank you.” I beamed back at him, then turned to the cook behind the counter. “Extra spicy,” I whispered. The result was a masterpiece of petty revenge. Caleb, sitting alone, took one bite and his face erupted in a blotchy, red sweat. His eyes watered, he coughed, he looked utterly miserable. He eventually came back to the counter, his pride visibly wounded. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think there was a mistake with my order. It’s way too spicy, I can’t eat it.” I feigned shock, my face a perfect mask of apology. “Oh my god, I am so sorry! I must have mixed up the orders. Let me get you a new one, on me.” Before he could protest, I swiped my own ID card to pay for a new, spice-free bowl. To complete the performance, I bought him an iced matcha latte from the cafe next door as a peace offering. His embarrassment quickly turned into gratitude. “You really don’t have to do that. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.” I just smiled and shook my head, insisting it was my mistake and my responsibility. Inside, I was thinking, It’s fine. You’ll pay me back with something much more expensive soon enough. The ice was broken. He was surprised to learn I was an economics major. “Does that mean you’re in Professor Miller’s Linear Algebra class this semester?” he asked. He was a business management major. I put on my most delighted expression. “Wow, what a coincidence. Maybe I could ask you for help if I get stuck on a problem?” A genuine smile finally lit up his face, like the first hint of spring. “Of course. And I have to take Macroeconomics this semester. How about we trade numbers? That way I can ask you for help, to pay you back for lunch.” He was smooth. He didn’t brag about his own skills, and he knew how to show a little vulnerability to close the distance. He knew how to play people. Once we’d added each other, I casually scrolled through his Instagram feed. It was public. The content was wholesome and aspirational: photos with his family, gourmet food, books he was reading, scenic travel shots. Not a single trace of ostentatious wealth, no idiotic captions. It was a perfectly curated image of a grounded, wealthy young man. He was showing me exactly the person he wanted me to see. I glanced up and saw a flicker of frustration cross his face. A small smile touched my lips. My own profile was a blank slate. My username was simply “A,” and my profile picture was a generic photo of a misty forest. There was nothing for him to analyze. If he wanted to know who I was, he would have to put in the work. 3 I have to admit, Caleb’s methods of pursuit were perfectly suited to my temperament. And to his own image as a gentle, refined man. He wasn’t like other rich kids who relied on grand, public gestures—bouquets of roses delivered to my dorm, ostentatious gifts designed to announce their shallow affection to the world. Instead, Caleb engineered reasons to be near me. He’d show up at the dining hall when he knew I was working, we’d arrange to study together at the library, and when my late-night shifts ended, he’d be waiting outside to walk me back to my dorm. He was smart about the gifts. Knowing my financial situation, he started small. A fifty-dollar gift card to a nice cafe, then a few hundred for a new pair of headphones, eventually escalating to a tablet that cost a couple thousand. He never crossed the five-figure threshold, a calculated move to keep me from feeling overwhelmed or like I was from a different universe. He didn’t want to create a rift. Each gift was thoughtful, chosen with care, designed to slowly, methodically recalibrate my sense of what was normal. He was a hunter, hiding silently in the jungle, patiently studying his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But who was holding the gun in the end? That was still up for debate. After a month of this, with me deliberately letting my guard down, we had grown incredibly close. Yet there was still an invisible barrier between us, a line neither of us had crossed. Our classmates watched us with knowing, curious eyes, but I remained unbothered, juggling my studies and my part-time jobs as usual. Caleb, on the other hand, was starting to get antsy. Claire seemed to be intentionally avoiding him, a cold war that, ironically, gave us more time together. I never lost sight of the truth: he was doing all this to make Claire jealous. Even my roommate, Maya, was caught up in the drama. “Ava, when are you two going to make it official?” she asked, her eyes wide with gossip. “I’m ready for my congratulatory dinner.” I pinched her cheek. “Patience, you little glutton. When it happens, I’ll treat you to the best steak and sushi in town.” I glanced at the calendar. The time was right. The next time Caleb saw me, my eyes were red and swollen, my hair was a mess, and I looked like I’d been emotionally destroyed. He rushed to my side, pulling a tissue from his pocket and crouching down beside me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. I just shook my head, letting the tears fall without a word. He didn’t push, just gently rubbed my back, a comforting, steady presence. When my sobs subsided, I told him the story I had carefully constructed: my application for the university’s student aid grant had been rejected. The spots had gone to a few wealthy students who were close friends with the student council president and secretary. When I tried to complain to the dean’s office, I found out they were all in on it together. They had even threatened to mess with my graduation credits if I made a scene. I offered a bitter, broken smile. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I can just work more hours to support myself.” Caleb was silent for a long time. He reached out and smoothed my hair back from my face. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s not fine. Let me handle this. Don’t be sad anymore.” I shook my head, playing the part of the frightened victim. “Don’t. I don’t want you to risk your academic record for me.” He took my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were intense. “The Ava I know wouldn’t just give up,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “My parents taught me that when something belongs to you, you fight for it. You use any means necessary to get it back. Even if it means burning everything to the ground. Even if you can’t have it, you make damn sure no one else gets it either. So I’m asking you again. If you had another chance, would you fight or would you give up?” I stared back at him, my expression hardening into one of resolve. “I’d fight,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “And if I couldn’t have it, I’d grind it to dust. I’d burn it to ash. No one else would ever get their hands on it.” A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face. It was a look of pure admiration, the look of a lone wanderer who has finally found another of his kind in the vast, empty wilderness. “Leave it to me,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added quietly, “Ava, I’m one of your weapons too.” 4 “So you got together with Caleb to use him? Not because you actually like him?” Maya shrieked. I calmly applied a sheet mask to my face and glanced over at her. Her jaw was practically on the floor. I reached out and playfully pushed it shut. “What’s the alternative?” I asked. “Find a guy to struggle with?” If Caleb couldn’t even handle something this simple, he would be useless to me, and not worth another minute of my time. Maya nodded slowly, processing it. “I thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Turns out he’s just another asshole, playing with a girl’s feelings.” “We’re using each other,” I corrected her. “It’s a transaction. We both get what we want. Feelings don’t have much utility in my life.” Even if there were no Claire, even if Caleb’s feelings for me were genuine, I would never let myself fall into the trap of love. This seemed to worry Maya. “But if you agree to be with him, it’s going to end the second Claire snaps her fingers. She’s his great unresolved love story. You’ll be the one who loses.” I shrugged. “If you want to get technical about it, I’m his first love. First girlfriend, anyway. According to the law of diminishing returns, that makes me just as significant.” Less than two days later, the dean of the business school called me into his office. The pale, panicked faces of my academic advisor and the student council leaders told me everything I needed to know. The matter had been settled. The only surprising thing was that Caleb wasn’t there. With the financial aid grant secured, the simmering tension between Caleb and me reached its boiling point. It was a perfect evening. The sky was a wash of soft pinks and oranges, the air was warm. Caleb stood under the sycamore tree outside my dorm, holding a bouquet of cappuccino-colored roses, looking like a prince from a storybook. It was dinnertime, and the courtyard was bustling with students. Phones were out, pictures were being taken, and a low murmur of excited chatter surrounded him. Everyone was wondering who the lucky girl was. He had texted me before he came. Seeing that I hadn’t come down yet, he showed no signs of impatience. He just stood there, tall and still as a statue, waiting. Maya rushed over to my desk, practically vibrating with excitement. “He’s downstairs! It’s happening! Go, go!” I remained seated, calmly eating the takeout I’d brought back from the dining hall. She got desperate and tried to snatch my chopsticks. “You glutton, stop eating! Once you’re with Caleb, he’ll be taking you to fancy candlelit dinners.” I tossed my phone to her. “Check the campus confessions page.” Maya picked it up. Caleb had posted a long, anonymous-but-not-really confession, detailing every little moment of our “chance” encounters. It was dripping with sentiment, earnest and moving. At the end, he asked me to be his girlfriend. The comments were exploding with people swooning over how romantic it was. “What kind of person writes a novel-length public confession?” I asked her. Maya thought for a second. “A hopeless romantic? Or someone desperate. I wrote one for my ex when I was trying to get him back.” I gave her a look that said, Exactly. “So what’s the rush?” The ball was in my court. “Have you even read it?” she asked. I shook my head. “Could you read it to me? It’ll be awkward later if I don’t know what it says.” She looked at me, bewildered. “Why?” “It’s too long,” I said, taking a bite of a chicken leg. “I can’t be bothered. Plus, you have a nice voice. It’s good background noise while I eat.” 5 In the end, Maya read me the entire post in exchange for the promise of five lavish meals. By the time she finished, I had finished my dinner. I then took my time, showering and washing my hair. It was my first time being properly asked out. I had to look my best. All told, an hour and a half had passed. Maya peered out the window. “He’s still there,” she reported, a note of awe in her voice. I glanced at my phone. No frantic calls or texts from Caleb. Instead, a single message sent every half hour, like clockwork: [Ava, I’m outside your dorm. I’ll wait for you.] Patience and perseverance. A man like Caleb was destined to succeed at whatever he put his mind to. That was another reason I chose him. As I finally walked towards him, his eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a small dimple on his left cheek. He looked like a stray puppy, overjoyed to finally be claimed. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said with a small, apologetic smile. I would never tell him why it took me so long. And Caleb would never dare to ask. He was too close to his goal to risk rocking the boat. When it came to the actual confession, he stumbled over his words. “Ava Monroe… I, uh… I like you. A lot.” I took the bouquet from his hands and tilted my head, offering him a radiant smile. “I’ll be in your care, then… boyfriend.” His face instantly flushed a deep crimson, as if the sunset had decided to paint itself across his cheeks. And just like that, Caleb and I were official. I pulled him close, pressed my cheek against his, and snapped a selfie. I posted it immediately to my feed, a declaration. In the photo, Caleb’s fair skin was still flushed, and he looked at the camera with a slightly dazed expression. The likes and congratulatory comments started pouring in immediately. All evening, Caleb’s phone buzzed incessantly. I watched him as he stared at the glowing screen, a flicker of something—disappointment?—in his eyes. I stirred my coffee, my chin propped on my hand, patiently observing him. He was waiting for a message from Claire. A message that would never come. Because I had already checked. On my burner account, I could see Claire’s Instagram story. She was at a club, grinding against some new, handsome prey she’d just captured. 6 I was, of course, curious to see how Claire would react. A week earlier, we’d had our second encounter at a burger joint where I was working. It was the six o’clock dinner rush, and I was juggling taking orders, running the register, and handing out food. Claire, wearing a simple white dress and subtle makeup, stood off to the side, watching me with a cool, detached curiosity. When the line finally died down, she approached the counter to place her order. Then, ignoring a dozen clean, empty tables, she walked to the messiest one in the entire restaurant—a disaster zone of ketchup smears and leftover food—and called me over to clean it. Maya, who was working with me, saw what was happening and bristled. “I’ll get it,” she muttered, grabbing a cloth, ready to fight my battle for me. I stopped her. “She’s here for me. You going won’t solve anything. Go check on the fries.” To her credit, Claire didn’t push it further. I knew her visit was born of curiosity, not malice. She was sizing me up. She probably assumed Caleb would never seriously consider someone like me, a girl from the bottom rung of the social ladder. What a shame. She underestimated the stubborn streak running through Caleb’s core. And she drastically underestimated my own ambition. The look of pure shock and fury on her face when Caleb and I walked into his friend’s party, hand in hand, was a memory I would treasure for a long time. A week into our relationship, it was Caleb’s birthday. On the drive to his family’s villa, he was completely distracted. I tried to make conversation, but he barely heard a word I said. I eventually gave up and sat in silence. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the massive front gates that he seemed to snap out of it, his hand tightening around mine. I teased him gently. “Am I that embarrassing? Should I just call a taxi and go home now?” He blinked, coming back to himself, and pulled me closer, his arm around my shoulders. “Ava, don’t be silly. You look beautiful tonight.” Before we left, he had arranged for a stylist to do my hair and makeup and pick out a dress. He was trying to mold me. “The people you’ll meet tonight are just my closest friends,” he reassured me. “Just stick by my side, and you’ll be fine.” I nodded obediently. The moment we stepped into the grand hall, the boisterous noise died. Every head turned. A hundred pairs of eyes landed on me—probing, judging, gossiping. One gaze, however, was sharper than the rest, a glare meant to pierce right through me. Caleb, to his credit, confidently introduced me to his circle. They all stood up, greeting me with a practiced, superficial warmth. They were polite because Caleb’s family held more power than theirs. All of them, except Claire. Our eyes met across the room. I could see the rage simmering just beneath the surface. To her, Caleb was a toy. A toy she might have left in the attic to gather dust, but one she would never permit anyone else to play with. This was a betrayal. She let out a cold little huff, turned without a word, and swept up the grand staircase. I snuck a glance at Caleb. His face was a perfect, unreadable mask. But I knew. We always want what we can’t have. The moon is beautiful because it hangs untouchable in the sky; you admire it from afar. But there’s always a part of you that wants to pull it down from the heavens and claim it for yourself. It didn’t matter. After tonight, none of it would. The party continued. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came out, I found Claire leaning against the wall in the hallway, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The tiny orange ember glowed in the dim light, illuminating her face, which was partially obscured by a haze of smoke. She looked like a femme fatale from an old movie. As I walked past, she called my name. “Ava Monroe.” I stopped. She looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate assessment, before letting out a short, sharp laugh. “You do know this whole thing is just a bet, right? He’s never liked you. He’s with you to piss me off, to get my attention. And look, I don’t even like Caleb like that, but I’m telling you, don’t get too invested.” My hands clenched the fabric of my dress. I let my face fall, my expression a carefully crafted picture of shock and hurt. “That’s not possible. He told me… he told me I was the first person he ever really liked.” Claire took a long drag from her cigarette, then flicked the ash onto the marble floor. “Sweetie, if you want to survive in our world, here’s a free lesson: never believe a word a man says.” She then proceeded to tell me, in excruciating detail, about the bet she and Caleb had made. Seeing my stunned, heartbroken expression, her mood visibly brightened. She looked at me with that same pitying gaze from before. “My advice? Get a few nice bags out of it as compensation before he gets tired of this little game. You don’t want to be the girl crying for breakup money when it’s all over.” I shifted into a righteous fury. “How can you be so cruel? How can you just trample on someone’s feelings like that? You don’t deserve anyone’s affection.” She just shook her head, as if lamenting my stupidity. “Well, I guess you can feel sorry for him on my behalf.” With that, she pressed the glowing tip of her cigarette into the bodice of my dress, right over my heart. It sizzled for a second, leaving an ugly, brown-ringed hole. My heart bled. Not for myself, but for the dress. I could’ve flipped that on Poshmark for a year’s worth of tuition. Now I’d be lucky to get twenty bucks for it. 7 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow lurking in the darkness down the hall. Caleb. My part in this little drama was over. I stumbled away, playing the part of the broken-hearted girl, leaving the two of them to their confrontation. From what I understood of men like Caleb, their pride was like fine crystal: beautiful, fragile, and easily shattered. He would never tolerate being trampled on like this. After tonight, they would be fractured beyond repair. But it still needed one more push. A more potent dose of poison. I sat on a plush sofa, idly picking at one of the gleaming gold pillars next to me. It looked like it was covered in 24-karat gold leaf. My fingers itched. If I could just peel off a little bit every day, it would add up. I tried scraping it with my nail, but nothing came off. On closer inspection, I saw a thin, hard, transparent protective layer. Probably to keep people like me from getting any ideas, I sighed. My thoughts drifted back to the party. No one was talking to me. They were all taking their cues from Caleb, and he hadn’t officially stamped me with his approval. They all knew this was a performance for Claire’s benefit. Just as I was plotting my next move, an opportunity presented itself. A group of shadows fell over me. I looked up to see a few of Claire’s friends, led by Caleb’s cousin, Bryce Prescott. Bryce was the alpha sycophant in Claire’s orbit. I’d heard he wasn’t born a Prescott, but had changed his name to curry favor with the family, whose business propped up his own. With the Prescott name behind him, he acted with an unearned arrogance. He smiled down at me, a slimy, predatory grin. “Ava, right? We’re playing a game over there, kind of a truth-or-dare spin. We’re short one player. Do me a favor and join us?” I meekly agreed. And, what a surprise, I lost the first round. Amid boisterous laughter, several of them lifted me up and, before I knew what was happening, tossed me into the deep end of the swimming pool. As I hit the cold water, I saw the triumphant look on Bryce’s face. He was getting revenge on Claire’s behalf. I flailed, sputtering, trying to get to the side. But every time I got close, someone, acting on Bryce’s silent command, would push me back under. Again and again. Water flooded my throat, and my cries for help were swallowed by the pool. The other partygoers just stood around the edge, watching as if it were entertainment. Aside from Caleb, Bryce held the most power here. Finally, my strength gave out. I sank towards the bottom, the lights of the party blurring above me. Then, a loud splash. Arms wrapped around me, pulling me towards the surface. I broke through, gasping for air, lungs burning. I opened my eyes. It was Caleb. He held me as hands reached down to pull us both out. I collapsed against his chest, weak and shivering, and shot a look at Claire over his shoulder. Her face was a thundercloud of fury. A tiny, imperceptible smile played on my lips. Caleb’s gaze swept over the guilty parties, cold and murderous. A hush fell over the crowd. Before he could even speak, his friends, eager to please, started kicking the culprits into the pool, one by one. All except Bryce. He tried to play the family card, a pathetic, wheedling tone in his voice. “Caleb, buddy, we were just kidding around!” Caleb didn’t hesitate. A powerful kick sent Bryce stumbling backward into the water. “Nobody pulls them out until I say so,” he commanded, his voice deadly quiet. The others, now soaked and humiliated, didn’t dare try to climb out. Caleb scooped me into his arms and started carrying me back into the house. “Caleb!” Claire’s voice cut through the air, sharp and frayed with disbelief. He paused, turned his head, and looked back at her with eyes like chips of ice. He uttered a single word. “Leave.”

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