Author: Momo Chan

To land a ten-million-dollar deal, I’d spent all night with a client, nursing coffees until my ulcer felt like it was burning a hole through my stomach. I got to the office the next morning and clocked in three seconds late. My boss’s son, Kyle, stormed up to me and threw a cup of scalding coffee right in my face. “You have the nerve to show your face?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Look at you. You look like you just crawled out of a gutter. Which C-level exec did you have to sleep with last night to get your win?” “Don’t bring your filth into this office,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “We’re not a dumpster for every piece of trash.” “You really think you’re something special because you closed one deal? You’re just a pretty boy who knows how to sweet-talk clients.” My boss, Don Harrison, called me into his office. He told me to apologize to his son and that he was docking my entire commission. Without a word, I tore my ID badge off its lanyard and threw the shattered plastic in his face. The day I quit, their whole company started to fall apart. 1 The plastic clasp of my badge holder made a sharp crack. “To hell with this job. Let someone else have it.” I threw the two pieces of my ID badge squarely at Don Harrison’s greasy face. His face flushed with rage. He shot up from his chair, jabbing a finger so close to my eye I could feel the heat coming off it. “You! You’re fired! Get the hell out of my office, now!” he bellowed. “And from this day forward, every client you managed is being transferred to my son, Kyle!” “Including Orion Enterprises!” he added, his voice laced with the thrill of revenge. As if on cue, the door to the adjoining office opened. Kyle leaned against the frame, a smug, triumphant smile on his face. “Leo,” he said, his tone mocking. “I’ll be optimizing the management of your former clients from now on.” I ignored them both and walked out of that suffocating office. Back at my desk, my colleagues shot me a mix of complicated looks. Some were sympathetic, others regretful. A few were clearly enjoying the show. I paid them no mind, quietly packing my personal belongings into a small cardboard box. It didn’t take long. Before I logged out for the last time, I opened my work computer. I found an encrypted folder. Inside was every template for client relations I’d built over the years, every data analysis model, every private note on the personal preferences of our major accounts—the product of countless sleepless nights. I selected the folder. Right-clicked. Permanently deleted. Not a moment of hesitation. With that done, I picked up my box and, under the gaze of the entire office, walked out the front doors without a backward glance. The sunlight outside was harsh, but I felt a sense of relief so profound it was almost dizzying. I gave myself a vacation. Booked a flight to the coast. Sand, sun, the sound of waves. Lying on a beach chair, I felt my phone buzz. It was a text from my former colleague, Amy. “Leo, it’s absolute chaos here since you left!” “That idiot Kyle held a meeting on his first day. You won’t believe the crap he was spouting.” I texted back a question mark. “He said he wants to ’empower our synergy,’ ‘close the loop on our deliverables,’ ‘find new levers,’ and ‘drill down to the core logic of our pipeline’!” “My brain is still buzzing. What does any of that even mean?” “Then he rolled out this insane new client communication process. A ‘Client Needs SOP.’ It’s a bureaucratic nightmare. You need to fill out three reports and get seven approvals for the smallest damn thing.” “Yesterday, I was just trying to follow up on an invoice. It took me an hour to write the request form, and by the time he finally approved it, the client’s accounting department had already closed for the day!” “He also lost a critical overnight package because his new protocol requires all deliveries to go to the admin desk first for ‘sanitization and logging.’ It delayed everything by a day, and the client was furious.” “And he reamed out Mark, our top salesman from last month, saying he didn’t understand ‘matrix management’ or ‘talent profiling.’ Mark almost quit on the spot.” I could perfectly picture Kyle, puffed up and spouting corporate buzzword salad. A bitter laugh escaped me. “What else?” I typed. “Oh, it gets better. This afternoon, Mr. Peterson from Orion—a client we’ve had for five years—called with an urgent question about a technical spec. The kind of thing you used to know off the top of your head.” “Kyle fumbled through the files for ten minutes, stammering, and couldn’t give him a straight answer. Mr. Peterson just lost his patience and hung up on him!” “His exact words were, ‘Is there anyone left at your company who knows what they’re doing? Why am I being handled by this incompetent fool?’” Reading the text, I felt a wave of dark satisfaction. “Any other genius moves?” “Plenty! To prove how brilliant he is, he’s forcing all our long-term clients to sign a new ‘standardized’ contract that he drafted himself.” “I took a peek at it. The terms are predatory. All liability is shifted to the client. It’s insane, pure poison.” A knot formed in my stomach. “He’s not going to try that with Mr. Peterson at Orion, is he?” “Who knows? He acts like landing the Orion renewal was his own personal victory. Walks around bragging about how his dad’s ‘masterful strategy’ made it happen.” I sent a warning to Amy. “Peterson hates being disrespected more than anything. Stay out of it. Don’t get caught in the crossfire.” “I know, Leo. Just needed to vent. This place is a sinking ship.” I’d just put my phone down when a notification popped up from the old department group chat. An @everyone tag. It was Kyle. “Team, next Monday, I will personally lead our delegation to visit our most important strategic partner, Orion Enterprises!” “In this visit, we will be finalizing a new, more comprehensive multi-million-dollar renewal contract with Mr. Peterson, securing my first big win! It will show certain people who the real sales elite are!” Immediately after he sent it, his father, Don, chimed in. “Kyle is a graduate of a prestigious international business school. He’s a classically trained management professional, not like some ‘street-level’ salesman who gets by on schmoozing and free dinners.” “All of you should learn from Kyle. The future of this company belongs to young talents like him!” The chat immediately flooded with sycophantic praise. “Incredible, Kyle!” “One meeting from you is worth ten from anyone else!” “Congratulations in advance on the huge win!” I stared at the nauseating display on my screen and let out a cold laugh. The deal you’re all dreaming of is now a ticking time bomb. I shut off my phone and tossed it aside. The sea breeze swept over me, thick with the smell of salt. The real show was just about to begin. On Monday, Kyle and his sister, Tiffany, strode into the Orion Enterprises headquarters like they owned the place. They were dressed to the nines, their faces radiating an unshakeable sense of entitlement. Inside Mr. Peterson’s office, Kyle didn’t even bother with pleasantries. He slapped the binder containing his proud “standardized” contract down on the polished mahogany desk. “Mr. Peterson, this is our new contract, drafted by our corporate legal team. It reflects our company’s professionalism. Take a look, and if there are no issues, you can go ahead and sign.” Tiffany stood beside him, adding with a condescending air, “My father has decided our company needs to formalize its procedures. The old, messy way of doing business is over. This is for your benefit as well.” Mr. Peterson picked up the contract. He only had to flip through two pages before his expression hardened. The draconian clauses were a direct assault on his intelligence. Things like “The supplier reserves the right to unilaterally terminate the contract without liability,” and “Payment terms are extended to net 180 days.” He looked up, his gaze falling on the two arrogant, utterly insincere young people before him. His fury was immediate and absolute. “This is your professionalism? This is your formal procedure?” He slammed the contract down on the desk. “Security! Get these two out of my building!” When the news hit our old office, it was like a bomb had gone off. Amy sent me a voice message, her voice trembling. “Leo, it’s a disaster! Orion isn’t just refusing to renew; they’re terminating all existing contracts, effective immediately!” “The finance department is in a full-blown panic. The early termination penalty means we have to refund a fortune in pre-payments. The company doesn’t have that kind of cash on hand!” “Don has locked himself in his office. We can hear him throwing things!” “And it gets worse! They’re demanding an immediate refund of all the advance payments from this quarter!” That money, I knew, had already been spent. Don had used it to buy Kyle a new sports car. The company’s cash flow was instantly frozen. Don Harrison, sweating profusely, personally called Mr. Peterson. When the call connected, his voice was dripping with humility. “Mr. Peterson, please, calm down. There must be some misunderstanding. The kids… they don’t know any better. Don’t hold it against them.” A single, ice-cold sentence came from the other end of the line. “Don, the only person I’ll talk to is Leo Morgan.” “Anyone else from your company calls me, they can go to hell.” The line went dead. Don stood there, clutching the phone, his face a ghastly shade of gray. In the main office, Tiffany, rather than reflecting on her catastrophic failure, was screaming, placing all the blame on me. “It’s all Leo’s fault!” she shrieked at the remaining sales staff. “That backstabbing snake! He must have set this up behind our backs, dug a trap for us to fall into!” “That ungrateful bastard! We basically raised a viper in our own house!” Cornered and desperate, Don Harrison finally remembered me. He called my phone. It rang for a long time before I leisurely answered. “Leo! I’m ordering you to come back to the company right now! You need to fix this mess with Orion!” he roared, his voice accustomed to command. “If you come back, I’m willing to forget what happened before!” I put the phone on speaker. The sound of waves crashing against the sand was clearly audible. “Mr. Harrison, I’m currently unemployed,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “I have neither the authority nor the ability to handle your company’s business.” “You! Leo, don’t push your luck! After all the years this company invested in you, this is how you repay us? You’re a goddamn traitor!” Before he could finish his tirade, I hung up. Then, I blocked his number. The news of Orion’s contract termination exploded across the industry. Our company’s reputation as Orion’s long-term, trusted supplier was shattered overnight. The next day, our stock price plummeted at the opening bell, wiping out tens of millions in market value in a matter of hours. Several other major clients who had been on the fence about signing new deals immediately called to terminate negotiations. A distribution partner we’d worked with for years showed up in person, demanding payment for long-overdue invoices. The dominoes had begun to fall. To try and salvage morale, Don Harrison started spreading rumors. At an all-hands meeting, he publicly announced that I had taken kickbacks from our competitor, Stellar Dynamics, claiming I was a corporate spy who had intentionally sabotaged the Orion deal. “This industry should blacklist vermin like him who have no professional ethics! He didn’t just take bribes; he stole our most valuable client strategies!” he declared, his voice full of manufactured outrage. Amy secretly recorded it and sent it to me. I listened, and all I could do was laugh. Kyle, desperate to redeem himself, tried to salvage what he could from my other accounts. He logged into my old work computer, planning to contact my clients. But he found that all my core client data was protected by a standalone encryption program. He couldn’t open a single file. It was a personal security measure I had written myself to protect sensitive information. Only I knew the password. Panicked, Kyle called the IT department, demanding they crack it by force. The head of IT, sweating bullets, tried to warn him. “Mr. Harrison, this encryption is custom-built. A brute-force attack is extremely risky. There’s a 99% chance it will cause permanent, physical damage to the entire database!” “It would be like setting the company’s entire lifeline on fire! I can’t proceed unless you sign this waiver, accepting full responsibility!” “Just do it! If anything happens, it’s on me!” Kyle yelled, scribbling his name on a piece of paper and shoving it at the IT director. “I need it open today! That’s an order!” Forced, the IT department had no choice but to try. There was a faint click. A red warning box flashed onto the screen: DATABASE FILE CORRUPTED. RECOVERY IMPOSSIBLE. All the crucial client files, contact information, and contract histories turned into a meaningless jumble of symbols. The data was gone. Forever. The company’s last thread of hope had just been severed. When the news spread, the entire office ground to a halt. Without Orion as its anchor and with all core client data wiped, the company was, for all intents and purposes, bankrupt. When Don Harrison heard, he nearly collapsed. And just as their company was consumed by chaos, a major announcement lit up the industry’s social media feeds. Our competitor, Stellar Dynamics, proudly announced it had entered into a long-term strategic partnership with Orion Enterprises. A powerful alliance, poised for the future. The announcement included a celebratory photo from the signing ceremony. In the photo, Mr. Peterson from Orion and the CEO of Stellar Dynamics were shaking hands, beaming at the camera. And standing behind them, listed under the title of Lead Representative, was my name. In the picture, I was wearing a sharp, well-fitted suit. And I looked like I was on top of the world.

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“Leo, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” The man, Adrian, slammed the marriage certificate onto the podium just as the stage lights hit my eyes. I was in the middle of our new product launch. The date on the official seal burned into my retinas… Five years ago. I hadn’t even met Catherine yet. But I was her husband. Her legal husband. I begged Catherine to tell the world the truth, but she always said to wait, just a little longer. For that, my son and I were dragged through hell—threatened, humiliated, and hurt. When she finally did reveal the truth, she fell to her knees before me. “Leo, please, just let me explain…” But by then, it was an explanation neither I nor my son needed anymore. 01. I was in a tailored suit, standing on stage at the company’s new product launch, walking the audience through our latest innovation. This presentation was everything to our company. I’d poured my soul into it, polishing every detail until it gleamed. Just as applause began to swell from the audience, a stranger stormed through the conference hall doors. He walked with an air of pure arrogance, heading straight for me. “Leo Wallace, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” he sneered, his voice laced with provocation. My brow furrowed. I had no idea who this man was, what this bizarre performance was about. He seemed to relish my confusion. He pulled a marriage certificate from his briefcase and waved it in my face. “Maybe this will clear things up. I’m Catherine’s legal husband. We’ve been married for five years.” I took the document. There, in stark black ink, were their names: Catherine Croft and Adrian Shaw. And the date. A deafening buzz roared in my head, like I’d taken a physical blow. How could this be possible? Catherine and I had been married for three years. Our life together was stable, happy. Why would she be married to someone else? I forced myself to breathe, to think. I replayed every moment of our life together, searching for a crack, a lie, anything. But the Catherine in my memory was always so gentle, so attentive. She adored me and our son. I couldn’t find a single reason for her to deceive me like this. The man, Adrian, saw my stunned silence and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Did you really think the happiness you stole would last forever? Time to wake up.” His words were a razor blade, slicing deep into my heart. The audience below had sensed the shift. The quiet murmurs grew into a wave of curious stares. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Who the hell are you? Why are you trying to frame my wife?” I stared at him, desperately searching for a flaw in his act. He snorted. “My name is Adrian Shaw. I’m Catherine Croft’s husband. And I’m just giving you some friendly advice: stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stop being the other man.” Just then, Catherine rushed into the hall. Her face went pale the moment she saw us. She looked at Adrian, her voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here? Why would you do this?” Adrian just laughed and shoved the certificate into her hands. “I’m just telling him to be a decent person, to stop being a homewrecker. What’s wrong with that? Today, everyone is going to know the truth.” He turned and walked out, leaving Catherine and me stranded in the ensuing chaos. Reporters swarmed the stage, their cameras flashing relentlessly, their questions flying at us like bullets. The product launch was a disaster, derailed by a gossip bomb. My boss was furious, telling me I was suspended indefinitely. The only reason I wasn’t fired on the spot was because of my track record. But I didn’t have the energy to care about my job. When we got home, the argument I’d been holding back exploded out of me. I screamed at her, demanding to know what was happening. She just looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Leo, please, just wait for me. Now is not the time. I promise you, I will handle this. I will give you an explanation.” I stared at her, my vision blurred by rage and disappointment. “Wait? After this? You let me become a public joke today! My marriage, my career—it’s all in flames because of you! Enough, Catherine. I want a divorce!” “No!” Her face was a mask of panic, the word ripping out of her. “I won’t divorce you! I will never divorce you!” 02. Catherine’s fingers dug into my wrist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “Noah is only three. Would you really sentence him to a broken home?” I wrenched my arm away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “A mother who lies is a thousand times more damaging than an absent one!” Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hard. “Just give me one more week… no, three days! I swear I’ll—” My phone began to vibrate violently, a notification lighting up the screen. A trending topic, complete with a flaming emoji: Leo Wallace, the Corporate Homewrecker. I clicked it. The press conference had been cut into a viciously edited meme. The shot of Adrian throwing the certificate on the stage looped endlessly, my face photoshopped onto a screaming chicken. The comments were a tidal wave of hate: [Trying to launch a product while you’re the other man? Give this guy the Douchebag of the Year award!] [UPDATE! People are flooding the website of that scumbag Leo’s company!] “How much is your ‘swear’ worth right now?” I grabbed a vase from the entryway table and hurled it to the floor. “Where were you when my launch was being destroyed? Where were you when the entire internet started calling me a homewrecker? Don’t you dare stand there and pretend to be a concerned mother now!” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, stopping at her feet. She took a half-step back, then suddenly grabbed her coat. “We both need to calm down.” The front door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard Noah crying from his room. I ran in and swept him into my arms. He clutched my shirt, sobbing. “Is… is Mommy not coming back?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own voice from breaking. “Mommy just got a little lost, buddy. Daddy’s going to find her for you.” I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers. But then Catherine vanished. Her phone went straight to her assistant’s voicemail every time. “Ms. Croft is in a meeting with our international partners.” “Ms. Croft is with investors right now.” “Ms. Croft, she…” I drove straight to the Croft Industries headquarters, my dress shoes clicking like blades against the marble floor. But when I reached the executive elevator, the iris scanner blinked red. Access Denied. My credentials had been revoked. “Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” her assistant said, blocking my way. I saw a faint, finger-shaped bruise on her forearm—from when I’d grabbed at Catherine the other day and she’d stepped between us. My eyes were glued to the floor numbers lighting up on the display. “Tell her I’ll be at City Hall tomorrow at ten a.m. If she’s not there, I’ll see her in court.” As I turned to leave, I heard the assistant’s hushed voice behind me. “Ms. Croft, he’s gone… Yes, I’ve already spoken to the kindergarten, just as you asked…” The moment the final bell rang, Noah launched himself into my arms like a little cannonball. His right eye was puffy and swollen, and a scab of dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth. “Did you fall?” I asked, my fingers gently brushing the wound. He burst into tears. “Stella said her mommy bought her an Iron Man watch… she said I was adopted…” My blood ran cold. The day of the press conference, I’d gotten a friend request from Adrian Shaw. I’d meant to ignore it, but some morbid curiosity made me accept. His social media was a gallery of photos of him and a little girl, doted on by Catherine. Stella. That was the name he used for his daughter. “Where is she?” Noah pointed toward the shadows behind the slide. A little girl in a private school uniform was trapping ants in a water bottle. The face of an Iron Man watch on her wrist caught the sun, flashing a blinding light. It was the same girl from Adrian’s photos. And her eyes, her brow… they were a near-perfect copy of Catherine’s. “Look, the fake daddy’s here!” she jeered, making a face at me. “My mommy is taking me to Disneyland tomorrow!” I knelt down to her level. “What’s your mommy’s name?” “Catherine Croft!” she announced proudly, puffing out her chest. “My daddy says her name is worth a hundred amusement parks!” Before I could process that, Adrian emerged from behind a cluster of trees, followed by a crew of influencers holding selfie sticks. “Hey everyone, today we’re giving Stella a taste of a regular public school… Oh my god!” He stumbled dramatically, his vintage watch catching on a branch. As the broken band flew into the grass, the viewer count on his livestream spiked to over one hundred thousand. 03. The diamonds on the brooch pinned to Adrian’s chest blinded me—a Victorian-era iris, the very same one Catherine had pinned on me herself the night she proposed. I instinctively glanced at my own lapel, now bare. The key to our safety deposit box felt hot in my pocket. “You stole my brooch!” I lunged for it, but a reporter’s microphone blocked my path. Adrian clutched the diamonds and took a step back, the livestream camera zooming in on his feigned, trembling eyelashes. “Catherine gave this to me six months ago. Do you need to see the notarized document?” An assistant promptly handed him a folder. On the aged paper, Catherine Croft’s signature was unmistakable, written with a powerful, confident hand. I knew that signature. The year before, during a major acquisition, she had guided my hand to sign our names together. The nib of the pen had torn the paper on the final stroke of her last name. “Now who looks like the thief?” Adrian slapped the document against my chest. The live chat exploded with red exclamation points: [HE BROUGHT RECEIPTS! Leo the scumbag needs to get on his knees and apologize to the real husband!] [No wonder he kept it in a safe, he knew it was stolen!] I crumpled the paper in my fist, the sharp corners digging into my palm. “That signature…” “Your wife signed it herself,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “In my bed, that night. Want to hear the details?” I threw the crumpled document at his smiling face. As the papers fluttered to the ground, Adrian staggered back dramatically, the brooch tumbling from his chest. “Watch out!” A man I recognized—Ethan—rushed out from the crowd of reporters and caught Adrian, steadying him. The ID badge on his chest swung forward: Adrian Shaw Productions, Special Assistant. “Mr. Wallace, assault has legal consequences.” As Ethan bent down to re-fasten the brooch for Adrian, I saw the scar on the back of his neck. I knew that scar. He got it working in a kitchen his sophomore year of college. I was the one who drove him to the ER for a skin graft that night. “You didn’t talk about consequences when you were on your knees, begging me to help you pay for tuition, did you?” I grabbed the hem of Ethan’s designer suit. The silk fabric ripped with a sickening sound. He flinched, and a tray of antiseptic wipes he was holding scattered across the ground. “Answer me! When your father had late-stage liver cancer, who paid for the surgery?” I forced his face toward me. His skin was flushed crimson beneath his foundation. “Now you’re helping the man who stole my life. Does your conscience ever bother you at night?” The cameras were practically touching my face. The live chat was in a frenzy: [OMG THE DRAMA! The other man is having a meltdown!] [Did you see that close-up? Adrian has a hickey from Catherine on his neck!] Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my flesh. “Leo, you have to move on.” His voice was a bare whisper, almost a sigh. “It’s like you taught me about investing in art… you pick the one with the highest potential for growth. It’s the same with people. You have to bet on the winner.” Adrian’s smug laugh echoed from nearby. “Ethan, come fix my hair.” Ethan immediately let go of me and hurried to Adrian’s side, dutifully smoothing his hair into place. 04. The crowd surged forward, a suffocating wave of hot bodies and angry shouts. Noah’s terrified scream was lost in the noise. “Get the bastard!” A plastic water bottle hit me squarely on the brow. Cold water and blood streamed into my right eye. I held Noah tight against my chest. In the chaos, one of his small shoes was kicked off, revealing a little sunflower embroidered on his sock. He’d been so proud of them this morning. “Daddy buys the best socks!” he’d declared. “I’ve already called the police!” I roared, wiping the blood from my eyes. My only answer was a chorus of derisive laughter. A large man in a gold chain grabbed a fistful of my hair. “The cops are coming for you, asshole!” His hand was adorned with a chunky diamond ring that scraped my earlobe, drawing a fresh line of blood. The live chat was flooded with digital fireworks. [Someone start a crowdfund to add another diamond to that guy’s ring!] My vision swam with black spots. My head was spinning. Only one thought remained clear. I would make Catherine and Adrian pay for this. The wail of sirens finally cut through the mob. My shirt was torn open. “Everyone break it up!” a young officer yelled, using his baton to push back the phones still recording. His older partner glanced at the bruises forming on my collarbone. “Sir, we recommend you handle domestic disputes through legal channels.” I clutched Noah’s fallen sunflower sock, the taste of blood and iron in my throat. “I am her legal husband!” “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied, handing me a tissue. “My advice? Walk away now, before you drag your kid further into this mess.” Suddenly, Noah grabbed my bleeding hand and pressed it against the officer’s sleeve insignia. “Mister, my daddy didn’t steal anything…” The dark wool of the uniform soaked up the blood, creating a grotesque, blooming flower. After we gave our statements at the station, I saw a long, deep scratch on the back of Noah’s hand, still weeping blood. Without a second thought, I rushed him to the hospital. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, I sent Catherine a photo of Noah’s hand being stitched up. When she finally answered with a video call, I could hear the sounds of Adrian’s livestream in the background. “—big thanks to ‘Catherine’s Knight’ for the huge donation!” “You hear that?” I held the phone close to Noah’s tear-streaked face. “Your son is being called a bastard by the entire world!” A vein pulsed in Catherine’s forehead. “Leo, Adrian and I are not married! Stella is not my child! The DNA report is in my study, third drawer—” “And what good does that do now? Are you going to hold another press conference?” “Just wait, please, now is not the right time…” Noah suddenly sobbed out the word “Mommy.” Her fingers dug violently into what looked like a leather car seat. “Let me talk to him. Put Noah on the phone.” I hit the end call button. I took her last voice message, still on my screen, and used my phone to blot the tears from my son’s cheek. “Catherine,” I thought, “you will never deserve to hear him cry again.” 05. The day Noah got his stitches out, I finally saw Catherine again. She burst into the examination room just as the doctor was snipping the last thread from the cut on Noah’s forehead. The scent of the perfume Adrian used on his livestreams clung to her blazer. She reached for our son, but I slapped her, my hand cracking across her face with such force that she stumbled back into an IV stand. CRASH! The sound of the shattering saline bag and the chorus of smartphone shutters created a surreal, horrifying symphony. “Leo?!” She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose. Behind her, frozen in the doorway, was Stella, holding an ice cream cone. Adrian had dressed her in a pair of sunflower socks identical to Noah’s. I grabbed a medical chart and threw it at the influencer who had followed her in. “Get your reality show out of my face!” Three hours later, a new headline was trending: Croft Industries CEO Assaulted by Homewrecker Ex. My boss’s call shattered the silence of the ER waiting room. “Do you have any idea how big our contract with Croft Industries is? Write your resignation letter right now. It’s the only way you’re leaving this with a shred of dignity.” The live chat on the replay of the hospital incident was ecstatic: [That slap must have cost him ten million dollars, lol.] [LATEST NEWS! That scumbag Leo’s company stock just plummeted!] Back home, I was texting my lawyer about expediting the divorce when a notification popped up. Adrian’s new livestream was titled A Night of Protecting My Family. He was holding Stella, his eyes red-rimmed. “Catherine was just at the hospital to see a sick child who had a fever, I never thought…” The camera panned over a pediatric hospital room, a bill signed by Catherine clearly visible on the nightstand. My personal information had been compiled into a nine-panel graphic and was spreading like wildfire. My gym membership number, Noah’s list of allergies, even my childhood medical records were being passed around on the dark web. The day a body bag was delivered to our doorstep, I was in the backyard burning every gift Catherine had ever given me. As the flames consumed a sapphire tie clip, a text came through from an unknown number. It was a GPS pin of Noah’s kindergarten. [Time to find a new playground for the bastard. A cemetery, maybe.] Catherine’s calls, which I’d rejected dozens of times, turned into a flood of frantic texts. I’ve hired security… My lawyers are handling it… Please, Leo, I’m begging you, answer the phone… I aimed my phone’s camera at the flames and sent her my final ultimatum. Sign the divorce papers, or you’ll be getting a notice from the coroner.

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I needed someone to cover my class, and I accidentally hired a guy. When my name was called, he answered with a clear, masculine “Here.” The professor looked up, confused. “Since when is Maya a man?” The guy froze for a second, then inspiration struck. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he said smoothly. “She’s sick, so she asked me to come record the lecture for her. She wants to catch up as soon as she’s better.” A murmur rippled through the lecture hall. Then, from the front row, Liam stood up. He gave the guy a polite, tight-lipped nod. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m Maya’s boyfriend,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Who are you?” Liam was a legend in the Computer Science department. I was a nobody, barely avoiding academic probation. We hadn’t seen each other in a month, and the first thing he said to me was: “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” He glanced at his watch three times while he said it, as if every second with me was a waste of his life. I nodded, my voice surprisingly calm. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you. Let’s break up.” To finally get away from him, I asked the guy from class—the substitute—to pretend to be my new boyfriend. After we successfully broke up for good, his eyes lit up. “Awesome! So, does this mean I get a promotion?” 1 I’d been sitting motionless in the art studio for ten hours when my roommate called. “Maya, you have to check the campus gossip site! You’re going viral, hahaha! You should probably go explain things to Liam.” My fingers, stiff and sore, fumbled with my phone. At the top of the site was a video, already with thousands of views. In the clip, the professor is taking attendance. When he gets to my name, a guy’s voice calls out. The professor calls his bluff, and the guy improvises, claiming to be my boyfriend and painting me as some kind of diligent, dedicated student. The punchline, of course, was my actual boyfriend standing up to call him out. The comment section was a sea of laughing emojis. 【Did the golden boy of CS just get played?】 【Lmao, this dude is so obviously a class-sitter for hire.】 【He really thought on his feet, too bad he picked a girl who already had a boyfriend in the room. Busted.】 My vision went dark for a second. I pulled up my chat with the substitute. 【You didn’t think to mention you were a guy?】 This was a major-specific course. The professor knew our faces, even if he didn’t know us well. The plan had been simple: have a girl wear a mask, sit in the back, and just blend in. When I’d hired him through the app, his profile said female, so I didn’t think twice. He replied instantly. 【I’m so sorry! It was my first time doing this, I didn’t know the protocol. (´-ω-`)】 【I panicked, I had no idea your boyfriend was there! (ಥ_ಥ)】 【I explained it to him afterward, I don’t think there was any real misunderstanding. (シ. .)シ】 【Seriously, I feel terrible. Can I buy you dinner to make up for it? ( TДT)】 I closed the app and sighed. This was bad. Now Liam was going to be mad about me skipping class again. It was the same fight we’d had a month ago, the one that had led to this cold war between us. 2 Liam and I grew up across the hall from each other. He was always one of those intensely self-disciplined people, while I was born to drift. When other kids were playing outside, he was forcing me to do homework. He’d stand over me, his face serious, his lips a thin line. “This is wrong. Write it out ten times.” It was torture. In high school, he requested to be my desk partner, pushing me every single day. “You have to work harder,” he’d say. “We’ll go to Northwood together.” His ears would turn pink when he said it, his normally cool composure cracking just a little. He kept repeating it, “we together.” For those two words, I studied like my life depended on it. We both got into Northwood’s top-ranked Computer Science program. My parents cried with joy. They said Liam was a blessing, that without him, I would have ruined my own future. The day my acceptance letter came, everyone was beaming, so proud of me. But on that sweltering July afternoon, I felt a chill spread through my body, a cold so deep it made me tremble. Because in the list of majors I had painstakingly chosen and submitted, Computer Science wasn’t anywhere on it. And my scores were more than good enough to get my first choice. Someone had changed my application. 3 I knew I hated coding from the very first day of college. The rigid rules, the unyielding logic—it all felt so suffocating, so dull. I started skipping classes, secretly taking drawing workshops and spending all my time in the art studio. I couldn’t let Liam know. But you can’t hide something like that forever. When he found out I was cutting his beloved data structures lecture for a life drawing class, his brow furrowed. “That’s not a serious pursuit,” he’d said, one word at a time. His tone was as stern as my parents’ had been my whole life. The big fight, the one that broke us, happened last month. It was because I’d submitted my application to transfer majors. Liam was furious. He said I was being impulsive, that I was throwing my future away. In that moment, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to convince him anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself at all. 4 I opened my chat with Liam. The last messages were from a month ago. I hesitated, then started typing. 【Liam, guess what today is!】 No reply. I sent another. 【If you can’t guess, you owe me a kiss.】 An hour passed. 【Okay, fine, I know you’re just pretending not to know so you can get that kiss.】 【It’s World Oceans Day! We should get dinner to celebrate!】 【Where are you? I’ll come find you :)】 A knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. I was making it so obvious I wanted to make up. Why was he ignoring me? I ate dinner with my right hand, my left endlessly scrolling up through our old conversation, waiting for his name to pop up with a new message. The Wi-Fi in the dining hall was spotty, and I was terrified I’d miss his reply because of a delay. I stretched a single meal out for over an hour. He never wrote back. 5 I texted one of Liam’s roommates, who told me he was at the lab. When I got there, he was hunched over a monitor, debugging code, his focus absolute. I waved, trying to keep my voice light. “Liam!” He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, feigning indifference. “What are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around his and stood on my toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I’m sorry.” A faint pink blush crept up his ears. The icy resolve on his face seemed to melt, replaced by the soft light of a winter morning. “Okay,” he mumbled. “What are you sorry for?” “…Let’s go get dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. You pulled another all-nighter, didn’t you? I bet you haven’t eaten.” I was desperate to change the subject. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. His face went blank again. “Excuse me, you two,” a voice cut in. “Dinner’s not an option just yet.” I turned. It was Sophia, one of Liam’s frequent hackathon partners. She offered me a smile that felt more like a courtesy than a welcome. “We have a huge competition deadline coming up. Liam and I have to grind this out. I’m sorry, he can’t go with you.” She paused. “I ordered us some food, it should be here soon. You’re welcome to stay and have some, if you want.” There was a subtle arrogance in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way, a hint that this was her territory, not mine. But Liam had told me how important this competition was to him. “It’s okay, I don’t want to get in your way,” I said. “Liam, I’ll see you when you’re not so busy. We can get dinner then.” He gave a noncommittal “Mm.” “Okay, then. We won’t see you out,” Sophia said, her smile firmly in place. The last thing I saw before the door clicked shut was Liam and Sophia leaning in close together, their heads nearly touching as they pointed at the screen, completely absorbed in their work. A sour feeling churned in my stomach. 6 Liam must have been really busy. Another month passed after I saw him at the lab. He never texted, not once. His roommate told me he was practically living there. Ever since we got to college, it felt like he was always busy. Too busy to answer my texts. Far too busy to ever reach out first. This past month, I’d thrown myself into my art and hadn’t reached out to him either. The result was a month of complete silence. It was hard to believe we were even in the same major, let alone the same city. We were living in different worlds. His was a world of GPAs, research, and competitions. Mine was a world of skipped classes and charcoal-smudged fingers. He was collecting awards, becoming a campus celebrity. I was skirting academic probation, a person of interest for my academic advisor. When did we drift so far apart? 7 I finally broke the silence and called him. While the phone was ringing, a notification popped up from my friends’ group chat. My roommate had shared a link to an article from the campus paper. It was about Liam and Sophia winning first place in their competition. The photo showed the two of them on stage, accepting their award. They looked confident, radiant. They looked good together. My roommate tagged me: 【Your boyfriend is amazing!】 Before I could reply, another notification appeared, a suggested news story. 【Power Couple, Both Early Admits to Grad School…】 I slammed the “dislike, show less of this” button, but a wave of sadness washed over me anyway. Suddenly, the call connected. Liam’s voice, tired and distant, came through the line. “What’s up?” My mind was still stuck on that headline, and a childish sense of hurt colored my voice. “Liam, why haven’t you called me? I just saw—” “Busy,” he cut me off. “…Well, do you have time to get dinner with me?” “Where.” “Just the dining hall. It won’t take long. Five o’clock?” “Fine.” “See you there?” “Yep.” He hung up. 8 I waited for him at the entrance to the dining hall for one hour and twenty-one minutes. Liam finally arrived as dusk settled over campus. “Sorry. Something came up.” I opened my mouth to ask, Why couldn’t you have just sent a text? But I didn’t. We were finally getting dinner. I didn’t want to ruin it. I went to get a bowl of spicy ramen, and he went for his usual: a pre-packaged salad. He always got that because there was no line, and he could eat it fast. For a guy like him, even eating was a waste of time. By the time I brought my steaming bowl to the table, he was already halfway done. He glanced at my food and frowned, but said nothing. The ramen was hot. I took my time, carefully picking out the cilantro. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam raise his wrist and check his watch. One. I started counting. It was a habit of his, something he’d been doing since high school. Timing his meals. When he finished his salad, he checked it again. Two. I pretended not to notice his growing impatience. “Liam,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “the university is having a small student art exhibition, and even though I’m not an art major, one of my paintings was selected! I’m so—” He lifted his wrist. Three. It was as if every single second he spent with me was a precious moment of his life slipping away, wasted. 9 “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” A month apart, and that was the first real sentence he’d said to me. I couldn’t believe it. I swallowed the noodles in my mouth and looked up at him, my gaze level. “You’re right,” I said calmly. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you.” “Let’s break up.” I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Liam and I were just too different. He was serious and disciplined; he hated it when I was goofy or affectionate. The order and stability he craved were the very things that made me feel trapped. I despised the coding he excelled at. He disdained the passion I had for my art. We couldn’t even agree on food—I loved spicy, he wanted bland. Maybe Sophia was the one who was more his type. Liam’s brow, which had been furrowed in disapproval, tightened even more. “I’m just trying to help you.” There it was. That was always his line. He’d say it in that cool, detached voice—I’m just trying to help you—and it made me feel like I was the one being irrational. “You need to calm down.” He stood up. “I have to go.” He didn’t look back as he walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd. I looked down at my bowl and kept eating. But then a tear fell, then another. I fumbled for a napkin, but the more I wiped, the more they came. 10 When I got back to the studio, my easel and canvases were tossed in the hallway like garbage. Dark, dirty shoe prints were stamped across several of my paintings. The tears I’d just managed to stop threatened to spill over again. I gathered my things, wiping away the grime, and carried everything back inside. I decided I would stay the night. Maybe I could channel all this miserable energy into a new piece. I had just started to sketch when the security guard came in. His face soured. “You again?” he grumbled. “Get out. You’re not supposed to be here.” The studio had a rule: if a student was working, a guard had to be on duty. Because my dorm cut the power at midnight, I often came here to work all night. And every time I did, this particular guard would make his displeasure known. “Great,” he’d mutter, loud enough for me to hear. “Now I have to stay late.” When he found out I wasn’t an art major, he started refusing to let me in at all. I had to sneak past him. I guess tonight was his shift. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood. He reached out and grabbed my easel. I tried to reason with him, my voice shaking slightly. “The rules don’t say non-majors can’t use the studio, and I’m in the process of transferring. Please, can you just let me work? You don’t have to stay, you can just go.” He sneered. “I say you can’t, so you can’t. I’m in charge here. You think a student can tell me what to do? Now get out!” “I’m not leaving!” I sat on the floor, clutching my easel to my chest, a hot wave of anger washing over me. My parents told me not to paint. Liam told me not to paint. Now this stranger was telling me not to paint. It felt like no one in the world supported me except for myself. It was so hard. I felt like I was about to break. 11 In the middle of our standoff, a woman walked by, drawn in by the noise. “What’s going on?” I recognized her immediately. She was the professor for a class I’d been unofficially auditing. The guard’s demeanor changed in an instant. He put on a worried expression. “Professor Avery, I was about to lock up when I saw the light on. We’ve had some students report things missing from the studio lately, so I thought, you know, maybe it was a thief. I came in and saw this girl holding onto this easel for dear life. I tried to take her to campus security, but she refused to go…” There were security cameras in the studio. They would prove my innocence. But all the guard had to do was say he made a mistake, and he’d face no consequences. But if a rumor started that I was a thief, even if it was cleared up, the truth wouldn’t matter. People would just see me as trouble. I’d be barred from this place, my sanctuary. I was trembling with rage. “You’re lying!” The guard just smirked at me, a defiant look in his eyes. Professor Avery’s gaze shifted to me. She studied my face for a long moment, her brow furrowed. Then, her expression softened. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

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For five years, Maya was my wife, and for five years, she hated my guts. She collected lovers—young, beautiful men—and paraded them in front of me like trophies. She even got pregnant with one of their children, a living monument to the ghost of her dead first love. “You let him die,” she would say, her voice a blade. “This is what you deserve.” Then, one day, she learned the truth. She came to me, tears streaming down her face, begging for a second chance. But it was too late. I was already dying. 1 The day I got the diagnosis was the same day as my ten-year high school reunion. I called Maya three times on my way home from the doctor’s office, thinking she might want to go with me, for old times’ sake. She didn’t pick up. Her only reply was a three-word text. Stop bothering me. So I went alone. At the restaurant, the jokes started almost immediately. “Look who it is! Your wife running a whole company now, Leo? Too busy for the likes of us?” “Haha, don’t tell me she’s too good for her old classmates now that she’s a big-shot CEO.” “Nah, cut it out,” someone else chimed in. “You know Maya. She’s the most sentimental one of us all. Every single year, she still makes time for Connor’s…” The speaker trailed off, his eyes darting to me with a flash of apology. “Sorry, man. Leo. I’m sorry.” I forced a smile that felt like cracking plaster. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The table scrambled to change the subject, the conversation suddenly loud and clumsy. It wasn’t a secret. Ever since Connor died, Maya reserved two weeks out of every year to fly back to his hometown and visit his grave. She even took care of his parents, sending them money, handling their affairs. She did it all without a single thought for how I might feel, ignoring her own parents’ objections. It was a grand, public performance of her devotion. Everyone knew. My wife was married to me, but a piece of her would always belong to him. I took a sip of water, trying to force the thought down. Just then, the door to our private room swung open. In walked Maya, impeccable in a Chanel suit, her makeup flawless. A genuine smile played on her lips; she looked happy. My heart gave a stupid, hopeful little flutter. The room erupted. “Maya! We thought you weren’t coming!” “Wow, still the queen of the class! You haven’t aged a day!” “Get over here! Your husband’s been moping in the corner, won’t even touch his food without you!” But my eyes weren’t on Maya anymore. They were on the young man trailing in her wake. My breath caught in my throat. He had Connor’s face. Or about seventy, eighty percent of it. 2 “Sorry I’m late, everyone.” Maya slid into the empty chair beside me, then casually asked the waiter to bring another. “I’d like you all to meet Finn,” she announced. The introduction was brief, almost dismissive. Finn had the grace to look shy, offering a nervous wave. “Hi, everyone.” An awkward silence fell over the table. No one responded. Eyes flickered between me, Maya, and the boy with the ghost’s face. Given Maya’s years-long obsession with Connor, it was impossible not to connect the dots. Maya acted as if she didn’t notice a thing. She started setting a place for him, her voice intimate and low. “These are just my old classmates. You don’t have to be nervous.” “Okay,” he murmured. Through it all, she never once looked at me. It was as if I were a stranger, a piece of furniture. It felt like I’d swallowed glass. Her coldness at home was one thing, a silent war waged within the privacy of our walls. But to bring her lover here, to a reunion, in front of people who had known us since we were kids… she wanted to humiliate me. It was the only explanation. A sharp, twisting pain shot through my stomach. Something hot and acidic rose in my throat. I shot to my feet. “Excuse me, everyone. I need the restroom.” “Leo, you’re pale as a ghost. You okay?” our old class president asked, his face etched with concern. I glanced at Maya. She was whispering something to Finn, a private smile on her face. She didn’t even register my departure. I waved a hand dismissively and walked out as fast as I could. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was retching, vomiting until the world spun. The pain in my stomach intensified, a vicious clenching that brought a cold sweat to my forehead. I was so focused on the agony that I didn’t hear him come in. “Ugh, gross. Who’s in here?” I turned. Finn was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with an arrogant smirk. He was a completely different person from the timid boy in the dining room. 3 I ignored him, rinsing my mouth at the sink and turning to leave. He blocked my path, dangling a wrist in front of my face. A new Rolex gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light. “Maya got me this for my birthday,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “She ever get you anything this nice? Oh, wait. Don’t answer that.” How pathetic. “I’ve lost count of how many of you she’s brought around to try and get a rise out of me,” I said, my voice flat. “But you, you’re easily the tackiest.” His face flushed with anger. He puffed out his chest. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maya told me she likes me the best. She brought me to meet her oldest friends. What does that tell you?” I looked at his borrowed face and gave a small, tired nod. “You’re right. You are different. You’ll probably get to stick around for a while. Congratulations. I wish you both a long and happy life together.” My sincerity seemed to stun him into silence. When I returned to the table, Maya was peeling a shrimp. Finn followed me in and slid back into his seat. Maya placed the perfectly shelled shrimp into his bowl. “Eat it before it gets cold.” I don’t know why I even bothered coming back. Maybe it was some pathetic shred of pride, a refusal to be chased away. Or maybe, before it was all over, I just wanted to see how far she would push me. She continued to dote on him, completely ignoring the suffocatingly awkward atmosphere she’d created. Finally, one of our old friends couldn’t take it anymore. “So, Maya… this is your…?” “Oh, Finn is my new executive assistant,” she said smoothly. Finn beamed. Assistant? The others had just been toys, disposable distractions. This one she’d brought into the company. Her devotion to Finn—no, her devotion to Connor—ran deep. So what did that make me? Her husband of five years. What the hell was I? Maya didn’t stay long. After about ten minutes, she stood up to leave. This time, looking at the boy by her side, no one tried to make her stay. The door clicked shut behind them. For a moment, there was silence. Then, someone spoke in a low voice. “Hey, did you guys ever hear that rumor? About right before Connor died? Someone supposedly tipped off his creditors, told them where he was hiding.” My hand trembled, sloshing wine over the rim of my glass. At that exact moment, the door opened again. Maya had forgotten her purse. She stood in the doorway, her face instantly turning to stone as she took in the words that hung in the air. 4 Five years ago, Connor was drowning in gambling debt, hiding from loan sharks. The last call he ever made was to me. He asked for money. I said no. The next day, they found his body at the bottom of an abandoned construction site. He’d been beaten to death. When Maya found out, she shattered. When the police told her that Connor’s last lifeline had been a call to me—a call I’d rejected—her grief curdled into pure, unadulterated hatred. In her mind, I had killed him. So for years, she punished me. The silent treatment, the endless parade of other men. My pain was her revenge. When the doctor gave me the news, a bitter, spiteful thought crossed my mind: When I’m dead, will she finally be satisfied? She’d probably say I got what I deserved. Maya followed me home that night, and the storm broke. She tore through our apartment, smashing everything she could get her hands on. “Was it you, Leo?! Was it you?! You told them where he was! He only called you!” she shrieked, her voice raw. “So what if I still thought about him? It was just a memory! I married you! What more did you want from me?” She screamed at me as if I were the one who had laid a hand on him. I looked at the wreckage around us. The shattered vase I’d bought for our third anniversary. The splintered frame of a painting I loved. Everything I’d carefully chosen to build a home, destroyed without a second thought. But then, to her, this was never a home. “Even after he used you?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Even after he lied to you, over and over again, when you were together?” “Shut up!” She was trembling with rage, a fury I hadn’t seen in years. Her eyes were filled with a chilling venom. “You think you won just because he’s dead? You will never win! Everything that’s happening to us, to you… this is your karma, Leo. It’s exactly what you deserve!” With that, she stormed out, leaving me alone in the ruins. 5 Maya’s parents arrived the next morning to a scene that looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Her father’s hands shook with rage. “This was Maya, wasn’t it?” I didn’t answer. My silence was enough. He turned to his wife. “Call that girl right now. Tell her to get her ass back here. Immediately.” I wanted to tell him not to bother. Since becoming CEO, Maya had the perfect excuse to never come home, to never answer my calls. I had tried everything over the years—patience, understanding, arguments, ultimatums. Now, all that was left was a numb indifference. As I opened my mouth to speak, a violent tickle erupted in my throat. I doubled over, seized by a wracking cough. Her parents rushed to my side, patting my back, fetching me a glass of water. I was curled up on the sofa, unable to straighten up, each cough a fresh wave of agony. Maya’s mother’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Leo. This is all Maya’s fault. And ours, for letting it go on.” “Anna… don’t say that… cough…” “She’s right,” her father said, his voice heavy. “Leo, we’ve asked too much of you these past few years. We never imagined… we never thought Maya would become like this. If we had known, we never would have…” “Don’t!” I cut him off, the word tearing from my lungs. “Cough, cough… It was my choice to marry her. I don’t regret it. And we all agreed. We have to keep that secret from her, always. Otherwise everything we did, everything I’ve put up with… it’ll all be for nothing.” For a long moment, the only sound was my ragged breathing. Finally, her father let out a long, weary sigh, as if a decision had finally settled in his soul. “Leo,” he said quietly. “Divorce her.” I froze. “My daughter… she’s blind. You don’t owe her anything else, son. You’ve done more than enough. Whatever happens to her after this, that’s on her.” Her mother’s tears fell freely now, but she nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Leo. How many more five-year stretches do you have to waste? Leave Maya. Find someone who deserves you. Start over. God knows, our family owes you that much.” 6 A bitter smile touched my lips. The folded diagnosis was still in my pocket. I could feel the sharp edge of the paper against my fingertips. What chance did I have to start over now? A heavy silence settled over the three of us, thick with the weight of a memory we all tried to keep buried. The truth was, five years ago, just after we got engaged, Connor had lured Maya to his apartment. He told her he needed to talk. But he was desperate for money. He drugged her—a massive dose—and then he let other men into the room. When Maya woke up, the trauma shattered her mind. She became a ghost, barely there, attempting suicide multiple times. This brilliant, talented artist, a rising star fresh out of her master’s program, was about to be extinguished by one evil man. Her parents were destroyed. In the end, we found the best therapists, the best hypnotists in the country. It took an immense effort, but they succeeded in burying the memory of that night so deep she couldn’t access it. But with it went the memory of Connor’s betrayal. In her mind, he remained her perfect, martyred first love. The one I could never compete with. Afterward, I married her, just as we had planned. I promised her parents I would protect her for the rest of my life. To avoid triggering a relapse, we couldn’t press charges against Connor. So I found another way. I arranged for him to be drawn into a high-stakes poker game. I made sure he lost, big. And when he was desperate and on the run, I made sure his creditors knew exactly where to find him. He died a brutal death. It was exactly what I’d wanted. But even if he died a thousand times, it would never be enough to pay for what he did. Maya’s mother finally got through on the phone. But it wasn’t Maya who answered. It was a young man’s voice. “Hi, Mrs. Evans. The CEO is in a meeting right now. This is Finn, her new executive assistant. Is there a message I can take for her?” 7 Maya’s mother hung up, frowning. “Since when does Maya have a male assistant?” I didn’t say anything. What was the point? It would only upset them more. Besides, I was a dead man walking. What did I have left to be angry about? The company’s new product launch was scheduled for the end of the month. I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t set foot in the office since the diagnosis. It was a relief, not having to see Finn’s smug, borrowed face every day. But one of my colleagues called to persuade me. “Leo, a lot of the major clients you brought in are going to be there. It wouldn’t look good if you didn’t show.” He was right. As a co-founder, I had secured most of our biggest accounts through years of schmoozing and hard work. I sighed. “Alright. I’ll be there.” One last thing. For Maya. For the company we built together. Of course, she brought Finn. He strutted up to me, radiating borrowed importance. “Leo. We meet again.” Before I could respond, Maya called him away. “Come on. There are people I want you to meet.” I forced myself to mingle for a bit, exchanging pleasantries with old clients and friends, before retreating to a corner with a glass of whiskey. “Ugh, my dad is the worst. He totally dragged me here.” A young woman, maybe early twenties, plopped onto the barstool next to me, complaining loudly into her phone. I paid her no mind and took another drink. “Hey, Mister,” she said suddenly, having hung up her call. “You know you’re not supposed to mix those two, right?” Oh, I knew. I poured myself another. She rolled her eyes and was about to leave when I stopped her. “Hey, kid. Am I really that old? What’s with the ‘Mister’?” Compared to a punk like Finn, sure, I was older. But it was called maturity, dammit. 8 She turned back, a smile playing on her lips when she saw the genuinely annoyed look on my face. “What’s a grown man like you so worried about his age for?” Just then, Finn reappeared, his mouth already open and spewing venom. “There you are. Maya’s out there working the room, and you’re hiding in a corner? Look at you. You look like a stray dog that’s been kicked one too many times.” I was already a little drunk. Finn’s face seemed to distort and magnify before my eyes, and I had the sudden, violent urge to rip it apart. “Get lost. You’re blocking the view.” “I know you’re not happy that Maya promoted me,” he sneered, leaning closer. “But what can I do? She just likes me more. If I were you, I wouldn’t have even shown my face here. So embarrassing.” This goddamn fly. Where did she even find him? My hand tightened into a fist. But before I could do anything, the young woman beside me spoke up. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice loud and clear. “How did a gigolo like you get into an event like this?” Pfft. I nearly choked on my whiskey. She wasn’t wrong. With his pretty-boy looks and cheap swagger, he really did look the part. “What did you just say?! I’m the executive assistant to the CEO of Omnia Corp! I’m not a gigolo! You’re the gigolo! Your whole family are gigolos!” The young woman planted her hands on her hips, completely unfazed. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard the CEO of Omnia is a class act. You think she’d hire someone like you to be her assistant? She’d have to be blind.” I raised an eyebrow. The kid had a point. She had these bright, mischievous eyes that sparkled with defiance. Every word she said was a bullseye straight to my heart. Maya was blind. Finn was practically vibrating with rage, pointing a trembling finger at her. “I bet you’re the one who crashed this party for free food! Security! Security! Get her out of here!” He lunged forward to grab her arm. I set my glass down with a heavy thud and stood up, blocking his path. “Take your hands off her.” 9 Finn was a good half-a-foot shorter than me, and scrawny. Next to me, he looked like a malnourished chicken. If it weren’t for that face, I’d seriously question if Maya had suffered a head injury to fall for a loser like this. Two security guards materialized instantly. The commotion had drawn the attention of the entire room. All eyes were on us. Maya pushed through the crowd. She gave me a dismissive glance before turning to Finn, her voice softening. “What’s going on?” Finn’s lower lip trembled as he prepared to tattle. “Dad! This guy just called you a gigolo!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. At the front of the onlookers, the chairman of Hayes Industries, one of the biggest players in our industry, looked utterly bewildered. The young woman skipped over to him, linking her arm through his. “Dad, it was him! This pretty boy called you a gigolo! And he tried to have me thrown out, said I was a party crasher!” She pointed a finger at me. “He heard the whole thing! He’s my witness!” Finn seemed to shrink. He hadn’t realized he’d just insulted Sadie Hayes, the notoriously spoiled daughter of the man Maya was desperately trying to woo as an investor. His face went as white as a sheet. Maya’s smile was strained. “Mr. Hayes, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.” “He called security on me,” Sadie shot back. “What’s there to misunderstand? If it wasn’t for Leo here, I’d have been tossed out on the street!” Finn panicked. “No, that’s not what happened! She called me a gigolo first, so I—” A sharp look from Maya silenced him. Maya stepped forward, all professional warmth. “My assistant is still young. Kids bicker, it’s not a big deal. How about this? Right or wrong, I’ll have him apologize to your daughter.” She turned to Finn, her voice firm. “Finn. Apologize to Miss Hayes. Now.” He looked utterly humiliated, but he didn’t dare disobey. “Miss Hayes,” he mumbled, “I was out of line. Please, forgive me.” 10 Sadie just rolled her eyes at him, which only seemed to infuriate Finn more. Finally, Mr. Hayes spoke. “Sadie,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let it go.” Maya’s smile faltered. He was a veteran of these games. The words were for his daughter, but the message was for Maya. Your man was in the wrong, and the apology was warranted. Don’t act like you’re doing us a favor. But there was no way Maya was going to pick a fight with Hayes Industries. “Well, glad that’s all cleared up!” she said, a little too brightly. “Sorry for the disturbance, everyone.” As the crowd dispersed, Maya, her face a thundercloud, told Finn to leave. He looked like he was about to cry. So much for her plan to show him off and build his network. It had backfired spectacularly. Sadie didn’t leave. She sidled up to me, chattering away. “Okay, I’ve got it figured out. You’re in love with the CEO, the CEO is in love with the pretty boy, so you’re stuck here drinking your feelings. Pretty boy gets a big head and decides to come rub it in your face.” She paused, then added, “But isn’t the Omnia CEO married? God, what a mess. Her poor husband. You should probably just give up, you know. I can tell she doesn’t just dislike you; it’s more like she actively loathes you.” I froze, my glass halfway to my lips. “You’re just a kid,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, I don’t?” she challenged, ready for a fight. I cut her off. “What if I told you… I’m her pathetic husband?” “Huh?” Sadie stared at me, her jaw on the floor. 11 Maya didn’t come home that night. Her little prince had his feelings hurt. I imagined she was busy comforting him. I sat in the vast, empty apartment, swallowed by a loneliness so profound it felt like a physical weight. Maybe it was the cancer, but I’d become sentimental lately. I was drifting in a hazy, pained sleep when my phone rang. It was Maya. Her voice was sharp. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Finn is young. Why are you targeting him?” I didn’t say anything. Her voice rose in frustration. “Leo! Are you dead? Answer me! Promise me you’ll leave Finn alone, or I’ll—” “Maya,” I interrupted, my own voice calm and clear. “Let’s get a divorce.” The line went dead silent. I clutched the phone, a strange sense of relief washing over me. It wasn’t that hard to say, after all. In the background, I could hear Finn’s timid voice. “Maya?” She must have snapped out of her shock, because a moment later, she laughed. A cold, ugly sound. “Fine. You want a divorce? You’ve got it, Leo. But don’t think this is some kind of reverse psychology bullshit. You’re not smart enough for that. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers tomorrow. As for marital assets…” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t fight you on it. I’ll only take what was mine to begin with.” “Leo,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom, “I might as well tell you. I’ve hired a private investigator to look into Connor’s death. When I find definitive proof that you were involved, don’t think for a second that a divorce is going to save you. I will never let you go.” The line clicked, followed by a dial tone. I sat bolt upright. This was bad. Very bad. 12 With Maya’s resources and determination, it was only a matter of time before she dug up the past I had worked so hard to bury. After a long time spent staring at the ceiling, I called her parents. Her mother panicked instantly. “Leo, what are we going to do? The doctors warned us! She can’t be exposed to that kind of shock again. If she remembers… all that work will be undone!” “Connor’s been dead for years,” I said, trying to reassure her as much as myself. “I did my best to cover our tracks. She might not find anything.” “But Leo, what if she does?” “Anna, David… I’ll… I’ll try to talk to her.” At the end of the day, this was all about punishing me. She was convinced I’d killed Connor. She wanted me to pay for taking her perfect memory away. Well, I was dying anyway. She was about to get her wish. I went to the office first thing the next morning. The employees were all respectful, greeting me with a quiet deference. All except one. Finn, dressed in a tailored suit and sipping a latte, looked every bit the smug corporate climber. The hostility in his eyes was undisguised. “What are you doing here?” “I may be the CEO’s assistant,” I said, my voice low and steady, “but don’t you forget that I am also a founder of this company. I am your boss.” I could feel the curious stares and pricked ears of everyone in the vicinity, though no one dared to say a word. Finn’s expression soured, but he knew better than to challenge me in front of the entire office. I walked past him and went straight to the CEO’s office. He scurried after me. “Hey! Even if you’re technically her husband, you can’t just barge in without knocking!” Maya was at her desk, taking some pills. When she saw me, she quickly tried to hide the bottle, like a child caught doing something wrong. My eyes caught two words on the label before she shoved it out of sight: Folic Acid. What was she doing taking prenatal vitamins? 13 I pushed the question aside. “Alright,” I said, my voice flat. “What will it take? What do I have to do for you to finally be satisfied?” Maya looked startled for a moment, then let out a scornful laugh. “What kind of tone is that, Leo? Do you really think you’re in any position to be making demands?” I took a deep breath. “I know how much you hate me. So let’s just cut the crap. Tell me what you want. It’ll save you the trouble of bringing every stray you find into our lives just to torture me. Don’t you ever get tired of it?” As I spoke, Finn slipped into the room. A flash of anger crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself, turning to Maya with a wounded expression. “Maya…” She beckoned him over. He practically trotted to her side, taking her hand and shooting me a triumphant look. “I guess you haven’t heard, Leo,” Finn said, his voice oozing satisfaction. “Last week, Maya bought me a condo over by the university. And a new Panamera.” I frowned. Before we were married, I’d joked with Maya that once her company took off, she had to buy me a Panamera. I’d drive it around and tell everyone my successful wife bought it for me. I’d be so proud. They both misinterpreted my silence as jealousy over the money. “Don’t you dare start talking about ‘joint marital assets’,” Maya snapped. “It’s my money. I’ll spend it on whoever I want.” Money? The idea was so laughable I almost scoffed. When had I ever cared about that? She thought throwing money at other men would drive me insane with rage. She didn’t understand. A man whose heart has already died doesn’t care about such trivial things. The only thing that ever stung was her unwavering devotion to Connor’s memory. That was what made my years of silent sacrifice feel like a cosmic joke. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I didn’t come here to argue with your… replacement boy toy. I just have one question. Will you be happy when I’m dead?” Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “Yes.” Even though I’d expected it, the word struck me like a physical blow. 14 The pain in my stomach flared, sharp and insistent. I forced myself to stand tall. “Fine. I’ll admit it. I had something to do with Connor’s death.” Maya’s pupils contracted. She shot to her feet. Her voice trembled. “What did you say? Say it again.” I met her gaze without flinching. “You don’t need to investigate, Maya. It was me. “When Connor called me that night, I told him I’d bring the money. The idiot actually gave me his address. And then, I called his creditors and gave it to them. He probably died thinking I was on my way to save him.” Maya began to tremble, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The hatred that erupted in her eyes was terrifying. “It was you,” she whispered, her voice a serrated edge. “It was you. You bastard. You absolute bastard!” Her shriek was so raw and furious that Finn instinctively took a step back. “You should be the one who’s dead, Leo! Why don’t you just die!” She started grabbing things from her desk—a stapler, a paperweight, a heavy glass trophy—and hurling them at me. Finn rushed to her side. “Maya, calm down! Don’t get so upset! Think about the baby!” The baby? My entire body went rigid. I stared at her stomach, my mind refusing to process the words. Seeing my stunned expression, a cruel, triumphant smile spread across Maya’s face. She lifted her chin. “That’s right. I’m pregnant. And no, obviously, it’s not yours. You hate Connor so much? You’re so jealous of him? Well, I’m going to have a baby that looks just like him. I’m going to give him Connor’s last name. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You’re pathetic, Leo. Truly pathetic.” The air rushed out of my lungs. The room started to spin. Suddenly, the world went dark, and my legs gave out from under me. Maya, how could you? Her years of misunderstanding and misplaced anger, I had endured it all. But this… this was a level of cruelty I could never have imagined. Just before I blacked out completely, I heard Finn answer his phone. “Maya, it must be the PI! He’s found something! Listen!” He put the call on speaker. “Mr. Scott, we’ve uncovered some new information. It seems the reason Connor was targeted was because he had a history of… well, it seems he drugged his ex-girlfriend with the intent of having her sexually assaulted by multiple men in exchange for money. After the incident, the victim’s fiancé, he…”

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My brother’s girlfriend was flying in from her year abroad, and I’d told Leo to bring her by for dinner. A proper introduction. I was curled up on my sofa, lost in some mindless reality show, when the front door opened. Her eyes scanned the living room, bypassing my brother and his friends, and locked directly onto me. She strode forward with unnerving purpose. “You must be Ava,” she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The girl Leo grew up with. So close you could practically share the same skin.” She smiled, a slow, deliberate thing, her gaze meticulously mapping my face. “I just wanted to thank you, really. For taking care of him, for… house-training him for me before I got back. We’re doing so great now.” At her words, a few of Leo’s friends exchanged smirks, muffling quiet laughter. What did she think I was? Was a close relationship between a sister and her brother so unusual? The way she framed it, I wasn’t family; I was some combination of a glorified nanny and a romantic rival she’d finally vanquished. Our parents died when we were young. I built a company from the ground up to raise him. His education, his clothes, the very roof over his head—which was, incidentally, my roof—was all paid for by me. I held her gaze, my silence a stark contrast to her cloying charm. Then she delivered the final blow. “Now that I’m back,” she said, her smile widening just a fraction, “don’t you think it’s time you found your own place? You know, to give us some space and avoid any… awkwardness.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and incredulous. She wanted me to move out of my own house? The audacity was almost impressive. 1 Before I could formulate a response, she turned on her heel, playing the perfect hostess in a home that wasn’t hers, and clapped her hands together. “Dinner, everyone!” Her name was Isabelle, and she darted to Leo’s side, her voice shifting into a high, girlish pitch. “Leo, is that the spicy garlic shrimp? My absolute favorite!” “Whoa, Izzy, easy on the PDA,” one of his friends teased, and the group erupted in good-natured catcalls. A dopey, lovesick grin spread across my brother’s face, stretching from ear to ear. Despite the veiled hostility in her greeting, I decided to let it slide. Some women are wired to see every other female as a threat. It’s a sad, exhausting way to live, but it wasn’t my problem. At the dinner table, Isabelle was practically draped over Leo, her laughter a constant, tinkling performance. I didn’t know his friends well, and my only goal was to get through the meal so I could retreat to my bedroom and finish my show. But Isabelle had other plans. Her voice cut through the chatter, loud and clear. “Ava,” she began, her eyes sweeping across the table before landing on me with a look of profound meaning. “You’re so beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?” I answered curtly, not wanting to engage. “No.” The truth was, we’d broken up five days ago. My single-word answer seemed to ignite something in her. A flicker of triumph, maybe. She let out a soft, theatrical laugh. “No way. Seriously? I would have pegged you as a total player. I’m shocked you’d ever have a down-moment between guys.” She gestured to a man sitting beside her. “You know, Mike here is single too. Maybe you two should exchange numbers?” The man she indicated was one of her friends. He was slightly overweight, with glasses that didn’t quite fit his face and a sheen of oil in his unkempt hair. He immediately blushed, stammering, “Uh… I mean, if she’s… I’d be honored…” I cut him off before he could finish. “I’m not looking to date right now.” “Oh, you have to!” Isabelle insisted, her tone dripping with faux concern. “Leo’s thirty now, so you can’t be that far behind, right? You need to find someone to keep you company. You don’t want to end up all alone.” When I didn’t respond, she pivoted back to my brother. “Or… maybe there’s already someone special? Leo, you two grew up together, you must know all her secrets. Spill!” Leo looked deeply uncomfortable. He pushed a peeled shrimp onto her plate. “Izzy, stop it. She just got out of a relationship. She needs some time.” The moment the words left his mouth, Isabelle’s entire demeanor shifted. The smile vanished. She leaned in close to him, her voice a low, pouting whisper. “She just got out of a relationship, and you know all the details? How convenient.” The scent of jealousy was thick in the air. My brother just looked confused, but Isabelle had already turned her attention back to the table, her tone now light and teasing. “Well, you know what they say. Men are like clothes—if they don’t fit, you just get a new one. A gorgeous woman like you must have guys lining up, right?” She tsked dramatically. “There was this one girl at my college, Bianca, went through like, forty guys in four years. Beautiful girls just love to have their fun.” She paused, then looked me up and down with a condescending pity. “But you seem like the more… wholesome type. I bet you’ve never even slept with a man, have you?” She covered her mouth with a delicate hand, her laugh a feigned gasp. “Oh my god, who am I kidding? At our age, who’s still a virgin? Not that it matters, of course. We’re all adults here!” I remained silent, a piece of shrimp halfway to my mouth. She pressed on, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I gave Leo my first time. Who’d you give yours to, Ava? Or wait… what was that word again?” I met her gaze, my own expression a mask of pure innocence, and chewed my shrimp slowly. “Sorry… virginity? I’m not familiar with the term.” A few of the men at the table snickered, their eyes glinting with a new, unpleasant light as they looked at me. A flush of embarrassment crept up Isabelle’s neck. I distinctly heard her mutter under her breath, “God, what a fake…” So, this was my brother’s new girlfriend. And for some reason, she had decided I was her enemy. After dinner, Leo excitedly suggested we all go to a karaoke bar. I had zero interest, but Isabelle grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on, Ava! How else am I supposed to find you a new man?” Under a chorus of pressure, I finally relented with a sigh. “Look, I just broke up with my ex a few days ago. I’m really not in the mood.” A flash of pure, unadulterated joy crossed her face before she expertly masked it with an expression of apology, placing a hand over her lips. “Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.” She then brightened, as if struck by a brilliant idea. “Do you want to get back together with him? Give Leo his number! We can all help you patch things up!” Every eye in the room turned to me. Before I could protest, she snatched my phone from my hand. “Here, let us do it for you!” It all happened so fast. I watched, helpless, as Leo found Mark’s contact and hit the call button. To my absolute astonishment, Mark agreed to come. And that’s how I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside a dimly lit karaoke bar, watching my ex-boyfriend walk towards us. He wore a simple black button-down, his tall, lean frame looking just as familiar as it did painful. “So this is Mark,” Isabelle cooed, deftly positioning herself between us. Her smile was a beacon of saccharine sincerity. “Ava’s missed you so much. We’re so glad you came.” She looped her arm through his, guiding him towards me as if presenting a prize. Mark didn’t resist. He simply allowed himself to be led. “You know, Leo,” Isabelle remarked, a casual observation that felt anything but. “You and Mark kind of look alike.” Inside the private room, she handed him a drink, her voice a casual mix of concern and curiosity. “A great guy like you must be in high demand in this city. I think I saw you a while back, at that really popular French place downtown? The woman you were with… wow. Absolutely stunning.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Was that an old girlfriend? Ava, did you know about her?” She nudged me playfully with her elbow, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. My blood ran cold. I knew nothing about Mark at a French restaurant with another woman. When Mark didn’t respond, Isabelle just shrugged it off with a light laugh and turned her full attention to me. “Anyway, I’m sure a beautiful, outgoing woman like you has tons of male friends. I doubt you’re ever lonely, right?” she said, her tone dripping with admiration. “If I had your charm, I probably wouldn’t waste too much time being sad over any one guy.” Her words sounded like a harmless joke, but I saw Mark’s hand tighten around his glass. She then selected a song from the screen—a heartbreaking ballad about lost love and lingering memories. She sang it beautifully, her eyes fixed on my brother with a theatrical passion. When the last note faded, she sighed dramatically, just loud enough for the entire room to hear. “You know, the worst thing in a relationship is a misunderstanding. One person thinks it’s just innocent friendship, but the other person is dying inside from insecurity.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Honesty and boundaries… they’re just so important.” Her gaze found mine across the dimly lit room. “We’re both women. You get what I mean, right, Ava?” Mark’s face, shadowed by the pulsing lights, hardened. I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What exactly are you trying to say, Isabelle?” “Nothing!” She blinked, the picture of innocence. “Just thinking out loud. Don’t mind me, Mark. I just mean, a girl as dazzling as Ava… it’s only natural that guys would offer to drive her home, that people would be hitting on her all the time. Sometimes, she might not even realize how it looks to other people.” She smiled sweetly at him. “You two should really get back together.” She had deliberately emphasized the words “drive her home,” planting a seed of insinuation. I froze. The reason Mark and I had fought, the reason we broke up, was a misunderstanding. My boss, Grant, had a crush on me. While I had never reciprocated, my job sometimes required me to accompany him to client dinners. I had never crossed a line, but Mark refused to believe me. I had only ever told Leo about the specifics of that fight. And now, it was clear Leo had told Isabelle, who had twisted the details into something ugly. Mark shot to his feet, his voice a low growl. “Ava. Outside. Now.” In the narrow hallway, his eyes burned with a furious anger. “Was she telling the truth? We’ve been broken up for less than a week, and you already have another guy driving you around? Is it Grant?!” “No! Grant has feelings for me, but I’ve already turned him down. Nothing has ever happened,” I said, telling him the plain, unvarnished truth. “Enough!” He jerked his arm away when I tried to touch him, his gaze like ice. “Are you still going to lie to my face, even now?” “Ava, I thought you were different,” he said, his face a mask of pain and disgust as he searched for the right word. “I never thought you were so…” Just then, Isabelle appeared at the end of the hall, a look of deep concern on her face. “Is everything okay? Mark, please don’t be angry. Maybe it’s just her personality. She’s so popular, she’s probably just used to guys fawning over her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to deceive you…” Every word she spoke, cloaked in fake sympathy, was like gasoline on a flame. “If you’re determined to believe I’m some cheap, easy woman,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “then there’s nothing more to say!” He raised his hand. Crack. The sound echoed in the hallway. I pressed a hand to my cheek, the sting blooming into a fiery blaze. I stared at him, at the man I had loved, in utter disbelief. Isabelle gasped. “Mark, how could you!” she cried, rushing forward to feign holding him back. My cheek throbbed, but my heart felt like a block of ice. “Mark,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I lowered my hand. “We are done. This is over.” He turned and walked away without another word. I went to the restroom to compose myself, the reflection in the mirror showing a woman I barely recognized. When I returned to the room, the party was in full swing. Isabelle was nestled against my brother’s side, laughing as if nothing had happened. I walked straight up to her. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the music, silencing the conversations around us. “Isabelle. We met for the first time tonight.” The karaoke track played on, a soulless beat in the suddenly silent room. Every eye was on us. “So I’d like you to explain something to me. This story about me having ‘tons of male friends’ and men driving me around all the time… where, exactly, did you get that information?” Isabelle stared at me, her bravado momentarily gone. It was replaced by a look of wounded fragility as she instinctively shrank into my brother’s arms. “Ava… what are you talking about? I… I was just making conversation. It was a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously?” Her eyes welled up as she looked to Leo for protection. “A joke?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. “A joke that ends with my ex-boyfriend slapping me across the face in the hallway?” “Well, what did you want me to say?” she suddenly shrieked, her voice cracking with manufactured tears. “Even if tonight was the first time we officially met, I’ve known about you for a long time! I’ve seen you myself, getting in and out of different luxury cars! It was probably for work, right? I wasn’t lying!” Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. I could feel the judgmental stares of their friends, hear the whispered comments. “Wow, so she’s a gold digger…” “And here she was, acting so innocent.” “Isabelle!” Leo’s voice was a sharp reprimand, his brow furrowed in anger. “What did I do?” she wailed, tears now streaming down her face. “I was trying to help her! It’s not my fault her boyfriend misunderstood and hit her! And now you’re all blaming me?” “Apologize to her,” Leo commanded. “You’re taking her side too?” Isabelle shrieked. “Are you obsessed with her or something?” The eyes of Leo’s friends were now filled with a complicated mix of pity and suspicion. I’d had enough. I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. In my haste, my high heel slipped on a patch of spilled liquor on the floor. My ankle twisted violently, and I cried out as I lost my balance, stumbling sideways. A searing pain shot up my leg. “Ava!” Leo yelled. He shoved Isabelle aside and rushed to my side, catching me before I hit the ground. Seeing my face, pale and contorted in pain, he didn’t hesitate. He bent down and hoisted me onto his back. “Leo!” Isabelle screamed, trying to grab his arm. “She’s totally faking it! You…” “Shut up!” he snapped, a rare and startling burst of fury directed at her. “Go home by yourself.” Ignoring her outraged sobs and the stunned looks from his friends, he carried me out of the karaoke bar and into the night. The doctor at urgent care diagnosed it as a severely sprained ankle. Torn ligaments. Weeks of rest. After Leo got me settled on the couch back at my apartment, his phone buzzed incessantly. A relentless stream of calls from Isabelle. He silenced it with a frustrated jab of his thumb. “Ava… I’m so sorry.” I said nothing. I just picked up my phone, methodically blocking Mark’s number and deleting every photo, every digital trace of him from my life. I thought the nightmare was over, at least for a while. I was wrong. The next afternoon, I was in the main conference room at my company, finalizing a major partnership deal. We were moments away from signing the contracts when the door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Isabelle stood in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen, reeking of alcohol. She had found me at work. “Ava Monroe! You bitch! Get out here!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me, completely oblivious to the room full of stunned executives. “It’s not enough for you to seduce your own boss, you have to play the victim and steal Leo from me too? You absolute slut!” My client and my entire team stared, frozen in shock. I rose slowly, my voice dangerously calm. “Isabelle, you’re drunk. This is a place of business. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I turned to my assistant. “Jessica? Where is security? How did a drunk person get into the building?” “They were called down to the garage, Ms. Monroe,” Jessica whispered, rushing to try and escort Isabelle out. “Something about the electrical box.” “A place of business?” Isabelle sneered, shoving Jessica so hard she stumbled and fell. “Who knows what kind of shady deals you’re really making in here! What did you and Leo do last night? He ditched me! For you!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “You think just because you’re his precious first love, his goddamn gold standard, you can just ruin my life? Well, I’ll ruin yours first!” Before anyone could react, she lunged at the conference table, grabbed the stack of meticulously prepared contracts, and began tearing them to shreds. “What are you doing?!” my client yelled, jumping to his feet. My colleagues scrambled to stop her, but it was too late. The key documents were confetti. She threw her head back and laughed, a wild, unhinged sound, as two of my male employees finally grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the room. The client’s face was a mask of cold fury. He calmly straightened his suit jacket. “Ms. Monroe,” he said, his voice flat. “It appears we need to re-evaluate the… stability of your company’s internal environment. Today’s signing is officially canceled.” He and his team walked out without a backward glance.

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The rumor was that Ethan Prescott, the undisputed prince of New York’s high society, had a thing for a girl in a photograph. I have the kind of figure that was made for a silk sheath dress. After my family’s empire crumbled, I was shipped off to Manhattan as collateral for a debt. This prince, however, wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even grant me a meeting, sending a text message designed to make me crawl back to where I came from: 【I’m in love with someone else. Don’t waste your time.】 At that exact moment, his assistant handed me a file—a dossier on the woman who held Ethan Prescott’s heart. I stared at the photo of the smiling girl in the cheongsam, and a memory surfaced. It was me. A candid shot from a college trip to the city, taken years ago. 1 The file began with a psychological profile of Ethan Prescott. Cold, it said. Aloof. Never showed interest in women. Then, five years ago, that had changed. He’d fallen for someone. Love at first sight. Beneath the text was the picture. Me, standing in the middle of Washington Square Park, looking over my shoulder with a smile. The photo was taken from inside a passing car, grainy and immediate. It had the distinct feel of a hurried glance, a fleeting moment that had somehow been stolen and frozen in time. “The private investigator couldn’t dig up anything more than this,” said AJ, my father’s last loyal man. “Now that we know who she is, you want us to go have a word with her? A warning, maybe?” “A warning?” I asked, my voice flat. AJ rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah. Teach her a lesson.” “Oh? And you’re aware that assault is a felony, right?” The men my father left me were as brilliant as he was. My father, the third-generation heir who had managed to run the formidable Hayes Corporation straight into the ground, leaving a mountain of debt in his wake. AJ’s face fell. “But Ms. Hayes, this guy is throwing a fit about the engagement. He’s been fighting with his family for days. Said he’d rather die than marry you. He even defied his grandfather and moved out of the family estate.” I gave a slight nod. “I see.” “Ava,” AJ pleaded, his tone softening. “The Hayes family may be bankrupt, but we were once one of Boston’s most powerful families. You don’t have to humiliate yourself like this. Let’s just go back home and figure out the debt another way.” What home? I wanted to ask. There was nothing left to go back to. My finger traced the outline of my own younger, brighter smile in the photograph. “Not yet,” I said, closing the file. “Do we know Ethan Prescott’s schedule for today?” “He has a reservation at The Summit Lounge this afternoon.” “Get me a table there. Not a private room. I want to be in the main hall.” AJ blinked. “You’re going to see him? But he can’t stand the idea of you.” “I’m not going to see him,” I corrected, rising from my chair to gaze out at the river of yellow cabs flowing below the hotel window. “I’m simply going for a drink. To enjoy the view.” I paused, a small smile playing on my lips. “And to let the view come find me.” AJ looked completely lost, scratching his head before heading off to make the call. He’d been a street fighter before my father saved him from being beaten to death by a rival gang. His loyalty was absolute, even if his intellect wasn’t. He was the only one who stayed after everything fell apart. “The reservation is made, Ms. Hayes.” “Thank you.” I walked into the dressing room and selected a moon-white, halter-neck silk dress. I twisted my hair into a loose chignon, securing it with a single pearl pin. The dress was understated, its clean lines exposing the pale curve of my shoulders. Elegant, but with a quiet magnetism. They say you should never meet someone too dazzling when you’re young. If it doesn’t work out, they become the yardstick by which you measure everyone else, and no one ever measures up. But what if you’re the ghost he’s been measuring every other woman against? When I arrived, The Summit Lounge was an oasis of hushed tones and old money. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey. The furniture was all dark mahogany, and even the tables in the main hall were partially enclosed by ornate privacy screens. It was easy to see why it was a favorite haunt for Manhattan’s elite. My table was strategically placed along the path to Ethan’s private room. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from AJ. 【His car just pulled up.】 I silenced my phone and took a sip of my martini. Showtime. Through a gap in the screen, I watched the doorman respectfully pull open the heavy glass door. A tall, impeccably dressed figure stepped inside. He wore a dark grey suit that seemed molded to his frame, and he moved with the unhurried confidence of a man accustomed to being in charge. His face was lethally handsome, sharp angles and intense eyes that immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room. “That’s him,” a woman whispered nearby. “Ethan Prescott. The only son.” “Did you hear? The Hayes family from Boston went bust. They’re basically selling their daughter to him to cover their debts.” “Can you imagine? What kind of woman from a bankrupt family does she think she is? As if Ethan Prescott would ever look at her.” “Exactly.” “Look how tense he is. Bet he’s furious about the whole arrangement.” Ethan’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he walked toward his room. Just as he was about to pass my table, I picked up my glass, tilting my head down as if completely absorbed in the drink. In my mind, I counted his steps. One. Two. Three. As he passed, his peripheral vision caught my profile. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough. Ethan Prescott, the unshakable prince of New York, faltered. His stride broke. He stopped, turning his head to get a better look, but in that same instant, I leaned back in my chair. The privacy screen perfectly obscured my face. 2 From where Ethan stood, all he could see was the table, the stem of a martini glass, and a pair of long legs, clad in silk, crossed delicately beneath the hem of a white dress. He remained frozen outside the screen, his well-manicured hand trembling slightly. It was probably the first time in his life he’d ever had to approach a woman. When his voice finally emerged, it was a low, pleasant baritone, but laced with an uncharacteristic nervousness that clashed with his cool, distant persona. “Excuse me.” “Could I… see you for a moment?” When I didn’t respond, he quickly added, “I don’t mean to be forward. It’s just… you look like a friend of mine. I wanted to be sure.” “Sir, your pickup line is painfully cliché,” I said, slowly swirling the olive in my glass. “So cliché it’s uncomfortable.” I finally lifted my eyes, though he couldn’t see them. “You’re a creep.” Ethan couldn’t have expected this. First, the rejection. Then, being called a creep. A man of his looks, wealth, and status was used to women falling at his feet. Rejection wasn’t just uncommon; it was nonexistent. The whispers in the lounge started up again. “Did you see that? Ethan Prescott, making a move on a woman? I thought he was completely untouchable.” “I have to know what the woman in that booth looks like. To get the Ethan Prescott to approach her like that…” The word “creep” seemed to strike him like a physical blow. He stood there, rigid with a mixture of shame and indignation. Because, of course, no one knew that he wasn’t hitting on me. He was genuinely trying to confirm if I was the girl he’d been searching for. But to the outside world—and to me, the woman he assumed was a stranger—it looked like a clumsy, low-class pickup attempt. After a long moment of silence, he flexed his fingers, his knuckles turning white. “I apologize. I was out of line.” Then, Ethan did something that stunned the entire room. The famously composed gentleman reached out and shoved the ornate screen aside. The air in the lounge seemed to thin. The screen slid halfway open. My face was just about to be revealed when his phone, tucked inside his suit jacket, began to vibrate insistently. The buzzing was relentless; it was either a family emergency or urgent company business. He took a deep breath, pulling out his phone to check the caller ID. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he turned his back to me to answer it. “What is it?” I leaned forward slightly, studying the man who was supposed to be my fiancé. His back was broad, his shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, the perfectly tailored suit accentuating a physique that was like a drawn bow, taut with latent power. He was even more handsome in person than in his photographs. At six-foot-two, with a body like that, even the back of him was enough to make you look twice. “Grandfather, I told you,” he said into the phone, his voice sharp with frustration. “I will not marry the Hayes girl.” There was a pause. The old man on the other end seemed to be making a concession. “I’m not forcing you, Ethan. It’s just… old man Hayes and I were friends, back in the day. His family is bankrupt, and they owe us a hundred million dollars. I thought if his only granddaughter could marry into our family, become a Prescott, the debt would be forgiven. She wouldn’t have to suffer.” The old man sighed. “But if you refuse, you refuse. It’s your life. But your grandmother chews me out every day since you moved out in a huff. Just come home, will you?” Ethan’s irritated tone softened, replaced by a hint of relief. “Fine.” “I’ll move back in a few days.” 3 On the other end of the line, his grandfather, clearly not ready to give up, made one last attempt. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least meet her? The Hayes girl? I’ve met her myself, you know. She’s brilliant, beautiful… a vision in a qipao. Graceful, elegant… honestly, she’s exactly your type. I’m telling you, just one look, and you’ll be hooked.” “No,” Ethan said, his refusal immediate and absolute. “I told you, I have someone.” “Alright, alright,” his grandfather conceded, sounding defeated. “I’ll call her family and tell them to send her back to Boston. But if you have someone, you bring her home for us to meet. You’re twenty-seven, Ethan. It’s time to settle down.” A flicker of something crossed Ethan’s face, and the corner of his mouth lifted into an almost unconscious smile. “I think I just found her.” “Found who?” “Nothing, Grandfather. I have to go.” He ended the call, a smile still playing on his lips as he turned around. But the booth behind the screen was empty. The chair was vacant, the martini glass gone. Ethan’s eyes scanned the room, searching. A moment later, a man eager to curry favor with the Prescott family approached him, holding out his phone. He had, with the dedication of a professional paparazzo, captured my departure from every conceivable angle: front, side, back, a perfect forty-five-degree shot. By the time I returned to the hotel, AJ was waiting for me. “Ms. Hayes, the Prescott family called.” He paused, his expression grim. “They said the engagement is off. They want you to go back to Boston.” It was exactly what I expected. “Son of a bitch!” AJ exploded, unable to contain his fury. “Who the hell do they think they are? They summon you here, they kick you out… Ms. Hayes, just say the word, and I’ll go find that prick, stuff him in a sack, and beat the ever-living crap out of him.” He took a breath, his anger shifting to curiosity. “But what happened at the lounge? You just saw him, and now his grandfather is calling off the whole thing? Did you… did you slap that asshole when he was rude to you?” There was a hopeful, almost excited glint in his eye, as if he truly hoped I had put the high-and-mighty prince in his place. “I didn’t meet with him,” I said calmly, sitting at the vanity and removing my earrings. “I told you. I just went for a drink and to enjoy the scenery.” I met his gaze in the mirror. “And AJ? From now on, you will not refer to Mr. Prescott as an asshole.” “But Ms. Hayes!” he protested, his voice rising with indignation. “What are we to them? A toy they can just pick up and throw away? Why should we take this?” I placed the earrings in their velvet box and replied softly, “Because the Hayes family owes the Prescott family one hundred million dollars.” “How… how… how much?” I ignored AJ’s stuttered shock, remaining silent. 4 AJ’s voice dropped to a defeated whisper. “I’ll book the flights back to Boston.” I stood up, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as I crossed to the sofa. “No flights. We’re not going back. Pack our things, check out of the hotel, and find a cheap, run-down apartment to rent somewhere in the city.” AJ stared at me, bewildered. “The engagement is off. Why are we staying?” I gazed out the window at the glittering, seductive sprawl of New York. This city was a hunting ground, and the game of cat and mouse was about to get more interesting. “I saw the scenery today,” I said quietly. “And now, the scenery is on its way to find me. How could I possibly leave?” AJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Ms. Hayes, sometimes I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You don’t need to understand. Just do it. I want to be moved in by tonight.” Just then, I heard a faint noise from the hallway outside our suite. A small smile touched my lips. I hadn’t even been back from the lounge for an hour, and the man Ethan sent to investigate me was already at my door. I raised my voice, deliberately making it loud enough to be overheard. “AJ, we can’t go back to Boston! If we go back now, my father will kill me!” AJ froze, his face a mask of confusion. My father adored me; he would never lay a hand on me. He opened his mouth to object, but I pressed a single finger to my lips. Shhh. “I’m out of money,” I continued, my voice laced with panic. “We can’t afford this five-star hotel anymore. Please, just find a small place for us. We have to move out right away.” I turned to him, my eyes wide with manufactured despair. “AJ, I’m so sorry you have to live in some awful place because of me.” AJ, the tough guy with a straight-shooting heart, had no idea what I was doing. He thought I was truly broke. “Ms. Hayes, I was nothing before you. An orphan, a street rat. Your father saved my life. I know all this. Before, I wasn’t even worthy of walking behind you. Now that everyone else is gone, I’m happy that I get to be the one to protect you.” His voice was earnest. “I don’t care if the place is a dump. I’m a person with no roots. Wherever you are, that’s my home.” He pulled a bank card from his wallet and held it out. “Ms. Hayes, this is all my savings. You take it. I’ll find work tomorrow. I swear I won’t let you suffer.” I gently pushed the card back. “I can’t take your money, AJ. You earned it.” I beckoned him closer. As he leaned down, I whispered, “I need to live in a broken-down apartment. It’s part of the plan. Don’t ask why, just do as I say.” I met his loyal, confused eyes. “And AJ? We will go back to Boston. Sooner than you think. I’m going to rebuild the Hayes Corporation, and I’m taking you with me.” New York was a massive market. To rebuild my family’s legacy, I needed capital, connections, and power. And to get all of that, I needed one person to be my springboard. AJ was ruthlessly efficient. Just as I’d asked, he found a top-floor walk-up in a grimy corner of the Lower East Side. The stench of stale beer and fried food from the dive bar downstairs hung in the air, punctuated by the slurred curses of drunks in the alley. The tiny apartment was permeated with the damp, musty smell of old New York. “Ms. Hayes, wait on the fire escape. I’ll clean this place up before you come in.” “Don’t bother,” I said, leaning against the doorframe he’d wiped down. “Leave the luggage outside. And go hire a few guys to act like loan sharks. I want them to cause a scene.” A short while later, three beefy men AJ had hired were putting on a convincing performance. “You think you can just ignore us? Pay up, or else!” one of them bellowed. AJ glanced nervously down the stairwell and then rushed over to me. “Ms. Hayes, Prescott’s car is parked downstairs.” “Why is he here?” he whispered frantically. Because, of course, he is. I had left the lounge deliberately. I knew someone had taken my picture. Once Ethan saw that the woman in the photo was the same one he’d been searching for, he would use all his power to find me. I’d noticed the tail as soon as I got back to the hotel. That’s why I staged the whole performance for AJ about being broke. Before, he despised the idea of me, refusing to even look at my file. But now? Now he knew that the fiancée he’d so callously rejected was the very woman who haunted his thoughts. And because of his rejection, she had fallen into poverty and despair. What would that do to a man already consumed by a five-year-old infatuation? The guilt would be the final ingredient. Love is most intoxicating in the moments just before it blooms. Obsession sinks its roots deepest in the soil of regret. I needed him to feel guilty. I needed him to blame himself. 5 From the five-star hotel to this slum, cornered by thugs—it was a perfectly tailored trap, a damsel-in-distress narrative designed for an audience of one. I explained to AJ that the woman in the file was me from five years ago. Understanding finally dawned on his face. “Ms. Hayes,” he said, a look of dawning horror on his face. “In my world, we have a name for what you’re doing. It’s called a pig-butchering scam.” “You pay us today!” one of the hired thugs roared, getting back into character. “Back in Boston, you might have had powerful friends, but this is New York! Who’s gonna save you here?” He took a menacing step forward. “No money, no life!” The sound of expensive leather shoes ascending the metal staircase echoed in the cramped hall. I gave the lead thug a subtle nod. He raised his hand, preparing to deliver a fake slap. I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning terror. The rush of air from his hand passed by my ear, but the impact never came. A strong, long-fingered hand shot out and clamped around the thug’s wrist like a vise. Then, a low, cold voice cut through the air. “In New York, I’m her protection.” I slowly opened my eyes. Ethan Prescott stood before me. He’d changed into a high-quality black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like a ruthless CEO and more like a dark, brooding aristocrat. The neon lights from the street below cast a glow on his face, highlighting a small, alluring mole just above his collarbone. His handsome face was slick with a thin sheen of sweat. He must have run up the stairs. He released the thug’s wrist and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, fastidiously wiping his fingers. “How much does she owe you?” he asked, his voice dripping with ice. “A million,” the thug blurted out. Ethan didn’t even blink, as if he’d said a hundred dollars. He took out a checkbook, scribbled the number, and tossed the check at the man’s face like it was garbage. “Take it. And get lost.” “Wait,” I said. I had AJ retrieve the check and hand it back to Ethan. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know you. Why would you pay my debt?” AJ, now fully committed to his role, chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ms. Hayes, that’s Ethan Prescott. You know, the one from the Prescott family who was kicking and screaming about breaking off your engagement. The same family that summoned us from Boston with one word and is now sending us away with another.” My expression was serene as I looked at Ethan, whose face was burning with shame. “So you’re Ethan Prescott?” I met his cool, clear eyes, and saw a storm of emotions swirling within them: joy, embarrassment, guilt, self-reproach. But the strongest emotion of all was the raw, blazing thrill of having finally found the woman he was looking for.

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My best friend was pregnant, so of course, the first thing I did was drag her to my ex-boyfriend’s hospital for her check-up. Dr. Leo Shen looked up as I practically bounced into his office, Chloe trailing nervously behind me. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he took in my ridiculously wide grin. “Yours?” he asked, his tone completely deadpan. I stopped short, the giddy bubble of my excitement popping. “Huh? What did you just say?” He leaned back in his chair, enjoying my confusion. “Is the baby yours?” “No,” I said, shaking my head automatically. “Then what are you so happy about? You’re showing off every tooth in your head.” I was speechless. Utterly speechless. 1 My best friend was pregnant, and I was going to be a godmother. This was, without a doubt, a cause for monumental celebration. Which is how I ended up dragging her into Leo’s office. It was Wednesday during the lunch hour, his shift, leaving the room blissfully empty except for him. The thought of getting to be an auntie was intoxicating. I could already picture it: a tiny, chubby human I could spoil rotten and then hand back the moment it started crying. It was going to be the absolute best. I was so lost in this fantasy that my grin was probably splitting my face in two. Still recovering from his initial jab, I decided to restart, puffing out my chest with the kind of pride usually reserved for Nobel Prize winners. “Leo, my best friend is pregnant.” A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a clear sign he was going to continue messing with me. “Mine?” “What?” I blinked, my brain rebooting. I glanced at Chloe, then back at the man who had occupied far too much of my headspace for the past two years. A little huff of indignation escaped me. “What kind of joke is that? Of course not yours!” “So,” he leaned forward, steepling his fingers, the picture of cool professionalism except for that glint in his eye. “Is it yours?” “What?” I was floored again. The man was speaking my language, but I couldn’t seem to process the words. He’d already asked me this, and my brain still couldn’t compute the sheer absurdity. “Is the baby yours?” he repeated, his expression unwavering. “No,” I shook my head again. “Then why are you grinning like you just won the lottery?” he said, echoing his earlier sentiment and leaving me, once again, completely lost for words. Before I could formulate a comeback, he went on. “And if it’s not mine, and it’s not yours, what are you doing in my office?” That lit a fire under me. “Leo, does your family own this hospital? Since when do I need your permission to be here?” “They don’t,” he replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “The Dean’s name is Shaw. My name is Shen. No relation.” 2 I let out a couple of pointed, frustrated hums. “Well, there you go. You’re a doctor. I brought Chloe here for a check-up. It’s what people do at hospitals.” Leo’s smile finally broke through, warm and genuine for a second. “Riley, anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the one who’s pregnant. I don’t remember you ever looking this happy when you were with me.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I’m going to be the godmother, Leo. I’m allowed to be excited. Just because you’re incapable of joy doesn’t mean you can’t let other people celebrate.” A faint blush crept up his neck. “Riley, don’t talk nonsense.” I was enjoying myself far too much, about to fire back with another jab when the office door swung open. A man in a white coat walked in, and my good mood evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. Oh, God. It was over. It was all over. All three of us—me, Chloe, and Leo—shot to our feet, a triangle of sudden, awkward tension. “Dr. Evans,” I managed to say, my voice a squeak. “Dr. Evans,” Leo said, his tone respectful. “Dad,” Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible. Leo’s head snapped toward me, his face a perfect mask of confusion. His eyes were wide, practically screaming three giant question marks. Dr. Evans is Chloe’s dad? he mouthed silently. I ignored him. Chloe had just called the man “Dad.” What more confirmation did he need? “Riley? Chloe? What are you two doing here?” Dr. Evans asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?” Chloe’s hand found mine, her grip like a vise. I shot a panicked look at Leo, frantically trying to use my eyes to tell him to hide the patient file on his desk—Chloe’s file. But he just stood there like a deer in headlights, completely missing my desperate telepathic signals. Useless. My teammate was completely useless. 3 “Dad… I…” Chloe stammered, her eyes darting around the room. Then, she took a deep breath and delivered the line that would seal my fate. “Riley’s pregnant. I’m just here with her for her appointment.” My knees went weak. I felt a sudden, intense urge to drop to the floor and bow before my best friend’s treachery. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. How could you? I come here to support you, and you throw me right under the bus. She gave my sleeve a tiny tug, her eyes pleading with me to play along. Fine. For the sake of twenty-three years of friendship, from scraped knees on the playground to navigating our first heartbreaks, I’d take the fall. My face flushed a deep, humiliating red. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes, Dr. Evans. It’s me. I’m… I’m pregnant. I asked Chloe to come with me for support.” Chloe let out a shaky breath of relief. I did, too. Okay. The lie was out. Surely her dad wouldn’t suspect anything now, right? Just as I thought we were in the clear, the door opened again. “What’s going on? Is there a party in here?” “Dad,” I croaked, a new wave of panic washing over me. “Dean Shaw,” Leo said, his voice laced with shock as he glanced from the newcomer back to me. Your dad? he mouthed, his eyes wider than before. I didn’t have time to answer him. “Dr. Shaw,” Chloe whimpered, stumbling slightly. I had to grab her arm to keep her from collapsing into me. This wasn’t just a complicated situation anymore. This was a five-car pile-up of awkwardness. A full-blown disaster zone. “Well, Bill,” Dr. Evans said, a huge smile spreading across his face as he turned to my father. “Congratulations. Looks like you’re going to be a grandfather.”

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The eve of my wedding, I got served a video on TikTok. It was one of those viral trends, a guy doing a funny, over-the-top impression of a dramatic movie scene. Without thinking, I tapped on the comments to see what nonsense people were writing. The top comment wasn’t text. It was a photo. A man has a woman pinned against the wall in a dimly lit alleyway. He’s tall, dressed in a sharp suit; she’s in a short, burgundy dress, her body electric. Anyone would say they looked good together. Made for each other, even. Only the crushed diamonds on his watch face caught the light and stabbed me in the eye. They reflected two letters, E and C, with a tacky, heart-shaped ampersand sparkling between them. E for Ethan, C for Chloe. My five-year anniversary gift to him. And the woman he was kissing? A little rabbit charm, adorned with a red rose, dangled from her purse. A gift I knitted with my own hands for my best friend. 1 I made three of those rabbits. The day I finished, I’d just put down my needles, not even having had the chance to arrange them on the shelf, when Maya burst in carrying a clinking tote bag. She made a beeline for the fridge, pulling out mixers with the ease of someone who practically lived here. “Chlo, tonight I’m drinking until I forget my own name.” I smiled, helping her line up the bottles on the counter. “When was the last time you were drunk enough to actually make it back to your own place?” Maya loved to drink. She was a mixologist at one of the city’s best cocktail bars, so she couldn’t indulge at work. My apartment was her sanctuary, the one place she could really let go. I have asthma and have to be careful about everything, so it was always Ethan who would drink with her, while I’d sip on whatever non-alcoholic concoction Maya made for me. When she’d had enough, we’d carry her to the guest room and Ethan would take the couch for the night. She paused, then let out a huge, uninhibited laugh. “You got me. Okay, then—let’s just get wasted!” Maya’s talents weren’t limited to alcohol; her mocktails were just as incredible. While I stood in front of the open fridge, trying to plan dinner, her eyes lit up and she darted over to the couch. “Well, look what we have here!” Maya squealed, grabbing one of the rabbits by its armpits and holding it high above her head. “Simba!” She clutched it to her chest like it was a priceless treasure. “Is this my birthday present?” “It is.” Maya ran over and wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of lime and bitters. “Oh, thank you, my love! I’m going to kiss your whole adorable face on God’s behalf!” We ended up wrestling playfully in the kitchen. The cake Maya had ordered arrived, and without a second thought, she swiped a dollop of frosting onto my nose. “Bet you can’t catch me!” she taunted. “Hey! You and your long legs!” I was annoyed, but she was right. I could never catch her. Not when we were kids, not now. We messed around like that for two hours until we collapsed in a heap, completely exhausted. I face-planted onto the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I woke up to the smell of takeout. Ethan was home from work, unpacking containers on the counter. He’d also brought a small, palm-sized cake. It was from the bakery on the west side. The one I’d been begging him to make a detour for for months, the one he always said was too out of the way. I leaned against the kitchen island, a pouty, half-joking complaint on my lips, and completely missed the rigid set of Maya’s shoulders. Ethan arranged the food on plates, then dimmed the lights and sat down next to me. Maya held up the cake, two crooked candles sputtering on top. “Happy thirtieth to me!” she shouted. “Happy birthday!” Ethan said, a fraction of a second before I could. The smile froze on Maya’s face. The air in the room thickened into a strange, uncomfortable silence. A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me. I stood up and went to my bedroom to get her real gift. When I came back, an open gift box sat on the table next to her. So that’s what had been bulging in Ethan’s pocket. It was a bracelet. The exact same one I was about to give her. I froze, unsure what to do. Maya snatched the bag from my hand, tore open the box, and fastened the second bracelet onto her wrist. She held her arm up to the light, taking a dozen pictures from every angle, her praise a waterfall of superlatives. “It’s gorgeous! I absolutely love it! Chloe, darling, your taste is impeccable! You’re such an artist!” But her performance didn’t dispel the awkwardness. It amplified it, feeding on the way Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “You two are on the same wavelength,” Maya gushed, filling the silence. “Ethan got me the same one. Now we can wear them as friendship bracelets!” “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, my smile feeling like a cheap mask. Eight years together, and Ethan had never given me a gift that felt like he’d put any real thought into it. My mind was a tangled mess. I forced myself to smile and listen to Maya’s drunken, off-key singing, staying with her until she was completely wasted. For some reason, Ethan, who could usually hold his liquor, was drunk even faster than she was. I was so busy taking care of the two of them that I didn’t notice until Maya was stumbling out the door that she’d grabbed the wrong rabbit. The one I’d made for her—the one with the red rose—was sitting primly on the shelf next to the rabbit in the little black suit. The one she’d taken was the painter rabbit, the one with the tiny beret and easel. The one that was supposed to be me. 2 I rushed after her into the hallway. “Maya! You took the wrong one.” How do you describe the look on her face? It was like she’d been struck by lightning. A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across her features: three parts laughter, two parts surprise, four parts panic, and one part guilt. She’d been in the middle of saying she didn’t want to leave, but the words died on her lips. Maya stared at me for a long moment, then let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh of relief. “Well, you made them look like such a perfect couple. For a second there, I thought I was officiating your wedding.” I looked down at the little red dress on the rabbit in my hand. She was right. It did look better with the black suit. A knot of discomfort tightened in my stomach, and my voice was sharper than I intended. “I have to go meet a client. I’ll see you later.” “I’ll give you a ride.” “They’re picking me up.” I heard Maya sigh, a sound of weary resignation, but she didn’t press, didn’t try to explain. It was the first time Maya had ever hidden something from me. Our origin story was a cliché. The invisible girl at school—parents who didn’t care, grades that were just okay—I was the perfect target. The kind of person who fades into the background is the easiest to bully. But I got lucky. The very first time a group of girls cornered me in an alley, Maya was there. She was two years older than me and had gone straight to work after her vocational high school program. Her family was a black hole for money, so she’d moved to the city and gotten a job as a hostess at a bar to escape them. The day she found me, she’d just been kicked out by her manager to “think about what she did” after telling off a customer. “Hey, kid.” Maya had a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Go home. What are you standing around for?” It was fine when she was at a distance. But as she got closer, the smoke hit me. My chest seized up. I collapsed, gasping, pointing desperately at my backpack. My inhaler was in there. But Maya, bless her heart, was an idiot. She didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her. She started giving me CPR with all the finesse of a jackhammer and nearly broke my ribs. One emergency room visit wiped out her entire savings. My parents weren’t around and I had no cash at home. Luckily, Maya wasn’t expecting me to pay her back. She just muttered something about her bad luck and left the hospital. From then on, I was determined to repay her. A few thousand dollars wasn’t insurmountable. I could pay it back over time. I started making a point of walking by that alley every single day, just hoping to see her. At first, it was hit or miss. Then, she started waiting for me. And after a while, she always seemed to have a small cupcake in her hand when I arrived. Just like that, Maya became my protector, and I became her little shadow. No one at school ever bothered me again. Maya was always watching her figure, so she never ate any of the treats. It seemed like all the “protection money” I gave her just ended up in my own stomach in the form of snacks. We went on like that for a year, and then my parents came home. They demanded I cut ties with the “trash” I was hanging out with, or they’d pull me out of school and put me to work. I refused. I took my ID—proof that I was seventeen and could make my own choices—and walked out. I didn’t have an umbrella. I got soaked. Maya called me a brainless idiot for fighting with my parents. I just grinned foolishly and said, “You’re the best person to me in the whole world, Maya.” And I was right. She quit smoking because the smell triggered my asthma, and she’d change her clothes before meeting me. She gave up spicy food because I couldn’t eat it, sneaking out at two in the morning to get her fix at a late-night barbecue stand. Things like that, countless things. She paid the rent, the utilities, our living expenses, and my tuition. I wanted to drop out and get a job to help, but she tore into me, screaming at me for the first and only time. And even then, the harshest things she said were about herself. “Chloe, do you want to end up like me? With people pointing at your back and calling you a slut?” I didn’t. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, her voice softening. “I can take care of you. I’ve got this.” I remember her expression, her words, as clearly as if it were yesterday. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. How did we get here? How did we end up like this? 3 The comments and likes under the photo were piling up. I clicked on the profile of the person who posted it. Her avatar was a girl in a high school uniform. A stranger. A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped me. It wasn’t Maya who posted it. But even so, the cheating was undeniable. Set in stone. There was no way two other people in the world had their exact builds, my custom watch, and a one-of-a-kind charm I’d made myself. Eight years of love, twelve years of friendship, turned to ash in an instant. Was a man really worth all this? Maya, who never bought herself a nice handbag, who hadn’t upgraded her phone in two years, had bought me the latest model the second it came out, no questions asked. And me—the first two years after I started making real money, I didn’t get a mortgage for myself. I bought her a car, paid in full. I treated Maya the same way she treated me. We would have emptied our pockets for each other. If she and Ethan had just told me they had feelings for each other, I would have stepped aside. I could have walked away from the relationship. Why did they have to play me for a fool? Was the thrill of sneaking around that much more exciting? I wiped the tears from my eyes and opened Maya’s profile. Back when I was just a student, just starting out, she was already a semi-famous singer at a local club. Every time she posted a video or an update, she’d make me like and comment, and then she’d reply and pin my comment to the top to drive traffic to my page. After I became a successful illustrator with a steady stream of commercial work, she stopped linking our accounts. “It’ll hurt your brand,” she’d said. “Driving your followers to a lounge singer’s page will make you lose credibility. You won’t get as many big clients.” But now, everything was different. Maya’s most recent post was from a bar event three days ago. The video was shaky, but besides her on stage, the camera kept panning to the right, lingering on a man in a white button-down shirt, only his forearm visible. I didn’t need to look closely to know. It was Ethan’s arm. Three days ago, Ethan told me there was a problem with a shipment at work and he had to work late. How convenient. One minute he’s working late, the next he’s at a bar listening to her sing, not coming home all night. September 11th. Ethan was “working late” again. But in the background of Maya’s video, I could see his reflection in a TV screen. They were in a hotel room. He was still wearing the watch. Our watch. September 1st. The owner of Maya’s bar opened a new location out of state. Maya went to perform for the week-long grand opening. Ethan was on a “business trip” for five of those days. When he came back, there was a Band-Aid on his temple and the scrapes on his knuckles were still healing. He said he’d seen a drunk harassing a girl and had beaten the guy up. And today, Ethan was working late again. The tears turned to laughter, and the laughter dissolved back into tears. The past and present collided in my head, a chaotic, brutal war. I wanted to believe I was losing my mind, that this was all some paranoid delusion, anything but the reality staring me in the face. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. My wedding dress is hanging in the closet. The hair and makeup artists are scheduled to arrive at my apartment in eight hours. My bouquet is sitting on my vanity. I had practiced the bouquet toss eight hundred times, determined to make sure Maya would be the one to catch it. Everything was ruined. They say that after a person breaks, they become colder, more rational. Numb. I opened my laptop to draft an email canceling the wedding. My eyes drifted back to my phone against my will. Should I call them? Confront them? Listen to them scramble for excuses, a flurry of pathetic lies until they finally admit their disgusting behavior, only to turn it around and blame me? The screen lit up. A notification from our joint account. I tapped it open. A charge from a hotel. The room type, priced at $1,888, was the “Eros Suite.” Ethan and I had only been there once, the night he proposed. He really knew how to spend money. The thought of ending things gracefully lasted for a single second before it was incinerated by a blaze of fury. I’m the kind of person who holds a grudge. After what they did to me, I had to get them back. 4 I hit the delete key on the email draft and walked into my studio. If they were so in love, then I would help them celebrate a long and happy life together. About half of the invitation envelopes were left, stacked in a corner. I found a template online, typed in the guests’ names, and soon a thick stack of new invitations was printing out. It was much faster than the ones I had painstakingly illustrated by hand. As I unstuffed the original invitations, a sharp pain lanced through my stomach. I looked at the name on the paper. It was love at first sight with Ethan. He was the student body president, on stage giving a speech in a crisp white shirt and thin, silver-framed glasses. His voice was calm and steady, giving him an air of cool detachment that made you want to be the one to break through it. The line of people trying to win him over stretched from the main building to two miles off campus, from high school freshmen who’d had a crush on him for years to seniors, both men and women. I was just one of the countless, unnoticeable ones. My fundamentals in art were weak, so I was already spending twice as much time as anyone else on coursework and homework. I had no time for “chance encounters.” My only connection to him was through the campus forums online. My girlish crush didn’t escape Maya. The day after she figured it out, she cornered Ethan in an alleyway not far from campus as he was heading back from his tutoring job. She had a lollipop stick poking out of the corner of her mouth, her voice cocky and tough. “My girl wants to get to know you. Give her your number.” Ethan’s gaze fell on me, and he sighed with a kind of weary resignation. My hand trembled as I scanned his QR code. He held his arm out for me, then turned to Maya. “What about you?” Maya gave my shoulder a shove and swaggered away. “Don’t have a phone.” Later… When did they exchange numbers? I sealed the last new invitation and clutched my stomach, curling into a ball against the desk. Every single moment Ethan and Maya had been in the same room replayed in my mind. The way he would turn his head to watch her laugh, the way he’d join in on her antics, go shot for shot with her, drive her home. And I, like a fool, thought it was just him being kind to my best friend because he loved me. Once the pain subsided, I grabbed my wedding dress and took a cab to the hotel. This wedding was the culmination of all my dreams, a fantasy I had spent a year and a half designing and supervising, building from the ground up. Ethan hated all that stuff, so I never asked him to be involved, only getting his opinion on the invitations and the party favors. Now, I was about to destroy that dream with my own hands and face the brutal truth. I had all the photos of us taken down, leaving only our two names, stark and bare, at the entrance to the ballroom. I whispered his name, Ethan, and the suffocating pressure in my chest began to ease. More than Ethan, I hated Maya. She was the one who encouraged me to pursue art, the one who was with me through college. She was the best person to me in the world. I had long considered her my family. And a knife from family always cuts the deepest. I sat on the top floor of the hotel all night. As the sky began to lighten, spots of light danced on the floor. I pulled open the curtains and realized it was dawn. In the ballroom next to mine, the parents of another couple were bustling around, checking the arrangements with joyful faces, ready to celebrate the most important day of their children’s lives. I looked down at my own shadow. I was used to being abandoned, to being given up on. Being alone didn’t feel so lonely anymore. At nine o’clock, the wedding cars pulled up to the hotel entrance. The other bride, the one getting married on the same day as me, walked through the doors surrounded by her loved ones, stepping toward her happy future. I looked in the direction the cars had come from and saw Ethan in a corner. He was standing in the shadows, smoking one cigarette after another, until a hand reached out and took the last one from his lips. Maya ground the cigarette out with her high heel and, without a moment’s hesitation, slapped him across the face. “Ethan, don’t make me lose respect for you.”

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In the sixth year of our marriage, my husband—a man who had always been the epitome of quiet predictability—started acting strange. He began spending an hour getting ready each morning, two hours at the gym, and three hours of his workday to personally deliver my lunch, his eyes scanning every young man who walked past my office with a wary intensity. I didn’t understand what was happening to him. Not until I found his journal. “She left the house without her wedding ring today. Was it an oversight or a threat? I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t have the courage to ask. I think I’m going crazy…” “She liked that intern’s post again. Is she trying to kill me? It’s his fault, that goddamn kid has no sense of decency…” “The man in the mirror is getting older. He’s decaying, turning ugly. No. I have to make this vessel more perfect. Then she won’t leave me.” “I feel so helpless, so hopeless. I’m five years older than her. I’m not young anymore. My looks will fade, and when they do, her love will too. This is how it ends for me…” 1 Ethan and I had been married for six years, and we’d never had a single fight. To everyone else, he was the perfect husband. Handsome, successful, gentle, and unfailingly respectful. A walking template for a flawless partner. But only I knew the suffocating pressure hidden beneath that perfection. During my lunch break, my coworker, Sarah, leaned against the counter in the breakroom, complaining with dramatic flair about getting home late last night. She painted a vivid picture of her husband’s silent treatment, the elaborate apology she’d had to perform, and how, in the end, her “short skirt privileges” had been revoked for the week. She finished her story and turned to me, a glint of challenge in her eyes. “Ava, Mr. Sterling is so buttoned-up at the office. I bet he’s the super possessive, jealous type behind closed doors, right?” I offered a small, noncommittal smile, looking down at my tea. A bitter taste filled my mouth. It was the exact opposite. For six years, Ethan had been as stoic and placid as a programmed machine. He never got jealous. He never asked who I was with or what time I’d be home. He’d never once so much as glanced at my phone. Sarah always said that love and possessiveness were two sides of the same coin. If there was no possessiveness, there was no love. So maybe… Ethan had never loved me at all. Was I the only one who had fallen in this marriage? My fingers tightened unconsciously around the warm glass in my hand. It was the ginger tea Ethan had made for me before he left this morning. He’d placed it silently in my tote bag before disappearing into our walk-in closet. Lately, he’d been paying an almost obsessive amount of attention to his appearance, even starting to wear cologne—something he used to hate. Thinking about it sent a prickle of unease through me. An unwelcome thought began to form. On a dark impulse, I opened the security camera app for our apartment on my phone. On the screen, Ethan was working out, positioned perfectly in front of the living room camera. He was shirtless, his throat moving as he swallowed. The clean lines of his muscles were carved by the afternoon sun, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his abdomen, rippling with every movement. His low-slung athletic shorts hung precariously on his hip bones, slipping slightly with each motion before he’d casually hook a thumb and pull them back up. Every gesture felt like a dangerous invitation, charged with a raw, magnetic pull. My throat went dry. My thumb hovered over the zoom button for a long moment before I finally pressed it. The next second, the screen flickered and my boss’s face popped up in a sudden video call. The spell was shattered. I slammed my laptop shut, my fingers digging into the edge of the desk, nearly crushing the mouse in my hand. 2 My boss was calling to announce a last-minute team dinner. My mind immediately went to Ethan. I instinctively reached for the wedding ring on my left hand, but my finger met only bare skin. My heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered messing around with him the other night. I’d been afraid of scratching him, so I’d taken the ring off and left it on the nightstand. I’d forgotten to put it back on for two days straight. As soon as the call ended, my colleagues started making their calls home, clearing their schedules for the night. After a moment of hesitation, I stepped into the hallway and dialed Ethan’s number. He answered on the first ring, as he always did. His voice was a low, sexy hum that seemed to vibrate through the phone. “Ava.” A strange heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Ethan, I have a team dinner tonight. I might be home late.” Silence. The other end of the line went completely dead. Ethan said nothing. It felt like he’d stopped breathing. I sensed something was wrong. “Ethan?” I asked softly. “I’m here.” He sounded like his throat was full of gravel, the single word frayed with a tremor I almost missed. “Do you… have to go?” I was about to say yes, but he cut me off, his voice trembling. “Will you… still come home? Ava, are you coming home tonight?” I frowned, confused by the bizarre question. “Of course I’m coming home.” “You—you are?!” His volume shot up before he clamped down on it, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing in my ear. “No, I—I just mean, I’ll wait up for you. Come home whenever you want. As long as you come home. I’ll always be here, waiting for you…” Something was definitely off. “Just leave a light on for me,” I said, trying to sound normal. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He answered so quickly it was as if he was afraid I’d change my mind. “Okay.” 3 Our boss was a notorious penny-pincher. The team dinner was at a crowded, greasy dive bar on the edge of town. By the time we were finally done, my exposed neck, my calves, and my wrists were covered in red, itching mosquito bites. Gritting my teeth against the discomfort, I played designated driver, dropping off a few of my drunker coworkers one by one. It was past ten by the time I finally pushed open the door to our apartment. A light rain was falling outside. The motion-sensor light in the entryway flickered on, illuminating an empty living room. Ethan wasn’t home. I pulled out my phone to check the time, about to call him, when the door swung open behind me. And there he was, drenched from head to toe. Rainwater dripped from the messy ends of his hair, pooling on the hardwood floor. His usually crisp white shirt was plastered to his body, outlining the lean muscle of his torso. His suit jacket and tie were gone. The poised, elegant man I knew had vanished, replaced by someone who looked like a lost, broken dog left out in the storm. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he spoke, his tone so calm it was almost eerie. “You’re home.” I nodded, rushing to pull him inside. “Where were you? You’re soaked. Get in here…” Ethan moved stiffly, his eyes tracing every inch of my face—my eyebrows, my nose, my lips. Finally, his gaze landed on my neck. He froze. I caught a familiar smell on him, a mix of rain and fried food. It smelled exactly like the dive bar we’d just left. “Ethan, were you there to pick me up? I’m so sorry, you must have missed me because I was busy—” “I don’t want to know!” he snapped, his voice sharp and ragged. He looked away, flustered. “I mean, I wasn’t there to pick you up. I was just… out for a walk.” I licked my lips, the awkwardness thick between us. “Right. Well, okay. Ethan, tonight I—” His eyelashes fluttered wildly. “Stop. I—I’m tired. I need a shower. I’m going to take a shower…” Without another word, he bolted for the bathroom, his retreat so hasty it felt like a panicked escape. 4 I stood in the living room, stunned, for a long moment. I could hear it clearly. Over the sound of the running water, there was another sound coming from the bathroom. The quiet, desperate sound of someone trying to swallow their sobs. A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. I walked over and knocked gently on the door. “Ethan, what’s wrong? Are you crying? Are you not feeling well?” A beat of dead silence, then his voice, unnaturally steady. “You heard wrong. I’m fine.” Hearing him say he was fine, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and went back to the couch to watch some TV. When Ethan finally came out, he stood silently in front of the full-length mirror, a short distance from me, meticulously choosing a tie and knotting it. I glanced up from my show. “You’re off tomorrow, right? Why are you bothering with a tie? It’s such a hassle…” At my words, his hands froze mid-knot, his knuckles turning a stark white. I rubbed my eyes. “That tie looks a little dated, anyway. I’ll pick out some new ones for you this weekend.” Ethan didn’t say anything. He slowly lowered his hands, and the tie slipped from his fingers, falling silently to the floor. “Is it… just the tie that’s dated?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I leaned closer, catching the fresh, clean scent from his shower. “What did you say, Ethan?” He suddenly spun around, the movement of his bathrobe stirring the air. I flinched, startled. I could see it all now: the raw red of his eyes, the way he was biting his lower lip so hard it had to hurt, and the outfit he was wearing underneath the robe. It was the set of risqué lace pajamas I’d bought for him as a joke right after we got married. He had refused, mortified, to ever wear them. But now… Just as I’d imagined, it was shockingly effective on a man who was usually so reserved. My breath hitched. I forced myself to look away, my voice strained. “Haha, well… you’ve still got it, huh…” The words hit him like a physical blow. He flinched violently. “Got… it?” My face was burning. I nodded, reaching out to take his hand. “Well, it’s getting late. We should…” Ethan stared at me for a few seconds, then snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. He bit his lip, his voice choked with emotion. “I—I have some work to do in the study. You should get some sleep.” 5 It was happening again. That same look. The panic and avoidance in his eyes were so thick you could taste them. It was as if I wasn’t his wife of six years, but some kind of contagious disease he couldn’t bear to touch. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting back the surge of anger. I didn’t have the energy to chase after him and demand to know what this whole wounded-little-bird act was about. I had my quarterly presentation tomorrow. My promotion depended on it. I couldn’t afford to get into a fight with him tonight. I fell into a restless sleep alone, only to be woken sometime in the middle of the night by a sudden cold sensation on my neck. I pried my eyes open. Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed. The moonlight spilling through the window carved a silver edge along his clenched jaw. His lashes were downcast as he stiffly applied something to my neck. I caught his wrist. “Ethan, what are you putting on me?” He pressed his lips together, his voice a low rasp. “An anti-inflammatory cream.” He paused, then added, “You have your presentation in front of the whole company tomorrow. This… people might talk.” He had a point. My skin has always been sensitive. Mosquito bites left angry red marks that took forever to fade. Showing up to a major presentation looking like that wouldn’t be a good look. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes again, mumbling, “You’re right. Thanks, honey. You should get some sleep, too…” Ethan didn’t answer. His breathing grew shaky. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. I was too lost in the fog of sleep to make out his next words. “I won’t blame you for changing your mind about me. I won’t question you or accuse you. That wouldn’t be the kind of supportive husband I’m legally obligated to be.” “And I know it’s not your fault. It’s that shameless bastard at your office who’s seducing you. I’ll take care of him.” “Our marriage will get back on track. Divorce is something that only exists in other people’s fantasies. It will never, ever happen to us.” In the final moments before I slipped back into sleep, I thought I heard a pained, muffled sob. The kind of sound a heartbroken husband, abandoned by his wife, might make. Then, a single warm drop landed on the corner of my mouth. 6 The next morning, Ethan was in the kitchen early. He was wearing nothing but a pink apron, boldly displaying the results of his recent, rigorous workout routine. The apron strings dug deep into the small of his back, and the muscles of his back and abdomen flexed with his every move. I had no idea when my once-stoic, uninteresting husband had become so… forward. A breakfast view like this was enough to make me forget all about the frustration he’d put me through last night. I ducked my head, trying to hide the smile threatening to take over my face. “You know, Ethan, cooking like that is a good way to get a couple of nasty burns. That’ll teach you.” Ethan went still. The atmosphere felt… strange. I peeked up at him and saw the dark circles under his eyes. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?” He paused, then said without missing a beat, “No. I slept great.” I walked over and sat down across from him. “Oh, by the way, that new intern at the office invited me out for dinner tonight. I might be late. I might not even come home, actually. There are a few things I need to take care of…” The hand Ethan was using to ladle porridge trembled, and the ceramic spoon clattered against the side of the bowl. After a long silence, he forced a tight, brittle smile. He squeezed the words out from between his teeth. “Okay. You… you should take care of yourself. Don’t… don’t stay out too late.” He agreed so readily. He didn’t ask a single question. It was like he didn’t care who I was going with or what I was doing. My suspicions from yesterday, his bizarre, timid behavior—it all came rushing back. A familiar ache tightened in my chest. I grabbed a couple of slices of toast and headed for the door. Just as I reached it, I remembered something and turned back. Ethan’s back went ramrod straight. His eyes lit up, and he looked at me, his face full of hopeful expectation. I didn’t even look at him. I slipped the ring off my finger and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. “I won’t be wearing this today. It’s… inconvenient.” The small clink of metal against wood made Ethan’s pupils constrict. He pressed his lips into a thin, white line, his gaze fixed on the ring. His knuckles were white, and a vein pulsed in his neck. I swept the files from the table into my briefcase and turned to leave. Just before the door clicked shut, some impulse made me glance back. Ethan was standing in the same spot, frozen, watching me go. His eyes were so dark they looked like black holes, as if he were trying to contain a violent storm. Even after I was halfway down the hall, I could still feel his gaze locked on my back. 7 I ran through the rain to the parking garage, my heart pounding with a frustration I couldn’t name. I slid into the driver’s seat and my phone buzzed with a string of messages from Sarah. The seven-year itch… A marriage of convenience… The words stung my eyes. Furious, I started firing off texts to Ethan. 【Ethan, if this isn’t working, we should just get a divorce.】 【Honestly, do you even love me? If you do, then say it. If you don’t, then there’s no point in dragging this out.】 【Let’s just cut our losses. Stop wasting my time. You’re getting in the way of me finding someone young and fun.】 After sending the messages, I frantically deleted the conversation thread and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I had no way of knowing that, because of the poor signal in the garage, only the first and third messages had gone through. The minutes ticked by. I waited in the car for a full twenty minutes. No reply from Ethan. My heart sank. The last bit of hope fizzled out. With a dull ache in my chest, I called my assistant and told her to draft a divorce agreement and have it couriered to our apartment. 8 The moment I got to the office, all thoughts of Ethan vanished. I threw myself into my work. After a successful and productive morning, I was in a great mood. I bought bubble tea for the whole team to celebrate. Leo, the new intern, was the first one to rush over, taking the drink from my hand. As he did, he lightly brushed his fingers against my palm. “Congratulations, Ava. This one tastes extra sweet today…” I pulled my hand back, uncomfortable. I frowned, about to say something, but my eyes were drawn to a figure outside the glass wall of our office. It was Ethan. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he stood silently in the shadows of the hallway, holding a thermal lunch box. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Seeing him was a shock. “E-Ethan? What are you doing here?” His gaze shifted from Leo to me. He slowly pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile that sent a chill down my spine. “I came to bring my wife her lunch.” He enunciated the word “wife” with a loud, deliberate precision. The sound echoed through the quiet office, causing a stir among my colleagues. My breath caught in my throat. That word, from him, was usually reserved for the soft, hazy light of our bedroom. In those moments, he would press his face into the curve of my neck, his eyes flushed with passion, his damp hair brushing against my chin. His breaths would come in ragged gasps, and only then would that single, husky word escape his lips. But today, he was shouting it in public, a place he’d always avoided any show of affection. A jolt, like a tiny electric current, shot through me. My heart hammered against my ribs. This Ethan was different. Leo raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, Mr. Sterling. Ava mentions you to me all the time.” Ethan’s smile didn’t falter. “Is that so? Funny. Ava has never once mentioned you to me.” The smirk vanished from Leo’s face. He looked like a kid who’d just been put in his place, powerless in the face of Ethan’s quiet authority. Ethan ignored his reaction, looking down at the young man with a detached amusement, as if observing something utterly insignificant. “But thank you for taking care of my wife. Cigarette?” As he spoke, Ethan reached into his jacket pocket. I was wondering when he’d started smoking. But what he pulled out wasn’t a pack of cigarettes. It was a small, official-looking red booklet. Our marriage certificate. After six years, he had kept it in pristine condition, like it was brand new. Only the corners were slightly faded, as if from being held and rubbed in someone’s hands for a very long time. Ethan angled his hand slightly, and the certificate spun in a perfect arc, the gold-embossed seal catching the light as it faced Leo. His tone was one of manufactured annoyance. “My apologies. Wrong pocket. Accidentally pulled out our legal documentation…” “…” Leo’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something, but one look at the cold darkness in Ethan’s eyes and he deflated. He stiffly turned away, his breathing shallow. It was clear that whatever anger he felt would have to be swallowed. My face had been burning since the moment Ethan produced the certificate. I quickly stepped in front of him, snatched it out of his hand, and shoved it deep into a hidden pocket of my bag. “Ethan, what are you doing with this? Let’s not stand here and make a scene. Come to my office.” The moment I spoke, the look of cool composure on his face shattered. His hand remained suspended in the air. He looked down at me, his eyes a swirling mix of despair, resentment, and defeat. Looking at his face, drained of all color, a single phrase popped into my head, unbidden: a man undone. 9 I took his arm and pulled him toward my office. Every person we passed on the way made me want to bury my head in my collar. Ethan followed silently behind me, his gaze dimming with every step I took to hide us away. The second I pushed open my office door and we were inside, Ethan let out a ragged breath. The tight leash he’d been holding on his control finally snapped. He grabbed my wrist. I cried out as he yanked me into his arms, pushing me hard against the floor-to-ceiling window. My face was pressed against the cold glass. My back was flush against Ethan’s scorching, solid chest. The collision of hot and cold was dizzying. I bit my lip, my body suspended in a state of shock and anticipation. “Ethan, you—!” We were sixty-seven floors up. Outside, a storm was brewing. A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, so close it felt like it had exploded right in front of my eyes. The next second, I felt a faint sensation at the small of my back. Ethan was using his teeth to pull down the zipper of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth separating echoed in the silent office. His cold hand slipped under the fabric, his palm greedily cupping the sensitive skin of my lower back. A shiver racked my body. My toes curled and uncurled reflexively. The heel of my shoe ground against his leather loafer. Ethan moved from a crouch to his knees. He was kneeling behind me, pressing desperate, frantic kisses to the curve of my spine. His voice was a raw, obsessive whisper. “You’re five years younger than me. It’s normal for someone so young to be dazzled by the world.” “I told you, I can tolerate whatever you do out there. Whatever mistakes you make, I will forgive you…” “Because I know it’s not you. It’s those shameless bastards seducing you. You’re just confused. You’ll come back to our family in the end.” “And even if you’re thinking about divorce, I know it’s because they put the idea in your head. Those little pricks. I’ll deal with them. I’ll fix everything…” Another bolt of lightning illuminated the terrifying, possessive hunger in his scarlet-rimmed eyes. He murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But you should never have actually brought up divorce. To say it so casually… Even with all my tolerance, Ava, you need to be punished.” 10 I had never seen Ethan like this. So out of control. I didn’t understand what he was talking about, and a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. “What are you saying? Seducing me? What are you talking about?” “No! Stop it! Ethan! This is my office! Let go of me!” “You bastard! If you don’t stop, I mean it, I’m going to divorce you! I want a divorce—” Ethan froze for a second. But my threat seemed to fuel his frenzy. He threw me onto the sofa. I tried to sit up, to fight back, but his mouth was on mine. He pinned my chin with one hand and tore off his shirt with the other. The kiss was deep and punishing, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, almost reaching my throat. I had never been treated so roughly by him. My body trembled as I arched my back, my nails digging fiercely into the flawless skin of his back. He didn’t even flinch at the sharp pain. It was in that moment that I realized something terrifying. If he wasn’t willingly, consciously choosing to be gentle and tolerant with me, I was nothing more than a baby chick in his hands. One squeeze, and he could snap my neck. I bit down hard on his shoulder, tears of pain and shock springing to my eyes as I writhed beneath him. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the temperature skyrocketed. My sanity was crumbling, and the situation was spiraling toward something I couldn’t control. … Knock, knock, knock. A sharp rap on the door, followed by my secretary’s apologetic voice. “I’m sorry, Director, but… it’s time for the meeting.” The sound seemed to jolt Ethan back to reality. He pulled back, panting, the dark tide in his eyes slowly receding, replaced by a wave of regret and self-loathing. I felt like I was falling from a great height. I lay there, gasping for air, my eyes unfocused, my lips numb, my clothes a complete mess. Ethan stared at me for a long time. Then he got up and knelt by the sofa. With trembling hands, he zipped up my dress and tried to smooth my hair, his eyes filling with a guilty sheen. “Ava, I’m sorry. I—I…” He turned his head away sharply, letting out a pained whimper. He stood up abruptly and started for the door. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t let him run away again. I scrambled to my feet to stop him, but I stumbled, knocking into the edge of my desk. The stack of files I’d brought from home this morning, the ones I hadn’t had time to organize, went flying, scattering across the floor in a cascade of white. And there, amidst the chaos— A small, black object slid out from between the pages and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.

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When the plane hit severe turbulence, I was on board with my husband, Matt. In the tense, rattling cabin, everyone was frantically writing their last words. I gripped Matt’s hand tightly, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him send his final message not to me, but to my best friend, Maya. Matt’s lips were a thin, tight line. After a moment, he finally explained, “Don’t misunderstand. She’s the person we both trust the most, isn’t she?” Thankfully, it was a false alarm. As I stumbled off the plane on shaky legs, the first thing I did was call Maya. “Let’s get it notarized,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I’ll be your witness.” 1 “Chloe, what are you talking about?” Maya’s voice was a frantic squawk on the other end. “I just saw the news about the plane! Are you okay?” “I’m on my way to the airport right now, wait for me!” She hung up abruptly. Matt walked beside me, a look of weary frustration on his face. “Your parents and mine are getting older. I didn’t want to scare them. That’s why I sent it to Maya.” “Come on, you… okay, okay, I was wrong. Can you forgive me?” Matt pulled me close, kissing my cheek. “Don’t be mad. When Maya gets here, she’s going to chew me out. You don’t want to see your darling husband get yelled at, do you?” A knot of ice was forming in my stomach. I pulled away and walked ahead. Matt chased after me, murmuring apologies. When we reached the arrivals hall, I saw Maya jump out of her car. The panic in her eyes looked genuine. But I saw it clearly. The first person she looked for was Matt. Only then did she rush over to me, pulling me into a fierce hug before turning to punch Matt playfully on the shoulder. “You idiot! What was that last will and testament crap? You scared me to death!” Matt just smiled. “Hey, we’re fine. Besides, if something did happen, I knew we could count on you to handle everything for us.” “And for that,” he added with a teasing glance at me, “Chloe is giving me the silent treatment.” He said it like a joke. Maya rolled her eyes at him and pulled me toward her car. I watched them, how they bantered, how they moved around each other with an effortless familiarity that screamed of something more. There was no boundary, no sense of propriety. Back at our apartment, I told them I was exhausted and went straight to the bedroom. Lying in bed, sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d known Matt for eight years. We were returning from our honeymoon. I thought I knew him inside and out. But on that plane, staring death in the face, my only thought was of being with him forever. Matt, meanwhile, was tapping out a message to Maya with trembling hands. He called it a will. But in that moment of pure terror, my senses had been dialed to eleven. I had seen the words he sent to her. Everything I have goes to you. And one last line: The vows we made remain, but the letter can never be sent. My nails dug into my palms. Just then, I heard his voice from the living room. “Chloe, I’m walking Maya downstairs. I’ll be right back.” I got up silently and went to the living room. His phone was on the coffee table. In a flash of pure impulse, I picked it up, my fingers flying as I entered his passcode. I checked all the usual apps, but found nothing. Was I just being paranoid? Then, my hands shaking, I went into his settings and tapped ‘Switch Account.’ And there it was. A second profile, one he used so often it didn’t even require a password. In that account, I found their chats. They went back eight years. To when Matt and I had just met. It turned out Maya had known him even before I did. “You’re a lucky guy, getting to know the ice queen of our department. Chloe doesn’t let just anyone in.” “Ask Chloe to the badminton court today. She loves playing. Don’t say I never help you. Make sure you play well!” “So, how’d it go? I’m a good wing-woman, right? Chloe’s my best friend. If you ever dare betray her, I’ll be the first one to come after you.” And then, the conversation shifted. From helping him woo me, to their shared interests, to their dates, and then… to sex. It started with hesitation, then guilt, and then blossomed into a thrilling, passionate affair. In twenty minutes, I scrolled through eight years of deceit. I took pictures of everything I needed, logged out, and locked the phone. Then I walked to the window. Down below, in the parking lot, I saw them. They were wrapped in an embrace, their hands lingering, stroking, like two lovers unable to say goodbye. I took a deep breath. A part of me, a core belief in my life, had just crumbled into dust. 2 I didn’t sleep a wink. When Matt came back to bed, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. The feel of his breath on my neck sent a wave of nausea through me. I pushed him away and went to the guest room. The next morning, I left before he was awake. I couldn’t stand being under the same roof with him. I was afraid I would be physically sick. When Matt called, I was at my lawyer’s office, staring at a draft of our divorce papers. I answered. “Where did you go so early?” “My vacation leave is over. I came to the office to catch up on work.” I was impressed with myself. How could I lie so calmly at a time like this? Matt seemed to buy it. “Okay. I’ve got a busy day too, so I won’t be home for lunch. I sent you a gift, make sure you sign for it.” After hanging up, the lawyer across from me pushed a glass of hot water in my direction. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentle. My face must have been a mess. I gave him a weak smile and thanked him. Then I pointed to a clause in the agreement. “Change this. I get ninety percent of everything. He’s the one at fault.” “He’s had a long-term affair. He won’t fight you on material assets. Just do as I say.” Matt, I would make him pay for this. For the rest of his life. The gift he sent was a two-thousand-dollar handbag. Almost immediately, Maya called. “Someone’s lucky,” she chirped, her voice dripping with fake envy. “Sends me a dramatic last will yesterday, and today he’s already dropping two grand on a bag for you. I’m telling you, you’re being too hard on him. Just forgive him already!” Listening to her defend him, even hinting that I was being petty, was so absurd I almost laughed. As if I were the one in the wrong. My silence on the other end must have tipped her off. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I don’t feel like talking. Probably just jet lag. I’m tired.” “Okay, well, get some rest. We’ll catch up later!” After hanging up, I went on the offensive. I scoured all of Maya’s social media accounts. We’d been friends for years, but our “best friend” status had only solidified in the last five—thanks to Matt, who brought us closer. I found nothing suspicious on her main pages. Then I started looking through her ‘following’ lists. One profile stood out—a cartoon avatar of a chubby girl in traditional dress, just her type. I clicked on it. It was her secret account. A digital shrine to her and Matt. Though the man in the photos and videos never showed his full face, I’d known Matt for eight years. I recognized the back of his head, the curve of his jaw in a fleeting side profile. It was him. They had a secret life, a secret home, all behind my back. I watched every single video. The account’s bio read: The Fox and the Rabbit: Eight years and three months of love. July 13, 2017: Saw the Rabbit for the first time. Love at first sight! Got his number. Found out we go to the same university and shamelessly joined the same club as him. October 1, 2017: My roommate has become friends with my crush. She’s so fake, always using that baby voice around him. Do all men fall for that crap? She got to him first. It hurts so much. December 25, 2017: There’s hope! He told me he’s conflicted. He said he feels like he has more in common with me! … 3 Thousands of posts over eight years. I read every single one, my heart shredding with each word. Three months after Matt and I made our relationship official, he started his affair with her. For a long moment, I was numb. Then, a volcanic rage erupted inside me. Matt, how could you do this to our eight years? In that instant, I wanted to burn his world to the ground. As it happened, my mother-in-law’s birthday was in two days. In all the years I’d known Matt, she had been genuinely kind to me. It pained me to have to disappoint her, but this had to be done. I took the jade bracelet she had given me as a wedding gift and placed it in a box. Then I went out and bought a two-thousand-dollar wallet, put it in the same gift bag, and had it beautifully wrapped. On the morning of her birthday, I reminded Matt, “It’s your mom’s birthday today. Be home early.” He promised he would, then left for work. I took the day off. I packed my suitcases. Then I picked up the sledgehammer I’d bought and started swinging. Three hours later, our beautiful home was a wasteland of shattered plaster and broken furniture. I dragged my suitcases out, took the gift, and drove straight to my in-laws’ house. When I arrived, Maya was already there. She saw me and wrapped her arm around mine as if nothing was wrong. “Chloe! You’re finally here! We’ve been waiting for you.” She led me to a seat and brought me a glass of water, acting for all the world like she was the lady of the house. My mother-in-law sat there, beaming at her, seeing nothing amiss. My heart sank even further. They all knew. I was the only one who didn’t. “Where’s Matt?” I asked. It was already six. He should have been here. I was about to text him when Maya spoke up. “Matt said he has a last-minute meeting. He’ll be about half an hour late.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “He’s certainly honest with you. He never mentioned it to me.” Maya blinked, then forced a laugh. “Oh, I didn’t know! I just overheard his mom on the phone with him.” “I just got here myself,” she added quickly. “Matt said the more, the merrier!” My mother-in-law jumped in. “Yes, Matt’s just so busy. He took a whole month off for the honeymoon, so he has a lot of catching up to do. You have to be understanding, Chloe.” Before I could reply, Maya squeezed my shoulder, smiling sweetly at my mother-in-law. “Our Chloe is the most understanding person I know. Of course she gets it, right?” I said nothing. Half an hour later, just as predicted, Matt arrived. He came straight to my side and started peeling an orange for me. We all sat down for dinner. The maid brought out the dishes. I presented my gift. “Happy birthday, Mom. This is for you.” My mother-in-law took the box and opened it. Inside was the wallet. Maya gasped beside me. “Ooh, the monogram print! Chloe, you have great taste! That must have cost a fortune.” “Two thousand dollars,” I said flatly. My mother-in-law immediately pushed the box aside. “It’s too much! No, no, Chloe. You and Matt work hard for your money. Don’t be so extravagant.” “It’s fine, Mom,” I replied, my voice light. “If I don’t spend his money, he’ll just spend it on another woman. I’d rather you have it.” She froze. “Don’t say such silly things, dear.” I just smiled. “There’s more underneath.” When my mother-in-law found the smaller box at the bottom and opened it, her face turned pale. “Chloe, what is the meaning of this?” Matt snatched my wrist. “Chloe, what are you doing? You don’t take back a gift you’ve given!” Maya patted my arm. “Chloe, don’t be foolish. This is a very bad omen.” I looked at their faces—the shock, the fear, the panic. Matt took the bracelet and tried to force it back onto my wrist. I pulled my hand away and stood up. “You’re right. I am returning it. And I want a divorce.”

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