Author: Momo Chan

After I got sick, my brother, Ethan, moved me into a high-end condo downtown, the closest one to his office. It was supposed to be easier for him to look after me, and quieter for my recovery. It turned out to be anything but quiet. The tenant upstairs, a woman I’d never met, had a religious devotion to her morning smoothie. Every day, at 5:00 AM on the dot, she would fire up a commercial-grade blender that sounded like a jet engine taking off over my head. My live-in caregiver, Maria, worried about my sleep. She went upstairs with a fruit basket from Dean & DeLuca—a classic peace offering—hoping for a truce. The neighbor accepted the basket with a saccharine smile and then, the next morning, started her blending routine half an hour earlier. Maria, incensed, went back up to confront her. The neighbor, whose name we learned was Chloe, just shrugged. “My fiancé only drinks the smoothies I make for him. He has to catch a flight to the coast this week, and if I’m late, he won’t get his special breakfast.” Maria’s patience snapped. “Your love life doesn’t give you the right to ruin everyone else’s.” Chloe laughed out loud, a sharp, ugly sound. “Ma’am, my fiancé is Ethan Sterling. As in, the Ethan Sterling, the youngest partner at Sterling Capital.” She leaned against her doorframe, looking Maria up and down. “I’m a pretty low-key person, and I’m just living here to, you know, have an authentic experience. But don’t get it twisted. We’re not in the same world, you and I.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re neighbors, so let’s not make this ugly. Because with one text, he could have you both thrown out of here.” Defeated, Maria came back down and sealed every window in the apartment. And at 3:00 AM, I pressed the doorbell to the apartment upstairs. “I hear your fiancé is Ethan Sterling,” I said when she opened the door. “Does he know that?” 1. “Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night. Who the hell rings someone’s doorbell at three in the morning?” Chloe Shen stood in the doorway, her robe pulled tight. She raked her eyes over me, the disdain immediate and unconcealed. I leaned against the doorframe, my voice deliberately slow. “You use your blender at 4:30. I ring your doorbell at 3:00. Seems fair to me.” Her expression flickered from confusion to dawning realization. “Oh, you’re her boss. The one who lives down there. What, didn’t your maid tell you who I am?” “I’m just here to inform you that if the noise continues, I’m calling the police.” “The police?” She looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Go ahead. Call them. What are they going to do? Didn’t your help tell you who my fiancé is? Is it illegal for me to make him a smoothie?” I stared at her, my face a blank mask, and repeated my earlier question. “Your fiancé is Ethan Sterling? Does he know that?” “Who the hell are you to even say his name?” she sneered, drawing herself up. “My life with Ethan is none of your business. Who do you think you are?” “I’m his sister,” I said, my tone flat. For a second, she froze. Then she burst out laughing again. “Wow, you really did your homework. You even know my Ethan has a sister.” Her eyes were dripping with mockery. “If I remember correctly, your last name is Holt, right? You’re Ethan’s sister? Does he know that?” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Miss Holt, I guess your landlord didn’t tell you, but this entire floor is one of my fiancé’s assets. If he knew you were up here spreading rumors, you’d be out on the street by morning.” She shot me one last withering look and slammed the door in my face. The heavy wood cut off her sight, but it couldn’t stop the buzzing in my head. A frantic, rising hum. My bipolar disorder feeds on stimulation. On conflict. She had just served it a five-course meal. Maria must have heard the commotion. She came out of her room and saw my face, drained of all color. Her own face paled in alarm. “Miss Holt, are you alright? Do you need your medication?” I shook my head, my hand finding the wall to steady myself as I walked back to my room. In the darkness, I curled up on my bed. I felt like a tiny boat, caught in a hurricane, the waves crashing over the deck, the wood groaning, ready to splinter and give way. 4:30 AM. WHIRRRRRRR— The blender upstairs roared to life, right on schedule. The sound felt like it could pierce bone, drilling straight into my brain. I lay there with my eyes wide open, having not slept a second. Maria moved through the apartment like a ghost, sighing as she double-checked that all the windows were shut, but the noise seeped through the cracks, unstoppable. “This Chloe woman is just awful!” Maria fumed. “I’m going to file a complaint with building management!” She opened the front door, and a putrid stench immediately flooded the hallway. 2. Piled right in front of our door was a large, leaking garbage bag. A sticky, brown liquid was pooling on the polished floor. We both knew exactly who it was from. Maria, shaking with anger, started to march upstairs again, but I stopped her. “Let’s call management,” I said. My voice felt distant. When the building manager arrived to clean it up, he pulled the security footage from the hallway. The video was crystal clear: Chloe Shen, carrying a trash bag, walking directly to our door and placing it squarely in front. The manager went to speak with her. She was utterly unapologetic. “That woman harassed me in the middle of the night,” she claimed, her voice ringing with indignation. “It gave me terrible anxiety. My hand must have slipped when I went to take out the trash. Is that a crime?” She then turned on the manager. “Frankly, I think you need to get Miss Holt under control. She’s an unemployed shut-in with mental problems who likes to bang on people’s doors in the middle of the night. Who knows what other crazy things she’s capable of?” Watching her frantic, theatrical performance, I felt a strange, detached sense of amusement. “Miss Shen,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “I was simply trying to inform you that your blender was disturbing my rest.” The manager turned to Chloe, his expression pained. “Miss Shen, we have actually received other complaints about the noise. Perhaps you could consider making your smoothie a bit later in the morning?” “Later?” Chloe shrieked, looking as if he’d suggested she commit murder. “Do you have any idea who my fiancé is? If I’m late making his breakfast, can you take responsibility for that?” She looked back at me. “If it’s so loud, why don’t you just buy noise-canceling headphones like I did? Then again,” she added, eyeing my simple clothes, “mine were five hundred dollars. You probably can’t afford them.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan Sterling’s fiancée? I should ask him when he gave you permission to run wild in his building.” I pulled out my phone and pretended to dial a number. “Oh, here we go again,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Still trying to pretend you know him? Are you going to tell me you’re his sister again?” She smirked. “Let’s see if your call even connects.” I put the phone on speaker. A crisp, automated voice filled the silence. “The person you are calling has their phone switched off.” Chloe howled with laughter. “If you’re going to put on a show, at least make it believable. What’s your excuse this time? He’s on a plane?” My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten. Ethan had told me last night he had an unexpected early meeting out of state. He wouldn’t be able to visit for a few days. Right now, he probably was on a plane. The manager stepped between us, trying to de-escalate. “Ladies, please, let’s all just calm down and talk this through.” But Chloe was relentless. “You think saving a number as ‘Ethan’ in your contacts makes it real? That’s hilarious. You want me to give you his real number so you can try again?” She pointed a finger at me. “Listen to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack your bags and get out. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what happens next.” A familiar tightness gripped my chest. The dizzying, suffocating onset of an episode. Maria saw it in my eyes and quickly put a hand on my arm to steady me. She glared at Chloe. “Miss Shen, that’s enough! Our Miss Holt has bipolar disorder. You can’t keep provoking her like this!” “Aha!” Chloe’s eyes lit up with triumph. “Did you hear that, management? This woman has a certifiable mental illness! Her living here is a threat to the safety of every other resident!” She was practically vibrating with self-righteousness. “She’s been targeting me from the start. It’s obvious she’s just jealous that I’m about to marry into a wealthy family!” She was on a roll now, convinced she had painted me as some pathetic, hysterical wannabe. I forced a deep breath into my lungs, centering myself. Then I walked right up to her. Crack. My hand connected with her cheek. 3. Chloe was stunned into silence. Her hand flew to her reddening face. After a long moment, she stammered, “You… you hit me!” Before she could say another word, I slapped her again, just as hard, across the other cheek. “For the blender and the trash,” I said calmly. “Now we’re even.” Without another glance, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Chloe screaming, trying to lunge at me, but the building manager held her back. “Miss Shen, please! You saw for yourself, the woman has… issues. It’s not worth it.” Her voice echoed down the hall after me. “Holt! I’m telling Ethan! I’m going to have him throw you out of this building! Out of this city! You just wait!” Back in the apartment, Maria looked at me, her eyes wide with worry. “I don’t think the manager can do anything about her. He told me Miss Shen threatened that if they tried to discipline her, Mr. Sterling would buy the entire building and have them all fired.” I listened, my face impassive. “I need some air.” I had my driver take me out of the city, just to cruise for a while. When we returned, a flashy red Porsche was parked in my private spot. My apartment number was clearly displayed on the sign above it. With a sigh, I called building management again. A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Chloe emerged, clicking across the concrete on her high heels, her face a mask of fury. “You again? Why won’t you just leave me alone!” She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “I could ask you the same thing,” I said, my voice cold. “This is my parking spot.” Chloe laughed, crossing her arms. “Your spot? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a renter. You don’t get a deeded space.” She was so certain of my status. “I work so hard making breakfast for Ethan every single day. Of course I should get the spot closest to the elevator!” She tilted her chin up, playing the role of the lady of the manor. “I’ll say it one more time. Move your car,” I said, my eyes locked on hers. “And what if I don’t? What are you going to do, have the manager talk to me?” She smirked, turning to leave, confident that I was powerless. “Do you think I won’t smash it to pieces?” I opened my trunk and pulled out the heavy wrench from the roadside emergency kit. I tested its weight in my hand. Chloe stopped dead in her tracks. She looked from the wrench in my hand to my expressionless face, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” “I have bipolar disorder,” I said softly. “Watch me.” I started walking toward the Porsche, raising the wrench high. That finally broke her. A shriek tore from her throat as she scrambled for her keys. “You’re a lunatic! A complete psycho!” She fumbled her way into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the spot, but not before leaning out the window to scream one last thing. “You just wait! I am not letting you get away with this!” 4. Chloe’s new masterpiece arrived shortly thereafter. My unit was a ground-floor duplex with a small, private garden. It was my sanctuary. I’d filled it with orchids, my mother’s favorite flower before she passed away. I tended to them like they were my children. But today, the moment I stepped outside, my heart sank into my stomach. The terracotta pots were shattered, their dirt-caked shards strewn across the flagstones. A patch of irises along the wall had been trampled, their petals scattered like purple bruises. And my two most prized orchids, a rare Phalaenopsis cultivar called ‘White Dawn,’ were ruined. On one plant, the buds had been snapped off, lying limp and lifeless in the soil. The other plant was gone entirely. All the blood rushed to my head. That orchid was my medicine. After my mother died, my bipolar disorder spiraled. Ethan had spent a small fortune tracking down that specific plant, hoping its presence could soothe the jagged edges of my grief. And now, someone had destroyed it. There was no doubt in my mind. It was Chloe. I stormed upstairs and pounded on her door. “Chloe! Give me back my orchid!” It took a long time for the door to open. When it did, she looked at me with an expression of pure innocence. “What are you freaking out about now?” My eyes shot past her, into her living room. There, on her coffee table, sat my White Dawn orchid. White-hot rage flooded my senses. “How dare you destroy my garden and steal my flower?” “Watch your tone,” Chloe said, her voice a lazy drawl. “It wasn’t stealing. It was borrowing.” She examined her nails. “And some stray dogs got into your garden. Don’t blame me for that.” “I was kind enough to rescue this poor orchid for you.” I had already checked the security feed. It showed Chloe lurking outside my garden fence late last night. Moments later, a few stray dogs jumped the fence and began tearing everything apart. It was obvious she had lured them in. But she continued her charade. “I saved one of your plants for you. You can consider the flower a thank-you gift.” “I heard Ethan’s sister loves orchids,” she said, a condescending smile playing on her lips. “This one is quite lovely. It’s time it served a higher purpose.” I was shaking with a fury so intense I could barely speak. “That is my property! You have no right!” “Your property?” she scoffed. “Honey, when I’m Mrs. Sterling, this entire building will be my property, let alone your stupid little flower.” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “I’d advise you to get on my good side while you still can.” She paused for effect. “Because believe me… one word from me, and you’ll be gone.” “Miss Holt, calm down. We’ll call the police!” Maria was behind me, grabbing my arm, terrified I was about to lose control completely. At the mention of the police, Chloe’s smile widened. “The police? Oh, please do. Who do you think they’ll believe? The mentally unstable lunatic, or the future Mrs. of the Sterling Capital empire?” She was certain I wouldn’t dare escalate. She was certain Ethan would take her side. Looking at her smug, triumphant face, a strange sense of calm washed over me. I stopped arguing. Instead, I took out my phone and, right in front of her, dialed the number I knew by heart. “Oh, playing the ‘call Ethan’ card again?” Chloe laughed, thoroughly amused. “What’s the story this time? Is he in a meeting? Or still on that plane?” The phone rang only once before it was answered. I put it on speaker. A voice I knew better than my own filled the hallway, still rough with sleep. “Clara? What’s wrong?” I lifted my eyes and stared directly at Chloe, whose face had instantly turned the color of ash. “Ethan.” My voice was steady. “I hear you’re engaged.” “So, you found a fiancée and you weren’t even going to bring her home to meet your big sister?”

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The Blackwell Group was launching a new division. The chairman appointed his wife, Audrey, as its president, giving her carte blanche to build her own team. Everyone assumed I’d be her VP. Friends were congratulating me in advance, celebrating our joint ascent up the corporate ladder. But on the day the official announcement went out, I received a termination notice. And the intern Audrey had been so close to, the one who always seemed to be whispering in her ear, was named Vice President. Later, Audrey tried to explain. “Leo has depression, Cole. He’s incredibly sensitive. He needs the validation more than you do.” She straightened my tie, her fingers cool against my skin. “Besides, he’s already thought of you. He said you could be his personal driver. The pay is great, and the hours are easy. See how thoughtful he is?” I looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of a joke. There was none. She was dead serious. I gently removed her hands from my collar and met her gaze with the same unnerving sincerity. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll support my wife’s decision.” 1 The next morning, dressed in a black driver’s uniform, I had the car waiting outside Leo’s apartment building on time. I waited for nearly an hour. Three calls to his phone went straight to voicemail. Finally, with only ten minutes left before the workday officially began, he sauntered out of the lobby doors, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pulled open the rear door and flopped onto the leather seat without so much as a glance in my direction. “Let’s go.” I said nothing, just put the car in drive. The morning rush hour had the interstate in a gridlock. From the back seat, Leo’s impatience grew. “What are you doing? Don’t you know any shortcuts?” he whined. “Audrey won’t be happy if I’m late on my first day.” We finally pulled up to the office building, thirty minutes late. The second I put the car in park, Audrey’s call came through. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “Cole! Where are you? Do you have any idea what day it is? It’s the executive morning briefing! How is Leo supposed to command any respect when his own driver makes him late on day one?” Before I could get a word in, Leo’s voice cut in, dripping with faux-distress. “Audrey, don’t blame Cole. It’s his first day as a driver. It’s an adjustment.” He paused for effect. “He was trying so hard to get here on time, he even ran a few red lights for me.” That sent Audrey into a fresh spiral of fury. “Cole! Are you doing this on purpose? Are you so bitter about being let go that you have to sabotage Leo’s first day just to make yourself feel better?” “You are such a disappointment.” “Forget about this month’s paycheck. You’re not getting it.” She hung up with a sharp click. Leo sat up. The wounded look vanished, replaced by a smirk of pure satisfaction. “Tough break, Cole. Must sting, driving me around.” He laughed softly and swung his leg over the center console, planting a mud-caked leather shoe on the back of the passenger seat. They were the shoes. The custom Italian leather ones Audrey had a friend bring back from Milan for my birthday last month. Now they were on Leo’s feet, sullied with dirt, staring me in the face. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re not good enough,” he said, pushing the door open. He sauntered toward the building, whistling. I sat there in the silence of the car, staring at the muddy footprint on the seat back. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. A little while later, a few of the senior managers came down for a smoke break after the meeting. They saw me in the car and ambled over. “Jesus, Cole. You’ve got the patience of a saint,” one of them said, leaning against the window. “Getting ridden like that by an intern? We could hear Audrey tearing you a new one from down the hall. If it were me, I’d have driven this thing straight into the river.” Another one just smirked. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he’s got some kind of special kink for this.” I ignored their jeers and pulled out my phone. A new text from Audrey had just popped up. “Honey, I’m sorry. I was just angry. I have to establish Leo’s authority in front of everyone, otherwise they’ll walk all over him. Don’t take it personally. I’ll deposit double your salary into our account tonight. Your old office is gone, per company policy. Just relax in the car for a bit. I’ll come down and have lunch with you.” I stared at the message, then deleted it and locked the screen. Establish his authority? Using my dignity as his stepping stone. Audrey, you really are a wonderful wife. She didn’t come down for lunch. She sent her assistant with a sad-looking boxed salad, explaining that she had to take Leo out with the department heads for a ‘get-to-know-you’ lunch. I tossed the cold salad directly into the nearest trash can. 2 Three days later was our fifth wedding anniversary. I’d made reservations at Le Ciel Bleu, her favorite French restaurant, and bought the diamond necklace she’d been dropping hints about for months. I wanted to surprise her. At five p.m., I texted her: “Hey, are you free tonight?” She replied almost instantly: “Have to take Leo to meet a huge client. It’s going to be a late one. Don’t wait up.” A follow-up text came a second later: “It’s his first time leading a pitch. I need to be there to guide him.” I stared at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I typed out a single sentence: “Do you remember what day it is?” After a long moment, I deleted it, letter by letter. I canceled the reservation and tossed the velvet jewelry box onto the passenger seat. Restless and angry, I called a few friends and met them at a hole-in-the-wall taco joint on the other side of town. We had just ordered a round of beers and a platter of carne asada when two familiar figures walked through the door, hand in hand. It was Audrey and Leo. Audrey wore a playful, giddy smile I hadn’t seen in years. She was pointing at the greasy, handwritten menu on the wall, laughing about something with him. She used to despise places like this. She’d complain that the smoky air would ruin her thousand-dollar perfumes. Now, I heard her say to him with genuine excitement, “See? Places like this have so much more soul.” Then I noticed it. Leo was wearing a bespoke suit. The one Audrey had commissioned for me as my anniversary gift. My gaze locked onto the fabric, the perfect tailoring. Leo must have felt my eyes on him. He turned his head and saw me. He froze for a second, a flicker of panic in his eyes. Then, as if on purpose, he jerked his arm, knocking a full glass of orange soda all over himself. “Oh!” Audrey gasped and immediately grabbed a fistful of napkins, kneeling down to dab at the stain on his pants. The gesture was so tender, so careful, as if she were handling a priceless artifact. I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stood up and walked toward their table. “Audrey,” I said. My voice was a raw whisper. She looked up, and her face hardened the moment she saw me. “What are you doing here?” My eyes went past her to the suit on Leo’s back. “I thought you were meeting a client.” Audrey got to her feet, her expression a mask of annoyance. “The meeting finished early. Leo said he was craving tacos, so I brought him here.” “And the suit?” I asked, nodding toward Leo. “How do you explain that?” “He was meeting a major client, Cole. He couldn’t show up looking shabby, could he? I just lent him your suit.” She looked at me as if I were the unreasonable one. “Can you stop being so petty? It’s just a piece of clothing.” “You’re a driver,” she added, her voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not like you have anywhere to wear something that nice.” “Petty?” I let out a bitter laugh. “That was my five-year anniversary present!” The color drained from Audrey’s face. Her eyes darted away for a second. “I’ll… I’ll buy you a better one later.” Just then, Leo, who had been silent, stood up. He draped a proprietary arm around Audrey’s shoulders, pulling her close. “What can I say, Cole?” he said, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Someone’s got to pick up the slack when you can’t even hold down a job. Your wife has been under a lot of stress.” He leaned in. “Someone has to help her out. At work… and at home.” His last words were loaded, his eyes locked on mine in a direct challenge. And Audrey just stood there, letting him hold her, not saying a single word. My friends had seen enough. They stormed over, getting in Leo’s face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “You’re a goddamn leech, living off a woman, and you have the balls to act like this?” The scene devolved into shouting. One of my friends looked ready to throw a punch. I quickly stepped between them, grabbing my friend’s arm. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” They stormed out, one of them cursing me under his breath for being a doormat. After they were gone, I stood by the door of the taqueria, waiting silently for Audrey to come out. I needed to talk to her, away from all of this, to get a straight answer about what was happening. I waited until after midnight. 3 At one in the morning, Audrey and Leo finally stumbled out, both clearly drunk. Leo was unsteady on his feet, practically hanging off Audrey as she supported him on the walk to the car. When they reached my car, Leo suddenly spun her around, pinning her against the passenger door. He lowered his head, his lips finding the soft skin of her neck. “Audrey, you’re so good to me,” he murmured. Her body went stiff. She seemed to want to push him away, but when she raised her hands, they landed weakly on his shoulders, clinging to him. “Leo, stop… I’m still married to Cole.” “Who cares about him? He’s just some loser you kicked to the curb.” Leo’s mouth moved to her earlobe, then trailed down her jawline. Audrey’s resistance melted away. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She closed her eyes and gave in. I was standing not twenty feet away, watching the whole sordid scene. Something inside me snapped. A roar of pure rage tore from my throat as I lunged forward, shoving Leo away from her with all my strength. He stumbled backward and fell to the pavement. My eyes, burning with betrayal, were fixed on Audrey. She looked at me as if I had just shattered a beautiful dream. Then, she drew back her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Cole! Are you insane?!” she screamed, her voice filled with a cold, venomous disgust. That slap shattered the last, desperate illusion I had been clinging to. Audrey didn’t even look at me again. She turned and rushed to Leo’s side. “Leo, baby, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He whimpered in her arms like a child who’d scraped his knee. Ignoring me completely, they hailed a cab and disappeared into the night. I drove home alone. The house was cold, empty, devoid of life. I was about to step into the shower when my phone buzzed. It was a notification from my bank. [Alert: Your joint savings account has been frozen. Current balance: $0.00.] Audrey. Because I had trusted her, trusted our marriage, every dollar I’d ever earned was in that account. Below the bank alert was a text from her. “I gave you a chance to walk away with your dignity, Cole. You chose not to take it. After the scene you made tonight, you don’t deserve my respect. You think you’re so tough? Let’s see how tough you are with no money.” I had never kept a secret stash. I was penniless. 4 The next morning, a frantic ringing jolted me from a nightmare. “Cole! It’s your father! He had a massive heart attack, he’s in the hospital! They’re taking him into surgery now!” My world went numb. I raced to the hospital, arriving just as they were wheeling my father into the operating room. A nurse handed me a clipboard. “Sir, we need a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars for the surgery to proceed.” I jammed my hands in my pockets, a pointless gesture. I remembered. I had nothing. With a trembling hand, I dialed Audrey’s number. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep. “What? What do you want this early?” “Audrey, now! Transfer me a hundred thousand dollars! My dad had a heart attack, he needs emergency surgery!” There was a pause on the other end, followed by a cold, sharp laugh. “Are you serious, Cole? You’re so desperate for money you’d use your own father as an excuse?” “Do you really think I’d fall for a lie that pathetic?” “I’m busy prepping Leo for a client meeting. Don’t bother me with this nonsense again.” She hung up. I tried calling back, but it went straight to a busy signal. Swallowing every last ounce of my pride, I started calling my friends, my brothers, anyone who would listen. “Hey, Mark, it’s Cole… Listen, man, I’m in a really tight spot… Can I borrow some money…?” As I was hunched over, whispering humbly into the phone, I looked up and saw two familiar figures walking down the hospital corridor. It was Audrey, with Leo on her arm. She wasn’t meeting any client. She was speaking to him in a soft, gentle voice, guiding him toward the psychiatric wing of the hospital. When she saw me squatting on the floor, her expression instantly soured. She must have felt a pang of guilt, because she walked briskly toward me, already pulling her phone out of her purse. But before she could do anything, Leo suddenly flinched, his body seizing as if he’d been electrocuted. He clung to Audrey’s arm and let out a theatrical shriek. “Ah! Don’t come near me! You’re scaring me!” He cowered behind her, pointing at me, his body trembling like a leaf. Audrey immediately spun around to shield him, her face contorted with rage as she turned on me. “Cole! Look what you’ve done! You’ve triggered him!” “Leo is having a severe anxiety attack! Are you trying to kill him?!” I just stared, baffled by the ridiculous performance. “What did I do? My father is waiting for life-saving surgery. I don’t have time for your little drama.” Audrey’s neck flushed with anger. She held Leo tight and spat her words at me. “Leo’s first big project failed today because you decided not to show up for work. Your absence cost the company millions in lost orders.” “You pushed him to this point, and you still have the nerve to ask me for money?” So that was it. She was pinning Leo’s failure on me. “If it weren’t for the fact that we were once married, you wouldn’t even have a job as a driver!” She guided the trembling Leo into the therapist’s office. Before closing the door, she looked back at me, her eyes like ice. “You go to the office right now. You walk into that boardroom and you take full responsibility for this disaster. You make it clear that Leo had nothing to do with it. You do that, and I’ll transfer the money.” My chest felt tight enough to burst. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug expressions off both their faces. But then I thought of my father on the operating table, and my head sank. I was ready to accept. Just then, my phone buzzed. A new notification. A transfer of three hundred thousand dollars had just been deposited into my personal account. I thought it was from one of my friends, but then a text message came through. I read the message, and the crushing weight of humiliation and rage began to lift. I took a deep, steadying breath. Audrey poked her head out of the office, her voice sharp with impatience. “Cole! What are you waiting for? Get to the office and confess!” I didn’t look at her. I simply turned and walked toward the payment office, my back straight. “Cole! Stop right there! Did you hear me?!” Her frantic screams echoed behind me, but for the first time in a long time, my steps felt light.

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It took me three years, but I finally found him. The husband who vanished during our honeymoon. But it didn’t matter if I broke down, if I screamed, if I fell to pieces in front of him. Leo, my Leo, the man with no memory of me, remained perfectly, unnervingly calm. “The trust fund kid you’re talking about,” he’d say, his voice flat, “that’s really not me.” Then, a little softer, a hint of something that might have once been affection, now directed at a ghost. “You should go. If I’m out too late, Savannah will make me sleep on the couch again.” That casual intimacy, the gentle complaint about another woman, was a shard of glass in my heart. Every word twisted deeper. I was on the verge of giving up, of letting the ghost of him go, when I overheard his friend, Ben, cornering him outside a bar. “You faked your own death during your honeymoon with Clara, just to be with Savannah,” Ben hissed, his voice a low thrum of disbelief. “And now you want your cushy life as a Maxwell heir back, so you’re playing the amnesia card with her?” Ben’s voice dripped with a disgust I couldn’t have summoned myself. “Don’t you think you owe her more than that?” Leo downed his whiskey in one long, desperate swallow. “Savannah’s pregnant,” he slurred, the words thick. “I have to get her into the family. I have to.” In that instant, the last ember of hope inside me turned to ash. I became perfectly still, perfectly cold. When I saw his parents’ car pull up, no doubt summoned by Ben in a misguided attempt at a reunion, I walked over and intercepted them before they could get out. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years. “I saw him myself. I was wrong. That man… it’s not Leo.” 1 An hour earlier, I’d been leaving the restaurant when I saw him stumble out of the bar next door. Leo. My heart seized in my chest. He saw me and froze, a flicker of recognition—or maybe just annoyance—in his eyes. He shook his head with a practiced weariness. “I’ve told you so many times. Please, stop following me. I’m not your husband.” Ben, standing beside him, had the decency to look ashamed. “Clara,” he started, his tone pleading. “You haven’t slept in days. Just… go home. Get some rest.” I wrenched my arm from his grasp, my eyes locked on Leo. “Not a few days, Ben. Three years.” My voice, when it came out, was a raw, ragged thing. “I haven’t had a single full night’s sleep since the day you disappeared. Do you know what they called me? The black widow. The woman who got her husband killed for the inheritance.” I took a shaky breath, the memories flooding in. “The stress, the grief… I was a wreck. I fell down a flight of stairs. I lost the baby, Leo.” The words hung in the air, heavy and dead. “For three years, I’ve scoured this entire country, haunted by a guilt that has eaten me alive. And for what?” My gaze fell to the simple, silver band on his ring finger. A replacement. “For what?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “For my husband, the man I married, to tell me he’s in love with someone else.” For a moment, something shifted in his expression. His hand instinctively went to the plain ring, to the place where the custom band I had designed for him used to sit. The movement was a ghost of a memory. But then his eyes cleared, the brief flicker of connection gone, replaced by a cold, hard impatience. “Look, that’s a tragic story. It really is. But what does any of it have to do with me?” What does it have to do with you? The sheer audacity of it stole my breath. He was the architect of my entire nightmare. An image of his parents flashed in my mind—their faces, etched with hope before I’d left, so sure I was finally bringing their lost son home. A fresh wave of pain crashed over me. The only thing more devastating than Leo’s death was the fact that he had orchestrated it himself. All those days I’d spent with him since I’d found him, my heart breaking as I recounted our shared past, desperately trying to spark a single memory—was he feeling anything at all? Or was he and Savannah laughing at my pathetic, desperate performance later that night? He must have seen the raw anguish in my eyes, because he frowned and took an involuntary step toward me. He started to lift his hand. SMACK! The sound cracked through the night air. A woman—Savannah—had appeared out of nowhere, her handprint already blooming on my cheek. She jabbed a manicured finger at my face. “What’s with the sob story?” she spat, her voice shrill. “You got some nerve, chasing after another woman’s boyfriend, calling him your husband. Are you pathetic or just crazy?” Leo stared, a flicker of shock on his face as he looked at the red mark on my skin. But it was gone in a second. He immediately pulled Savannah behind him, shielding her. “Savannah’s just… direct,” he said to me, his tone a warning. “Don’t take it personally.” His eyes were full of suspicion, of defense, as if I were the threat to the precious woman he was protecting. A slow, burning heat spread across my cheek. The conversation I’d overheard in the bar echoed in my head, and the gaping wound in my chest ripped wider. His amnesia was a lie. But his coldness, his cruelty? That was real. I pulled out my phone and, with numb fingers, booked a flight home. I looked straight at Leo. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “I won’t bother you again.” He wants to be dead? Fine. I’ll grant his wish. 2 The next morning, my bags were packed by the door when my father-in-law called. “It’s Anne,” he said, his voice cracking. Anne was my mother-in-law. “She had a heart attack. She’s in the ICU, and she keeps… she keeps saying Leo’s name.” He took a ragged breath. “Clara… are you sure? Is it really not him?” My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. My father-in-law, always the stoic, composed patriarch, was openly weeping on the phone. “The doctors… they don’t know if she’s going to pull through. I’m afraid she’ll die without seeing her son one last time.” A sharp pain lanced through me. I made a sharp U-turn. “I’m on my way, Dad,” I said, my voice firm. “Don’t worry. I’ll go get him.” When he opened the door and saw me, Leo’s face hardened into a mask of irritation. I didn’t have time for niceties. I shoved my phone into his hand. “Your mother had a heart attack. She’s in intensive care, and she’s asking for you. Are you really going to keep this act up now?” The mention of his mother made the color drain from his face. He fumbled with the phone, his finger hovering over the video call button, but before he could press it, a slender hand with a glittery manicure snatched it away. Savannah glared at me, her face a mask of contempt, before throwing the phone back at me. It bounced off my chest and clattered to the floor. “Lady, are you sick?” she snapped. “I thought you said yesterday you were done harassing us.” Leo’s eyes darted nervously between us. He wanted the phone back; I could see the panic rising in him. “She said my…” He caught himself, glancing at me. “She said her mother-in-law is sick. She wants me to pretend to be her husband to comfort her.” Savannah snorted. “What ‘pretend’? She’s obviously lying to trick you into admitting you’re him! I’ve seen this kind of desperate move a million times. Don’t you dare call her! If you do,” she purred, her voice dropping to a seductive threat, “don’t even think about touching me tonight.” Leo immediately went into placating mode, wrapping his arms around her. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I won’t call.” Seeing him grovel like that, so weak and compliant, turned my stomach. “Leo, that’s your mother,” I said, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You’ve been gone for three years. She has cried herself half-blind over you. And you won’t even grant her a single phone call? This could be the last time you ever speak to her!” His body tensed. His lips parted as if to say something, but Savannah tightened her grip, her arms snaking around his waist. She looked at me with an expression of cloying innocence. “I told you, my boyfriend isn’t your husband. You can’t ask him to lie to a sick old woman.” Then, with a dismissive shrug, she added, “Besides, he’s not a doctor. Is a phone call going to magically save her? Why can’t you just leave us alone?” She shot me a triumphant look and gestured for Leo to close the door. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then Savannah’s hands started moving, slipping restlessly under his shirt. That was all it took. He turned his attention from me completely, muttering a final, hurried dismissal. “I can’t deal with that. You guys should find a good doctor.” The coldness in his voice was like a physical blow. The door didn’t latch properly. Through the crack, the sound of her hurried, breathless gasps stabbed at my ears like needles. His mother was dying, and he was in there, with her. For the first time in three long years, I saw the man in front of me with perfect, horrifying clarity. The answer I’d been searching for was not the one I wanted, but it was the one I had. I made it to the airport, only to be told at the check-in counter that my ticket had been canceled. Confused, I turned around and saw Ben hurrying toward me. He grabbed my arm. “You came all this way to find Leo,” he said, his eyes wide with a frantic energy. “Why are you leaving by yourself?” I looked at his earnest, worried face and felt a profound sense of exhaustion. “He said it himself,” I replied coolly. “He’s not Leo Maxwell.” Ben blinked, thrown off. “But… you know he has amnesia! That’s why he doesn’t remember anything. You can’t just give up on him like this! You can’t be that cruel.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I’m the cruel one? Who faked his own death right after I found out I was pregnant? Who abandoned his family without a word for three years? Before I could unleash the torrent of questions, I saw them. Leo and Savannah, walking out of a nearby store, their arms loaded with gift bags. My blood ran cold. Savannah spotted me and a smug, victorious smile spread across her face. She walked right up to me and shoved a handful of cheap, brightly wrapped candies into my hand. “Leo and I are getting married,” she announced, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. “On the Fourth of July, just a few days from now. You should come.” She leaned in closer. “Maybe if you see us exchange our vows, you’ll finally accept reality.” Leo gazed down at her, his expression soft with an adoration that he had once reserved for me. “It’s a shotgun wedding,” he said, stroking her hair. “The baby will be here in seven months.” 3 His voice, so full of happy anticipation, was a dagger to my heart. We were supposed to have a baby, too. I’d found out I was pregnant a week before our honeymoon. Our families were ecstatic. I was walking on air, dreaming of this perfect little life we were creating, the ultimate symbol of our love. But while I was joyfully awaiting the arrival of our child, he was plotting how to fake his death and run off with his mistress. Even the knowledge of his own child growing inside me wasn’t enough to make him hesitate. If he never loved me, why didn’t he just call off the engagement? Why go through with the wedding, the grand charade of love, only to shatter my world so completely? The sharp corners of the cheap candy dug into my palm. Savannah’s triumphant smirk was the ultimate mockery. I knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to make things official with her before he tried to reclaim his identity. That way, he’d have a legitimate reason to bring her—and their child—into the Maxwell family. He met my gaze, not a trace of guilt in his eyes. “You should come, if you have the time.” I was silent for a long moment. Then, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there.” Sometimes, you have to see the destruction up close to finally believe it’s real. The wedding was nothing like the lavish affair Leo and I had, but it still cost a pretty penny. I heard through the grapevine that Leo had borrowed heavily to pay for it. He’d grown up as the sole heir to the Maxwell fortune, never wanting for anything, and certainly never holding a real job. Life in hiding with Savannah had apparently been funded by debt and IOUs. No wonder he was in such a hurry to get back to his trust fund. For the Maxwells, the amount he owed was pocket change. But Leo didn’t know. He wasn’t going back. I took a slow sip of my water, watching as he slid a gold band onto Savannah’s finger. That ring was the final, definitive period at the end of the twenty-year story of my youth. I watched them, both beaming, their faces alight with victory, and I spoke into the quiet that followed their kiss. “I’ve seen the wedding,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Can I go home now?” Leo started, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He had expected tears, a scene, a dramatic confrontation. He hadn’t expected… acceptance. He hadn’t expected me to believe his lie. But if I left, how would he orchestrate his grand return? “Wait!” he called out suddenly, clutching his head in a display of theatrical pain. “Wait… I think I remember something. Have we… have we met somewhere before?” Watching his pathetic, clumsy acting, I almost had to smile. “You must be mistaken,” I said, my voice gentle. “We’ve never met. You just look a lot like my late husband.” I threw his own words back at him, polished and sharp. His jaw tightened, but he was trapped in the character he’d created. He couldn’t get angry. “But… my head is… I’m suddenly seeing things,” he stammered, pointing vaguely at the floral arrangements. “Did we… did we have a wedding? I remember… lilies of the valley, I think. And you were wearing a mermaid-style dress.” He was recalling the details of our wedding, the one I had spent a year planning, every detail a testament to my naïve belief in our future. But hearing him speak of it now only fueled the ice-cold rage solidifying in my veins. We’d been childhood sweethearts. I had never imagined a future that didn’t have him in it. He’d insisted on the Maldives for our honeymoon, only to vanish on the second day. It wasn’t just his mother who had cried herself blind. It was me, too. Inconsolable, shattered, my body giving up on our baby while my family whispered that it was all my fault. And where was he, then? In bed with his lover, probably laughing. I looked up to see him staring at me, his face a carefully constructed mask of guilt and confusion. “I’ll try to remember,” he said earnestly. “I really will. Why don’t you… why don’t you take me home to see Mom and Dad? Maybe being there will…” I cut him off with a serene smile. “I told you all about that before. Don’t you remember? You said you had no idea what I was talking about.” Not only that, he’d been annoyed, impatient to get me out of his sight. “You must have had too much champagne,” I continued, my smile never wavering. “You’re confusing my memories with your own. I think I would know my own husband. And you, sir, are not him.” Leo hadn’t even processed my words before Savannah shrieked. “Yes, he is!” I turned my gaze on her, pinning her with a direct look. “A minute ago, you were insisting he wasn’t. Why the sudden change of heart? Did you get amnesia, too?” Savannah’s mouth snapped shut. I knew what she wanted. She wanted to ride Leo’s coattails to the top. If he couldn’t reclaim his identity, she was even more screwed than he was. But they had both been too adamant, too loud in their denials. She had spent weeks telling anyone who would listen what a pathetic stalker I was. It was a hard position to walk back from. As whispers broke out among the wedding guests, Ben shot to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. “He is Leo Maxwell!” he boomed. “Clara, I know you’re angry that he’s with Savannah, but you can’t just deny who he is! His parents have been searching for him for three years. Are you really going to let your pride make them bury their own son?” Every eye in the room turned to me. I could hear the muttering start. Vindictive. Cruel. Ben shook his head, holding up his phone like a trophy. “I knew you’d try to stop this. So I already called them. They’re on their way here right now!” 4 Leo let out a breath he’d been holding, a wave of relief washing over his face. He looked at me with profound disappointment. “Clara, what’s happened to you? You’ve become so… bitter.” He shook his head, as if pained by my transformation. “I was going to make it right. Once I was back in the family, I planned to give Savannah a generous settlement and end things. I wanted to make it up to you. But now I see… you’re not worth giving her up for.” I watched him perform his noble, long-suffering act, a scornful smile playing on my lips. “So, what’s the plan? Divorce me and marry Savannah?” Leo hesitated, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. I was the appropriate wife, the good-on-paper choice from a family of equal standing. A strategic alliance. Savannah was from a poor background, offering him nothing but a baby and a mountain of debt. He was a man who wanted it all. Why else would he orchestrate this entire charade to come back after three years? Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with false solemnity. “During my amnesia, Savannah was the one who stood by me, who took care of me. I could never abandon her.” He paused for dramatic effect. “As for you, I’m willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself, for old times’ sake.” He looked between me and a suddenly glowing Savannah. “From now on, you’ll handle the public-facing duties, she’ll manage the home. And you are not to give her any trouble.” For a second, I was stunned into silence. Then, a harsh laugh escaped me. He was actually living in a fantasy world where he could have two wives. Oblivious to my derision, Leo took Savannah’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Savannah is carrying my child. The first Maxwell grandchild.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve already decided. He will be the future heir to the Maxwell Corporation.” Savannah shot me a look of pure triumph, then leaned against Leo, feigning concern. “Oh, darling, won’t that be unfair to Clara?” Leo’s brow furrowed. “Unfair to her? If anyone’s getting a raw deal, it’s you. She’s a petty, vindictive woman. The fact that I’m willing to let her remain Mrs. Maxwell is more than she deserves.” I watched their little performance with detached amusement. “And who said I agree to share a husband with Savannah?” Savannah’s face lit up. “You’re willing to grant a divorce?” Leo’s expression soured. He finally looked at me directly. “If you force me to choose, Clara, I will choose her.” I laughed again, a real, genuine laugh this time. “You don’t have to choose.” I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because you both have to get out.” Just then, the doors to the chapel swung open. My in-laws walked in, their faces grim. Leo’s face split into a wide grin. He rushed toward them. “Mom! Dad! I’m back!” Savannah hurried after him, one hand placed protectively on her still-flat stomach. “What a wonderful day,” she cooed. “My baby is kicking with joy!” Leo turned to me, his voice full of righteous indignation. “If it wasn’t for Clara’s interference, we would have been reunited long ago. Now you can see her for who she really is!” But his parents didn’t rush to embrace him. His father stared at him, his face like stone, and when Leo reached for him, he violently shook him off. “Don’t call us that,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Our son is dead.”

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His ex-wife and daughter were back from Europe. And just like that, our marriage was no longer a private affair. It wasn’t until I saw the photos that I truly understood. The pictures splashed across Page Six: Michael Ashford—a man so disciplined he scheduled his own spontaneity—stuffed into a fuzzy, bright blue cartoon character costume, smiling for a selfie with his ex and their child at the Central Park Zoo’s family day. That’s when the realization hit me, cold and sharp. I had never seen that version of him. The version of Michael Ashford in love. But I am Audrey Rhodes, the sole heir to the Rhodes Corporation. And I have never learned how to share. 1 The second the tabloid photos hit my phone, I was dialing my PR team to kill the story. But someone was faster. Within three minutes, the images were scrubbed from the internet. A complete digital blackout. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. That was Michael, all right. As the CEO of Ashford Holdings, the last thing he would tolerate was a scandal that could tarnish our merger—the very union our marriage represented. Fifteen minutes later, the low hum of a town car announced his arrival. A wave of bright, cheerful laughter drifted from the driveway. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the foyer, a silent observer. I watched Michael—a man known for his calculated composure and ruthless boardroom tactics—gently holding a little girl’s hand. His face was softened in a way I’d rarely witnessed. I knew about the ex-wife, Clara. I knew about their daughter. He had never tried to hide them. “Michael, are you sure this is a good idea?” Clara’s voice was laced with a practiced hesitancy as she held the little girl’s other hand. “As Michael Ashford’s legal wife, I understand that I have a role in raising his daughter,” I said, my voice cutting through the evening air. I stepped into the doorway, my expression a mask of cool indifference. “That does not, however, grant you an invitation to forget your place.” Clara’s face flushed with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just… today was the Children’s Festival, and Lily really wanted to…” The little girl, Lily, suddenly let go of her father’s hand and charged at me, kicking my shin with a surprising amount of force. Her voice was thick with tears. “You’re the mean lady who stole my daddy!” A sharp pain shot up my leg. I winced, but I couldn’t bring myself to scold a three-year-old. “Lily,” Michael’s voice was firm but held no trace of impatience. “That’s not polite.” I stood there, a perfect stranger on the other side of their perfect family portrait. The absurdity of my situation was almost comical. “Michael, you and I both know this marriage is more than just you and me,” I said, pulling my composure back around me like a shield. “It’s Ashford and Rhodes.” Clara saw her opening. “Mrs. Ashford, we were just—” “I am speaking to my husband,” I said, my gaze flicking to her with a clear warning. “When did I ask for your opinion?” Michael sighed, scooping his startled daughter into his arms. “Audrey, it was just a family day at the zoo. I’ve already handled the press. There will be no fallout.” His voice, a low, magnetic baritone, was as cool as ever. My heart clenched. A bitter, mocking taste filled my mouth. No fallout. So that’s what I was. My feelings, my humiliation… they were just variables in his risk assessment. The ones that required the least consideration. I saw the flicker of triumph in Clara’s eyes. I narrowed mine. “Audrey, Lily will be staying the night. Have the housekeeper prepare one of the guest rooms.” “And her?” I asked, my voice flat, my gaze fixed on the woman at his side. Michael paused for a beat. “She can stay in the adjacent room. Just for tonight.” I nodded. My upbringing had instilled in me a deep aversion to making a scene. That evening, the sound of laughter and games echoed from the guest wing below. Meanwhile, I, the lady of the house, lay wide awake in the cavernous master suite, the bed feeling colder and emptier than ever. Around midnight, a restless energy in my chest forced me downstairs for a glass of ice water. “Mrs. Ashford.” Clara’s voice emerged from the shadows of the living room, dripping with newfound confidence. “Lily is Michael’s flesh and blood. As long as she exists, he and I can never be truly disconnected.” I calmly set my glass down on the marble countertop and turned to face her, my height giving me a slight but satisfying advantage. “And?” Her composure flickered. She took a small step back. “And… you should give him back to me. We only broke up because I was young and foolish. It was never because we didn’t love each other.” A short, sharp laugh escaped my lips. “Love?” I twisted the large emerald on my finger, the Ashford family heirloom. “For people like us, ‘love’ is the most irrelevant commodity there is.” The contempt in my voice made her flinch, her breath catching in her throat. I gave a small, dismissive smile and turned to leave. “Audrey!” Clara’s voice was sharp now. She closed the distance between us, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Does it not bother you at all? Knowing that he and I… that we could have…” She pulled down the collar of her silk pajama top. There, against the pale skin of her collarbone, was a collection of angry, purple marks. My fingers, hanging by my side, curled into a tight fist. But my face remained a mask of serene indifference. “Carnal novelty,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “has a notoriously short shelf life.” I left her standing there, her face a burning red, choking on her own impotent rage. Back in my room, my hand went to the emerald ring, the symbol of my status as the Ashford matriarch. A wave of despair washed over me. He was Michael Ashford. A man of his caliber, his presence… after three years of sharing a life, a bed, it was inevitable that I would develop feelings. But affection is built up over time. And so is the lack of it. Three strikes, Michael, I thought. That’s the rule. Don’t make me call strike three. 2 The next morning, the door to the master suite opened. Michael stood there, with faint, bruised-looking smudges under his eyes. He must have been up half the night entertaining them. A familiar tightness constricted my chest. Michael was a man of almost pathological self-discipline. For years, even the most intense moments of passion between us, the ones that left a flush on his high cheekbones, were never enough to disrupt his rigid sleep schedule. “Do you like children?” I asked, getting out of bed. I took his tie from the valet stand and began to knot it with practiced precision. He looked down at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “They’re fine.” “Let’s have one,” I said. Michael stared at me, his expression unreadable. But he nodded. “Alright.” I knew he wouldn’t refuse. It was a logical, strategic move for our dynasty. Downstairs in the dining room, Clara was holding Lily in her lap. The moment the little girl saw her father, she scrambled down and ran to him, sobbing. As she passed me, she grabbed a piece of still-scalding French toast from my plate and threw it at my silk blouse. “I hate you! You’re a mean lady! Why are you in my daddy’s house?” The sticky heat seeped through the fabric. I frowned, looking directly at Clara. “Control your child. She has no manners—” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice cut in, sharp and cold. “That’s enough. She’s just a child. Clara has been raising her alone for years. I’m the one who owes them.” The words caught in my throat. I felt a dizzying sense of displacement. In three years of marriage, he had never, not once, taken that tone with me. “That’s between you and her,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, but the anger was already boiling over. “She’s a child, which is precisely why she needs to be taught. What will people say? That Michael Ashford’s daughter is some kind of feral little—” “Audrey Rhodes!” Michael’s warning, laced with an icy fury I had never heard before, snapped me back to reality. I took a deep breath, realizing I shouldn’t have directed my anger at a child. But the man standing before me was a stranger. His eyes were filled with a cold rage. “When Lily was born, Clara was my wife. The woman I married in a church, before God and everyone. You will choose your words more carefully.” With that, he lifted Lily into his arms and turned to leave. Clara rushed to his side, tucking her arm into his. He didn’t pull away. Just before they walked out the door, Clara glanced back over her shoulder. Her smile was pure, unadulterated triumph. I told you, her eyes screamed. He still loves me. The house fell silent. The housekeeper, ever discreet, began clearing the guest rooms, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. I sank onto the sofa in the foyer, my breath coming in ragged, angry gasps. That’s strike two, Michael. Three years ago, after a fundraising gala, Michael and I had both ended up in the wrong hotel suite. Two powerful people, fueled by too much champagne and the magnetic pull of ambition, lost control in the dark. When we woke up, despite our extreme caution, a photographer had caught us leaving the room together. To quell the impending scandal, the Rhodes and Ashford families proposed a merger of the most permanent kind. Before we were married, he told me everything. About his ex-wife, about his daughter. I hadn’t cared. I wasn’t in love with him. After the wedding, he gave me everything a Mrs. Ashford was due: respect, status, a life of impeccable luxury. “Audrey,” he’d once said, his voice low and serious, “you are my wife. You will always be my wife.” But looking back now, it was clear. I was the only one who had ever been truly invested in this marriage. … The following week was the annual Ashford Holdings corporate gala. As the wife of the CEO, my attendance was non-negotiable. Michael drove us, the silence in the car thick and heavy. “Audrey,” he said finally, breaking the tension. “You don’t need to worry. I married you. The title of Mrs. Ashford will always be yours.” I stared out the window at the blur of city lights, saying nothing. My silence was shattered the moment we stepped into the ballroom. A familiar figure approached us. “Mr. Ashford.” Clara was wearing a black evening gown with a neckline that plunged daringly low. Michael gave a curt nod. Only then did she turn to me, her expression a perfect picture of timid deference. “Mrs. Ashford.” I took a slow, deep breath, turning my gaze to my husband. “What is she doing here?” “Clara just moved back to the city. She needed a job. I gave her a sinecure in the marketing department,” he said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. My hands, hidden in the folds of my gown, began to tremble. I stared at him, my voice a furious whisper. “You put your ex-wife on your payroll? What am I, Michael? A decoration?” He blinked, as if the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. But I knew better. Michael Ashford was no fool. This wasn’t an oversight. He was indulging her. I would not lose my composure in a room full of sharks. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, downed it in one go, and pasted a polished, corporate smile on my face. Hooking my arm through Michael’s, I began to navigate the crowd. An hour later, my head felt thick and heavy. I excused myself to the terrace for some fresh air. I found a wrought-iron bench near the gardens, the cool night air a welcome shock to my system. “Hiding out here all alone? Where’s Ashford?” A warm cashmere jacket was draped over my shoulders, smelling of sandalwood and pine. I turned. Carter Shaw. The formidable head of Shaw Industries. “Thank you,” I said, pulling the jacket tighter. The warmth was unexpectedly comforting. He sat down beside me. “His ex is back. What’s your play?” he asked, his voice low. He looked at me, his gaze unnervingly direct. “If you want her gone, Audrey, I’ll be your blade.” The casual way he spoke of making a person disappear, as if discussing a line item on a budget, didn’t faze me. I turned my head slightly. “Not necessary. I don’t want you to dirty your hands.” Suddenly, he leaned in, invading my space, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Forget him. What about me? You know I’ve been a perfect gentleman for you all these years.” His intensity was overwhelming. For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Carter,” I said softly. “Not right now.” I stood up, leaving him there with a shadow of disappointment in his eyes, and walked back to our car. The gala ended soon after. From the moment Michael got behind the wheel, his eyes were on me. “You and Carter Shaw seem close.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “We grew up together, more or less. Our families—” Before I could finish, Michael, the man who lived by rules and restraint, unbuckled his seatbelt. He lunged across the center console, his body pressing me into the leather seat. A kiss, tasting of whiskey and desperation, crushed against my lips. It was fierce, possessive. After a long moment, he pulled back, his dark eyes, usually so calm, now wild with an emotion I couldn’t place. “Audrey,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “You’re mine.” 3 This sudden, raw display of possession didn’t flatter me. It infuriated me. He could carry on a tangled affair with his past, but I was expected to remain a pristine, untouched asset? “Let go of me,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. Michael didn’t move. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Are you jealous?” I turned my head away, the petulant gesture feeling childish even to me. “Fire her.” The smile vanished. He pulled back, settling into his seat, the cool, familiar mask of Michael Ashford sliding back into place. “Audrey,” he said, removing his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “I’ve told you. You will always be Mrs. Ashford.” “And she still needs to support Lily,” he added. I turned to face him fully, my brow furrowed. “I never said you couldn’t send her money.” He sighed again. “But Lily needs her father. And you know your family—and mine—would never agree to me bringing her to live with us.” I stared at him, a knot of disbelief and hurt tightening in my stomach. “Are you forcing me to choose?” Michael reached across the console, his warm, dry hand covering my own chilled fingers. “I’m just asking you not to make this difficult for her. I promise you, Audrey, your position is secure.” His words, meant to reassure, felt like a slap. He was defending her. And all he thought I cared about was the damned title. The sadness of it was overwhelming. Perhaps, in his eyes, our marriage had never been about anything more than a title. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Mrs. Ashford, Michael had a bit too much to drink tonight. Just a reminder, he’s allergic to honey. Please don’t use it to sober him up. Attached was a photo. Michael, leaning against a wall in a dimly lit corner of the gala, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. I tossed the phone into his lap. “What is this? Some kind of sick power play?” He frowned, looking at the screen. He sighed, but his voice was calm. “She’s my executive assistant now. This is part of her job.” That was it. The last thread of my control snapped. “Do I need an outsider to remind me of my own husband’s habits? Who the hell does she think she is?” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice was sharp with impatience. He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. “You’re losing your composure. Clara is the mother of my child. The least you can do is show her a basic level of respect.” I thought I had misheard him. A cold, derisive laugh escaped me. “Respect?” I spat the word out. “She’s earned nothing of the sort.” This time, the look in his eyes stopped me cold. “Audrey Rhodes, watch your tone.” The wind whipping through the open window felt like a thousand tiny needles against my face. It was strong enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and in that moment, it felt like it took my pride with it. I turned to him, my voice cracking almost imperceptibly. “Michael, I am your wife.” “Why do you keep making exceptions for her? Why do you break your own rules for her, again and again?” He just frowned, his expression one of genuine confusion. “The first year we were married, I had a fever of 103. You said you had an important meeting the next day and couldn’t afford to lose sleep. You left me alone in the emergency room. But you can stay up all night playing games with them?” “You knew having her around would upset me, yet you brought her into the company, made her your assistant. You couldn’t just wire her the money?” “And that night, Michael. What happened that night? Did those marks just appear on her neck by magic?” A thousand other small betrayals, like scattered grains of rice, were lodged in my heart. Picking them up one by one was exhausting. The wind stung my eyes, making them water. The pain was immense, yet impossible to articulate. Michael’s composure finally broke. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He looked completely lost. “I…” He wanted to explain, but he had no words. We arrived home. He parked the car, but neither of us moved. “Leaving you at the hospital was wrong,” he finally said, his voice strained. “But I sent my assistant to stay with you, didn’t I?” He sounded almost frantic. “I just wanted to compensate Clara for taking care of Lily all these years.” “And I swear to you,” he said, turning to cup my face in his hands, “nothing happened between us.” “I’m sorry, I—” His words were cut off by a child’s cry from outside the car. “Daddy! Come play with Lily!” 4 I snapped back to reality, pushing his hands away from my face. We got out of the car. Clara stood there, holding Lily’s hand, her expression timid. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. Lily just missed her daddy so much. I couldn’t stop her.” Michael glanced at my rigid, icy expression. He took Lily inside, handed her off to the housekeeper, and then returned to the living room where Clara and I stood in silence. He sat on the sofa, his face a mask of cold fury. “Explain,” he said, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. The sound made Clara jump. Seeing the thunderous look on his face, she seemed genuinely flustered. “What do you want me to explain?” “Sending these manipulative texts to Audrey. What was your goal?” Tears instantly welled in Clara’s eyes. Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! I just remembered that both you and Lily are allergic to honey, and I just… I acted on instinct.” She turned to me, wringing her hands, a picture of remorse. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. I overstepped.” I rose from my chair and walked over to her. I tipped her chin up with my finger, my touch conveying utter disdain. “In what capacity, exactly, did you feel the need to ‘remind’ me of anything?” My eyes were like chips of ice. I released her chin as if touching something unclean. “Lose the act. I’ve seen countless women try to claw their way into the Ashford family. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happened to them.” Clara’s face went white, the humiliation of my gesture stinging her more than a slap. Michael, hearing the explanation about the allergy, seemed to relax. The tense line of his jaw softened. “That’s enough. Take Lily and go home. And from now on, you are not to come here without my explicit permission.” He positioned himself slightly between us, breaking our standoff. Clara’s tears fell freely now. With a choked sob, she collected her daughter and left. But the next evening, my world tilted on its axis. A frantic call from Michael summoned me to the hospital. Lily was in the ICU. I stood there, stunned into silence. “Audrey!” Clara, her face a mess of tears and rage, shoved me hard. “I took her away! I left! Why did you have to hire someone to run her down? She’s only three years old!” I stumbled, catching my balance, my voice sharp with disbelief. “Are you insane? You can’t just invent accusations out of thin air!” Michael, his face dark with a terrifying mix of grief and suspicion, stepped forward. He pushed a tablet into my hands. It was a video of a police interrogation. “It was Audrey Rhodes,” a grimy-looking man said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She gave me a hundred thousand dollars to hit the kid with my car. Said she’d give me another hundred when it was done.” I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He’s lying! This is a setup!” I looked at Michael, my voice pleading. “You don’t actually believe I did this, do you?” He closed his eyes, his voice heavy with defeat. “I don’t want to. But the man is the distant nephew of a Rhodes family chauffeur, Audrey. Are you telling me that’s a coincidence?” His roar of accusation echoed in the sterile hallway. And in that moment, something inside me broke. It was a clean, quiet snap. Some people, I realized, were simply not worth the fight. “That’s strike three, Michael.” He looked at me, confused. I met his gaze, all the pain and hurt in my own eyes now gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. “Believe whatever you want. But know this: I, Audrey Rhodes, do not resort to such pathetic, low-life tactics.” I then turned to the sobbing Clara. “You’re just like Medea, aren’t you? Willing to sacrifice your own child to destroy the queen. You’re a monster.” I took a deep breath, refusing to show any weakness. Then I turned and walked away. In the car, I made two calls. The first was to my lawyer. “Prepare the divorce papers and a full asset division. I want them on my desk by tomorrow.” The second was to my executive assistant at the Rhodes Corporation. “Starting in three days, I want a full-scale corporate assault on Ashford Holdings. Liquidate everything. I want them bleeding.” I looked up at the dark, bruised sky. My heart was cold. “Michael Ashford,” I whispered to the empty car. “Betraying me comes with a price.”

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The stage buckled with a groan of tortured metal, and from the wings, my first instinct was to find Claire. But she was already moving, a blur of motion rushing not toward the chaos, but toward him. I was pinned beneath a fallen lighting rig, the weight crushing the air from my lungs, but my eyes were fixed on her. On Claire, my impossibly composed wife, losing all composure as she administered CPR to Leo. His voice, a fragile whisper, reached across the space between them. “Claire… do you still love me?” She didn’t answer, but her eyes welled up, a storm gathering in their cool gray depths. Her hands, the steady, unerring hands of a surgeon, were trembling. I closed my eyes, letting a single, hot tear trace a path through the dust on my cheek. Just this morning, I had asked her if she could come to my performance. She’d told me she had a surgery she couldn’t get out of. Claire, I thought, the sound of my own heart thundering in my ears. We’re done. 1 They wheeled me out of the operating room, and the surgeon’s eyes went straight to my legs. “Are you a pianist or a dancer?” he asked. “Pianist,” I managed. The tension in his shoulders eased. “Good. Your hands are fine. But the leg… it’s going to be a long road back.” I looked down at my hands, thankfully unscathed, then tried to move my legs. My right one was a dead weight, a stranger attached to my body. Later, as a nurse was changing my IV drip, I overheard her talking to a colleague. “That dancer in 30B, Leo Vance? I guess he and Dr. Allen are a thing.” “You didn’t see it? The way she carried him in? She’s ice-cold to every guy in this hospital, but yesterday, she looked like her world was ending. When those reporters got in her way, she screamed at them to move. I’ve never heard her raise her voice.” Claire. My Claire was a creature of quiet control. I’d rarely seen her truly laugh, and I’d certainly never seen her lose her temper. The nurse attending to me was gentle, her touch kind. She placed a warm compress on my arm where the needle went in. “The meds are cold, and it can ache if the drip is too fast,” she explained with a small smile. “This helps. Just press the call button if you see any swelling.” I nodded, mustering a weak smile in return. As she was leaving, she added with a sigh, “This is the first time Dr. Allen has ever taken a leave of absence. All to stay here and watch over him.” The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silence. I picked up my phone and dialed Claire’s number. It rang and rang before she finally picked up. Before I could speak, her voice came through, cool and distant. “Ethan, I won’t be home for dinner.” A pause. “I have to scrub in for another surgery.” It was the first time she had ever called to update me on her schedule. And it was a lie. For the three years of our marriage, I was the one who chased, who sent a barrage of texts, who chattered endlessly in her presence, desperate for a crack in her perfect facade. Now I knew why the facade was there. The nurse had said she was on leave. Claire, who treated the hospital as her temple, who volunteered for every holiday shift, trading Christmas for New Year’s so her colleagues could be with their families. We never even had a wedding, let alone a honeymoon. The internet was already on fire with pictures of Claire and Leo. When I saw his face clearly on a news site, it all clicked into place with a horrifying certainty. I finally understood why she had run to him without a second thought. I was in the hospital for two weeks, and for those two weeks, Claire called me every day. The calls were punctual, her voice a flat monotone. “Working late again. Don’t wait up.” And every day, I gave the same reply. “Okay. Got it.” She had taken a month off, the nurses whispered. For two weeks, she hadn’t left Leo’s side. My leg was still useless, confining me to the bed. A physical therapist would come to help me with basic movements, but otherwise, I was a captive audience to the hospital gossip. I found myself listening with a strange, detached interest. If the woman in the story wasn’t the one on my marriage certificate, I’d probably find it all fascinating—a made-for-TV movie unfolding in the room next door. I could order a milkshake and popcorn and treat it like entertainment. But in this tragic reunion of star-crossed lovers, Claire was my wife. And I was the villain, the inconvenient husband keeping them apart. It’s hard to be happy about that. 2 Leo posted a selfie on Instagram from his hospital bed. He was in a patient gown, looking artfully pale. Casually, just in the frame, was the back of a woman. A tall, slender silhouette. A hand with long, elegant fingers resting on the edge of his bed. On the wrist, a Cartier watch with a worn leather strap. The caption read: Don’t worry. She’s taking good care of me. The comments exploded, a frenzy of fans and gossip hounds smelling blood in the water. Leo, is that your girlfriend?! OMG that hand! I’m in love. She should be holding my hand. Leo replied to that one almost immediately, staking his claim for the world to see: Already am. He posted a second picture, still in the hospital gown, clearly taken in the same moment. His hand was intertwined with hers, fingers laced together. It looked so easy for them. I remembered trying to hold Claire’s hand when we were in college. It felt like a clandestine meeting between spies. She never allowed any public displays of affection. My own roommate, Mark, didn’t even know we were dating until graduation. When I told him Claire and I were getting married, he stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “Dude, I think your crush finally broke your brain.” If it weren’t for the marriage certificate, Mark would have assumed I was just another one of the countless guys who fantasized about the unattainable Claire Allen. Mark came to visit me in the hospital. He tiptoed around the subject before finally asking, “So… are you and Claire… done?” I took a moment before answering, my voice more level than I felt. “Almost.” He didn’t push. As he was leaving, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, my couch is always open to you, man. You know that.” I gave him a genuine smile. That night, just as I was drifting off, Claire called again. Her voice was the same as always, a calm, unreadable current. “It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks at the hospital. I probably won’t be home at all.” “Got it,” I replied, my voice a hollow echo of hers. She had no idea that I could see her, a lone figure standing in the brightly lit hallway, just on the other side of the frosted glass of my door. After that call, she didn’t call again. I guess she figured a single, sweeping excuse was more efficient than daily lies. Sometimes, Mark would come and wheel me down to the hospital garden for some fresh air. One afternoon, I saw her. She didn’t see me. Her tall, willowy frame was bent over a wheelchair. In it sat a man in a patient gown, his skin pale, his features fine and gentle. Leo. He was whining about wanting ice cream. Claire crouched in front of him, her voice low. “It’s too cold, Leo. You can’t.” He grabbed her hand, wheedling like a child, and she relented. She came back with a single cone. When a dab of vanilla stuck to the corner of his mouth, she reached out instinctively to wipe it away, but then stopped herself, shoving her hand back into her coat pocket. I saw it then—the love in her eyes, disciplined and restrained, but undeniably there. Leo just smiled, a bright, triumphant flash of white. “Claire, can you get that for me?” His smile seemed to travel across the crowded garden and land directly on me. Claire’s back was still to me, a wall I could never scale. In that moment, I understood. There wasn’t just distance between us. There were entire continents, oceans I could never hope to cross. Claire would have bought me ice cream in the middle of winter. She wouldn’t have cared if I caught a cold. But she never would have crouched down to wipe my face. She would have said, “Ethan, use a napkin. It’s not sanitary.” 3 My surgeon reviewed my chart and gave me the rundown. “You can be discharged next week.” I nodded. Mark was scheduled for a business trip next week. I’d have to hire someone. “And make sure you get out in the wheelchair,” the doctor added on his way out. “Keep moving.” I managed a clumsy lap around the garden by myself. When I got back to my room for lunch, I saw a new hashtag trending on Twitter. It was a photo collage. Claire’s back, Leo’s face. From sixteen to twenty-six. In the first, she’s hugging him, a tall, protective figure. In the last, a candid shot from the hospital, she’s leaning over him. And in the blurred background, almost an afterthought, was me, a solitary figure struggling with a wheelchair. #TheDancerAndTheDoctor #ChildhoodSweetheartsReunited My heart seized. Then I saw the caption that went with it, and the floor dropped out from under me. The best kind of second-chance romance is between step-siblings. So what if they broke up? They still have to see each other at Thanksgiving dinner every year. The words unlocked everything. A fog of confusion I had been living in for three years suddenly evaporated. The worn photograph Claire kept in her wallet—it wasn’t her brother. It was her stepbrother. The one her father brought into the family when he remarried. I knew she had one, but in three years, I’d never met him. Every time I suggested it, she shut me down. It all made sense now. She must have known I had a crush on her back in college. One night, I saw her drinking alone at a bar off-campus. I followed her, my heart pounding, wanting to make sure she was okay. I finally worked up the courage to approach, but she turned around just as I was about to lose my nerve. I spun around, my back to her, pretending to be looking at something else. Then I heard her voice, that cool, clear sound. “Ethan.” My heart stopped. “Weren’t you going to offer me that water?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips. After that, we started talking. She knew I was gone for her. She was the one who asked me out. The one who suggested we get married. The whole thing, from first date to marriage license, took less than six months. It was all so impossibly easy. What I had mistaken for a fairy tale, for the sweet reward of a long-held crush, was actually a cage. A cage Claire had built for me, and for herself. She married me because she was in love with Leo. Her own twisted sense of morality told her she couldn’t be with him. Their parents had forced them apart, sent him abroad to study dance while she stayed here for med school. She needed a distraction. A shield. Someone who could make her forget, and convince her parents she had moved on. And I was the volunteer who walked right into the trap. I pieced it all together from his social media history and the whispers I’d overheard. Now, it was the week before Christmas. I searched online for a home health aide, but no one was available. Most agencies were closed for the holidays, and the few freelancers I found considered a hospital job bad luck at the end of the year. I tripled my offer, but got no replies. It looked like I’d have to stay here until Mark got back. The hospital was overflowing, and they needed my bed. A new patient had already been assigned to the room next door—an elderly woman who moved with more agility than I did. “All alone, handsome?” she asked with a wink. I just nodded. My doctor and the nurses kept stopping by, gently reminding me about my discharge. I felt a flush of embarrassment, a deep sense of apology. “My friend is coming. Soon. I’ll be out of your hair.” The young nurse, the kind one, saw the panic in my eyes. She was about my age. “Hey,” she said softly, “it’s okay. I’ll ask Dr. Miller to give you one more day. Just one.” She saw my helpless expression and gave me a conspiratorial wink, mouthing the words: Don’t worry. 4 The next day, Mark’s flight was delayed by a snowstorm. And the new patient for my room arrived. I heard a familiar, sharp voice from the doorway. “What is he still doing here? Does he think this is a hotel?” Mortified, I started frantically packing my things, piling bags onto my lap as I sat in the wheelchair. The sweet old lady from next door saw me struggling and came over to help. When we pushed the door open, I saw her. A thundercloud of a face. High cheekbones, a frown etched between her brows. She was radiating impatience. She looked right through me. “Do you have any idea how badly this bed is needed? You’ve been delaying for a week. This isn’t your home.” My eyes met hers, and for a second, I just stared. It was Claire. Her right hand was gripping the handle of a suitcase. She was in street clothes. Standing beside her, his arm linked through hers, was Leo. I was wearing a surgical mask. My face burned with shame. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I’m going,” I mumbled. I wheeled myself out into the hallway, my belongings scattered around me like debris. Just then, the kind young nurse came around the corner. “Ethan! Let me help you with that. My shift just ended.” At the sound of my name, Claire’s head snapped up. She grabbed the back of my wheelchair, her grip like steel, and strode around to face me. Our eyes locked. Recognition dawned on her face, a slow wave of shock and disbelief. I offered a tight, painful smile. The nurse, oblivious, kept chattering. “Ethan, where’s your wife? I saw on your chart you were married.” My gaze lifted, meeting Claire’s. After three years of marriage, her own colleagues didn’t even know she had a husband. I smiled at the nurse, a brighter, falser smile this time. “That was a mistake on the form. I’m not married.” Claire started to move toward me, but Leo’s hand tightened on her arm, holding her back. I pushed myself toward the elevators. As the doors began to close, I saw a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from her in a month. Just as the doors were about to seal shut, she lunged forward, shouting my name.

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The second month my boyfriend was missing, I saw him on the street. He was holding court with his friends, that familiar arrogance draped over him like a designer jacket. “Missing? Of course, I’m not missing,” he said, a smirk in his voice. “My girlfriend’s just way too clingy. Time to teach her a lesson.” Then he dropped the line that stopped my heart. “I’ve got Owen covering for me. She doesn’t suspect a thing.” Owen. His best friend. I pretended I heard nothing. Later that night, back in my apartment, a man wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Any news about him today?” Owen asked, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “No,” I whispered, turning to kiss him, my voice full of manufactured sorrow. “Nothing.” “I think he might really be gone.” 1 It was the second month of Caleb’s disappearance when I saw him. He was with his crew, looking just as infuriatingly self-assured as ever. “Caleb, man,” one of his friends said, clapping him on the back. “This whole ‘going missing’ act… we barely get to see you either.” “Can’t be helped,” Caleb replied, his tone lazy and careless. “Claire was getting way too possessive, always needing to know where I was. Had to teach her a lesson.” “How’d you even come up with a plan like that?” “That was all me,” a girl next to him chirped, her eyebrows raised in triumph. “You think he has the brains for a move this brilliant? Please.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re the genius,” Caleb said, his smile indulgent as he looked at her. I knew her. Chloe. The only girl in Caleb’s tight-knit circle of friends. “But isn’t this a little extreme?” someone else asked. “You think Claire won’t get suspicious?” “Nah, I’ve got Owen running interference for me. It’s solid.” A wave of understanding passed through the group. “Oh, right. With Owen vouching for the story, who’d ever doubt it?” “Mr. Dependable himself.” Chloe let out a dismissive little scoff. “It’s not about Owen. It’s because Claire is an idiot.” I waited for Caleb to defend me. For a flicker of protest. Instead, he leaned in and murmured to Chloe, “It’s true. She’s got nothing on you.” The rest of the group started hooting and catcalling, as if this was a familiar routine. “Dude, just get with Chloe already and stop messing around with other girls.” “Nah, I don’t eat where I shit,” Caleb shot back. “Get lost,” Chloe retorted. “As if I’d ever want you.” They traded insults like playing cards, but under the table, their legs were brushing against each other in a lazy, intimate rhythm. Finally, as they were winding down, someone asked the question that was burning in my own mind. “You can’t stay ‘missing’ forever, man. When are you planning on going back?” Caleb’s smile was pure confidence. “I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll go back when Claire has completely lost her mind looking for me.” 2 I was on my way to the police station to finally file a missing person’s report. I changed my mind. Instead, I went to the grocery store and bought all my favorite snacks. Then I treated myself to a long, luxurious afternoon at a spa. It was dark by the time I got home. The apartment was unlit, and I figured Owen had already left. I had just slipped off my shoes when a pair of arms slid around my waist from behind, pulling me against a hard chest. My body went rigid for a second. “Have you been drinking?” Owen didn’t answer directly. “Where were you today? You didn’t answer my calls.” “Sorry, I didn’t check my phone.” “Any word on Caleb?” “No,” I sighed, letting my voice fill with exhaustion. “Nothing.” He held me tighter, his breath warm on my neck. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t pushed him to go on that stupid hike, he wouldn’t be gone.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. He would have been convincing, too—if the warm tip of his tongue hadn’t grazed my earlobe. Owen was one of Caleb’s best friends. After Caleb vanished, they had their roles perfectly cast. Caleb was the victim, hidden in the shadows. Owen was playing the part of the guilt-ridden friend. But Caleb, it seemed, had no idea just how… dedicated his friend was to the role. His method of repentance was… unique. 3 Owen was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, from a family whose wealth and influence dwarfed Caleb’s. To the outside world, he was cool and aloof, almost untouchable. That’s how I’d always seen him, too. In all the time I’d been with Caleb, Owen and I had barely exchanged more than a few sentences. After college, I landed a job at a company that, by sheer coincidence, was one of his family’s many assets. That made him my boss’s boss’s boss, or something like that. The distance between us felt even greater. It was only a month ago, when the news of Caleb’s “disappearance” hit, that we got closer. I was a wreck, and Owen, as the one who had organized the hiking trip, was consumed with guilt. He insisted on taking care of me in Caleb’s absence. But his care was… meticulous. He cooked all my meals, personally delivering them to me. It made me deeply uncomfortable. “Owen, you can’t blame yourself,” I’d told him. “Caleb loves hiking. He was planning on climbing that mountain anyway, with or without you. His parents don’t blame you, and neither do I. You should get back to your own life. You really don’t have to—hey, put that down!” I lunged across the room, snatching my lingerie from his hands. “I can wash these myself!” His expression was utterly serious. “I get things cleaner. Are you sure?” “Positive!” I was so flustered at the time that I didn’t notice him hiding his hand behind his back, rubbing his fingertips together in disappointment. The moment I realized the full extent of Owen’s other side came late one night. I got up to use the bathroom and found he was still in my apartment, asleep in the guest room. I was about to ask him why he hadn’t left when I peeked through the cracked door. He was shirtless, his back lean and muscled in the dim light. In one hand, he was holding my black lace camisole. His other hand was obscured by a nightstand. Under the soft, yellow light, the muscles in his back were pulled taut, the veins on his forearm standing out. He was completely still. The sight was so shocking, a small gasp escaped my lips. Owen’s head snapped around. The instant his eyes met mine, he tilted his head back, a low, guttural sound vibrating in his throat. 4 I had discovered Owen’s secret. And just like that, I was in his trap. I knew I should have pushed him away. I shouldn’t have allowed the hugs, the kisses. But I couldn’t stop myself. Maybe it was because when I was crying my eyes out for Caleb, Owen was the only one there, a silent, steady presence by my side. But there was a bigger reason. For weeks, I’d suspected Caleb’s disappearance was a sham. What kind of parents learn their son is missing and not only refuse to file a police report, but actively stop me from doing it? What kind of friends lose one of their own and just keep partying, living it up as if nothing happened? All those nagging doubts were finally confirmed today. They had all conspired to put on a play for my benefit. And Owen was a star performer. Back in the present, he still wouldn’t let me go. “Did you make dinner? I’m starving,” I said, my voice tired. “It’s ready. All your favorites.” “Go heat it up.” “Okay.” Owen went immediately. The fact that I was ordering him around didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. After we ate, I slipped off the camisole I’d been wearing under my sweater and tossed it to him. “Wash this.” Owen froze. “You want me to?” “Yeah. I’m too tired tonight.” He looked like he’d just been given a prize. He cradled the piece of silk and disappeared into the bathroom. I knew he’d be in there for at least twenty minutes. With him out of the way, I picked up his phone from the coffee table. Just as I suspected, Caleb had a burner phone and a private group chat to stay in touch with everyone. In the early days, he’d actually asked about me. [Caleb]: How’s Claire doing? [Owen]: She cried a lot today. [Caleb]: Don’t worry about it. That’s just her, always crying about something. It’s so annoying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. [Owen]: When are you going to end this? [Caleb]: ? [Owen]: If you don’t like her, just break up with her. You don’t have to play with her like this. [Caleb]: I do like her. I just hate how she’s always on my case, not even letting me go out for a drink at night. Chloe was right. A little scare will make her more obedient. Owen hadn’t replied to that. A notification dinged at the top of the screen from another group chat. The name caught my eye. Princess Chloe and Her Three Servants. 5 [Princess Chloe]: Fresh tea, everyone! One of Claire’s coworkers saw her crying at the office again yesterday! [Servant #1 Caleb]: I heard. [Princess Chloe]: See? My methods work. You owe me dinner for this, Caleb. This was the group chat for Caleb and Chloe’s little crew. There were four guys in their circle. Three of them were labeled as “servants.” The one who wasn’t was Owen. His name was just his name. I remembered Caleb telling me once that Owen had joined their group later than the others. I never knew why. I figured with his family’s money and connections, Caleb and the others probably made a point of recruiting him. Owen rarely spoke in the group chat. It was mostly Caleb fawning over Chloe. [Servant #1 Caleb]: Owe you dinner? How many dinners do I already owe you? I literally gave you a credit card. Claire used to flip out about that all the time. [Princess Chloe]: That’s what’s so funny. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Who the hell is she to get jealous? eyeroll.jpg She’s just jealous that I have so many guy friends. Caleb sent a sticker of a knight captioned “Protecting my princess.” [Caleb]: Alright, don’t be mad. From now on, you get first pick of any gift I buy for her. How’s that, Your Highness? [Chloe]: Hmph. That’s more like it. I felt sick. I scrolled up, reading through weeks of their exchanges. It was a constant stream of flirty banter. Every single time Caleb had been late for a date with me, it was because of Chloe. The night I was sick with a fever, alone in an urgent care clinic with an IV in my arm, he was with Chloe. Even the Valentine’s Day gift he’d given me… it was what was left over after Chloe had taken what she wanted. … A new message popped up. It was a private chat from Caleb to Owen. [Caleb]: Hey, something else I just remembered. I typed back in Owen’s clipped style: [?] [Caleb]: That night of Chloe’s birthday a couple of months ago, when I got wasted… I ended up crashing at her place. Make sure you never let that slip. [Caleb]: Remember, I was with you that whole night. Got it? My fingers moved slowly across the screen. [What happened between you two?] [Caleb]: Ugh, I thought we agreed not to talk about it? [Caleb]: Both of us are just pretending that night never happened. [Caleb]: It’s the only way we can still be friends. 6 Owen came out of the bathroom. The camisole was clean. His expression was calm, but the corners of his eyes were still flushed a faint red. I smiled at him. “Did you have fun in there?” Owen blinked, caught off guard. Even though I’d caught him, and even though we’d shared kisses and embraces, we had never taken the final step. “Did you,” I started, pointing at the camisole, “get anything on it?” “…I washed it all out. You can check.” “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes raking over him. “I’m not judging.” He was six-foot-two, with a body that was close to perfect. By any physical measure, he was miles ahead of Caleb. “I might need you to wash a dress for me in a little bit,” I said softly. “What?” Owen looked down at me, confusion in his eyes. He didn’t understand what I meant. Not yet. I slipped out of my clothes, stood on my toes, and pressed my lips against his. “Owen,” I whispered against his mouth, my voice a breathy, tragic thing. “I think Caleb might really be gone for good.” I pulled back, my eyes wide and pleading. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 7 After that night, all I had to do was crook my finger, and Owen would come. We had a chemistry, a silent understanding that I’d never had with Caleb. Owen was attentive to my needs, my pleasure. The entire experience was on another level—more intense, more satisfying. Honestly, the two of them weren’t even in the same league, physically or otherwise. I almost regretted not taking this step sooner. Why had I wasted so much time on a ghost? Owen didn’t suspect a thing. I had deleted Caleb’s incriminating chat history from his phone. Whenever I got the chance, I’d borrow his phone to check the group chat. In the last few days, I had stopped my frantic search for Caleb, and he was starting to panic. He tagged everyone in the group. [Caleb]: What’s going on? Why did Claire suddenly stop looking for me? [Friend 1]: Chill, man. She’s probably just tired. Give her a break. [Caleb]: No way. She would never give up, no matter how tired she was! [Caleb]: Should I go back? [Princess Chloe]: HOLD ON! You have to keep this up a little longer. If you go back now, it was all for nothing. [Caleb]: I can’t. I have to go see her tomorrow. [Princess Chloe]: Are you an idiot, Caleb? I worked hard on this plan for you. You can’t just ignore it. What does that make me? [Princess Chloe]: I’m a woman, I know how her little mind works. She probably heard a rumor and is trying to bait you into showing yourself. [Princess Chloe]: Just watch. I’ll take care of her. Caleb went silent for a moment. In the end, he caved. [Caleb]: Fine. I’ll listen to you. But even so, he was still worried. That night, he called Owen. The call came through right as I had climbed on top of Owen, straddling him. The screen showed an unknown number. I answered it myself, holding the phone to Owen’s ear. “Hey, man,” Caleb’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Sorry to bother you, just… had to check in. What’s going on with Claire lately?” Owen, thinking I couldn’t hear, answered in a thick, distracted voice. “She’s… she’s fine.” “Whoa, dude, what’s with your voice? You got a girl over there?” “…How can you tell?” “I just know, man. You sound happy. Did I interrupt something? You gotta bring her out and introduce us sometime—” Caleb didn’t get to finish. I leaned in close to Owen’s ear and spoke, my voice clear and demanding. “Are you done? Pay attention.” The phone went dead silent. When Caleb spoke again, his voice was completely different. “Owen, who the hell is with you right now?!” 8 The question jolted Owen out of his haze of passion. He quickly fumbled for the volume, turning it down as his voice regained its usual cool composure. “Just a girl. You don’t know her.” “But… that sounded exactly like Claire.” “You heard wrong. Look, I gotta go. Don’t call again.” Owen hung up. He rolled over, pinning me beneath him, a playful glint in his eyes. “Now, where were we? I promise to be much more focused this time.” “Forget it. Aren’t you worried Caleb’s on his way over here right now?” Owen froze. I continued, “He’s probably been hiding out at that suburban house his parents own, right? That’s only a thirty-minute drive.” “You… you heard him?” “Owen, I’ve seen him. In person.” His expression shifted into something complicated. It took him a long moment to process it all. “So you’ve known all along,” he finally said. “That he wasn’t missing.” “Yes.” “And you’re not angry?” “I was. But I got over it pretty quickly. Getting angry at someone like him is just bad for my health.” The day I saw Caleb on the street, I hadn’t stormed over to confront him. I didn’t scream or demand to know why he had deceived me. What would have been the point? He was already rotten to the core. You can’t expect a dog to cough up anything but filth. I looked at Owen. “And you? Don’t you have anything you want to say?” Of everyone in their little crew, Owen was the only one who had voiced any objection to the ‘fake disappearance’ plan. I was genuinely curious what had made him agree to it in the end. “I owed him a favor,” Owen said, and it was like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He told me everything. “Caleb helped me out with something big a while back, and he used that to guilt me into this. But it doesn’t matter. I never should have lied to you. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m actually glad you were part of this.” “What do you mean?” I reached out, tilting his chin up so he was looking directly at me. A slow smile spread across my face. “How would you feel about betraying them and becoming my accomplice instead?”

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I found it by accident. A password-protected blog linked to my husband’s email, an account I never knew he had. We’d been married for ten years. For ten years, I thought I knew everything about Ethan. The blog was a digital scrapbook, meticulously documenting a love story. Their love story. My fingers trembled as I scrolled to the very last entry, a knot tightening in my stomach. But then, the dates started looking… familiar. **[May 20, 2015]** *He said yes. He put my ring on his finger.* That was the day Ethan proposed to me. **[January 20, 2016]** *Can’t wait to meet the new life we created.* That was the day I found out I was pregnant. Ethan was so ecstatic he lifted me up and spun me around right in front of the hospital entrance. We lost the baby, a heartbreak that haunted us for years, a result of my own health complications. **[May 21, 2016]** No text, just a single photo: a massive bouquet of 999 red roses. That was the surprise Ethan arranged for our first wedding anniversary. My frantic heartbeat began to slow. Relief washed over me. This wasn’t about another woman. This was just Ethan’s private way of chronicling our life together. How sweet. And then, just as I was about to close the laptop, the page refreshed. A new entry appeared, posted seconds ago. **[Tonight]** *Hubby says he’s making his special coconut curry chicken for me and our son.* Before I could even process the words, Ethan’s custom ringtone—a clip from our wedding song—blared from my phone. “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “Listen, Mark’s back in the country, just for a night. A few of us are taking him out to celebrate.” “Don’t worry, I won’t drink too much,” he continued, pre-empting my usual concern. “But it’s going to run late. I’ll probably just crash at a hotel downtown so I don’t wake you. Okay?” It was the usual considerate check-in. The usual Ethan. Any other day, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, with that blog post burned into my mind, his sudden night away felt like a deliberate deception. Mark was Ethan’s best friend from college, a guy who’d been working in London for years. I immediately called him. The sound of deafening club music blasted through the speaker before I could even say hello. “Mia! Checking up on your man?” Mark yelled over the noise. “Don’t you worry, he’s right here with me!” I forced my voice to sound steady. “Okay. You guys have fun.” I waited up until 2 a.m. As I suspected, the blog updated again. This time, there was a photo. A little boy, maybe eight years old, was beaming next to a homemade cake. The caption read: **Leo is eight! He and Daddy made a cake together today.** In the second photo, a man’s arm was wrapped around the boy. I’d know that arm anywhere. On his wrist was a woven cord bracelet, a one-of-a-kind piece I’d bought for him at a street fair during his “golden birthday” year. I’d tied it on him myself. There was only one in the world. My hands shook so violently the phone nearly slipped from my grasp. My fingertips were white from gripping it so hard. An eight-year-old boy. Calling him Dad. Proposed to on the same day as me. A pregnancy discovered on the same day as mine. Even their anniversary seemed to fall on the same date. The whole thing was so absurd, so utterly insane, I almost laughed. A piercing alarm pulled me from my stupor. I’d been sitting there all night, staring into space. I shut off the alarm—the one I set to remind me to make Ethan a hangover-cure smoothie on mornings like this. After washing the dried tear tracks from my face, I looked at my red, swollen eyes in the mirror and dialed the number for a private investigator. Thirty minutes later, I was parked outside a pristine suburban house not ten miles from our own. “Mrs. Hayes,” the investigator said over the phone, “this is the address Mr. Hayes has visited most frequently over the past decade, aside from your home and his office.” “Last night, he stopped at a bakery supply store, then a supermarket where he bought a fresh chicken and coconut milk. He went into this house and never came out.” Baking. Chicken. Coconut. It all clicked into place. The blood in my veins turned to ice. In the rearview mirror, my face was a ghostly white. The perfect, enviable love story I was so proud of was nothing but a complete and utter fraud. I didn’t have to wait long. Just after 8 a.m., Ethan walked out the front door, dressed for work. A woman, holding a sleepy little boy, came out to see him off. “Bye, Daddy,” the boy mumbled. Ethan bent down and squeezed his cheek affectionately. “Be good for your mom, buddy.” The scene of this perfect little family was a dagger in my eyes. I watched, torturing myself, staring so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood from biting my lip. “Okay, I’m off,” Ethan said to the woman. “I’ll see you guys next time.” As he turned to leave, the woman dropped the boy’s hand and lunged forward, trying to hug him. Ethan sidestepped her smoothly. I saw a flash of annoyance cross his face before he quickly masked it. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low. The woman froze, her smile faltering. “Right,” she managed, her voice tight. “I promised.” I watched as Ethan got into his car and immediately picked up his phone. A second later, mine rang. His voice was thick with feigned exhaustion and longing, the same performance he gave after every late night out. “Baby, I feel awful. I could really use one of your smoothies right now.” A pause. “It’s been twenty hours since I saw you. I miss you so much.” Ethan had always been demonstrative. He’d declared he would be my boyfriend in front of the entire student body during his valedictorian speech. The day we started dating, he called his parents and announced he’d found their future daughter-in-law. At our wedding, he cried from morning till night, so much that his groomsmen kept their distance. Even my own parents were in awe of him, often asking me, “Are you really that special? How did you land a man who worships you like this?” Until yesterday, I believed it, too. Now, all I felt was a wave of nausea. When I didn’t respond, he must have thought I was mad about him staying out all night. “I promise, I’ll never drink that much again. No old friend is more important than my wife. Please don’t be angry, Mia.” I’m not good at hiding my feelings. His soft, coaxing voice broke through my resolve, and I was about to demand where he’d really been. Just as I opened my mouth, a sharp tap on my car window made me jump. It was her. The woman from the house, holding the little boy by the hand. She had on a full face of makeup, her red lips curved into a smirk. She mouthed the words: “Let’s talk.” I mumbled a quick excuse to Ethan and hung up. I followed her to a nearby coffee shop. “My name is Sarah,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite me. “I’m Ethan’s legal wife.” My hand, hidden under the table, clenched into a fist. The sharp sting of my nails digging into my palm was the only thing keeping me upright. I would not fall apart in front of her. “What a coincidence,” I said, my voice surprisingly level. “Because I also have a marriage license, and a wedding, that says I’m his legal wife.” I expected shock. Anger. Some sign that she was another victim in this. But her expression was calm, almost smug, as if everything was going according to her plan. She pulled a folded document from her purse and laid it on the table. A marriage certificate. The date, the city official—it all matched mine. Except for the photo. Hers was next to Ethan’s. “Look familiar?” Sarah asked with a slight smile. “That’s because Ethan had a perfect, high-quality forgery of this one made just for you.” My throat tightened. “What are you talking about?” “Your marriage certificate,” she said, her voice dripping with condescending pity. “It’s fake.” The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Every part of me ached. Sarah watched me, savoring my reaction. “I’m sure you’ve already had me investigated,” she continued, “and you’ve decided I’m the homewrecker who stole your husband. How are you planning to get rid of me? Money? Your family’s influence?” She picked up her certificate and tucked it back into her purse, her smile turning into a triumphant sneer. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the legal Mrs. Hayes. You,” she said, leaning in, “are the other woman. The one he keeps in the dark.” I fought to control my breathing, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. The little boy, who had been playing quietly nearby, ran over to our table. He pointed a small finger at me. “Mommy, is that the pretty lady from Daddy’s phone wallpaper?” I knew Ethan kept our wedding photo as his lock screen. But I never imagined he’d be so brazen as to let his own child see it. What shocked me more was Sarah’s reaction—or lack thereof. She clearly knew about me all along. She wanted me to find that blog. She wanted this confrontation. “What do you want?” I whispered. Instead of answering, Sarah pulled another document from her bag. A DNA test. It stated, in clear, clinical black and white, that Ethan Hayes shared no biological relationship with the child, Leo. I sat in that coffee shop until the sky went dark. My dad called, his voice laced with annoyance. “Are you fighting with Ethan again? He’s worried sick, says you’re not answering your phone.” There was a pause. “You’re thirty-two years old, Mia, not a child. When are you going to grow up?” The lecture continued. “Ethan runs the company flawlessly, so your mother and I don’t have to worry about a thing. On top of all that, he has to take care of you. And the second you have a disagreement, you pull a disappearing act. Can’t you be more considerate? Stop being so dramatic. With your inability to do anything practical, who else would put up with you if you manage to run him off?” The mountain of betrayal I was carrying was too heavy to explain. In their eyes, I was the clueless heiress, and Ethan was the perfect son-in-law who held our world together. My entire future depended on him. “But Dad,” I choked out, “what if he doesn’t love me?” “Impossible,” he said, without a hint of doubt. He was right. Everyone could see how much Ethan loved me. Even I had believed it. I pulled myself together, deciding to play along, to pretend I knew nothing. So what if one piece of paper was fake? Our life, our friends, our family—everyone knew me as his wife. And the boy wasn’t his. We could have our own child. When I got home, Ethan rushed to me, wrapping me in a desperate hug. I told him I’d gone to a movie and put my phone on silent. I felt his body relax, a silent sigh of relief against my chest. I dug my nails into my palms again, forcing down the suspicion. Later that night, after my shower, I put on a silk slip I’d bought years ago but had always been too shy to wear. Taking a deep breath, I walked up behind Ethan and wrapped my arms around him. He seemed surprised and pleased by my forwardness, but when I whispered that I wanted to try for a baby again, his whole body went rigid. He was silent for a long moment before gently removing my arms. “Why are you suddenly thinking about that?” he asked. The rejection was so clear it felt like my heart had dropped into my feet. My voice trembled. “You don’t want to?” He looked at me with the kind of patient exasperation one reserves for an unreasonable child. “Mia, you know what the doctors said after the miscarriage. Your body can’t handle another pregnancy. It would be dangerous for you. If something happened to you… what would I do?” My mind flashed back to that day, to the feeling of being alone, bleeding, and helpless. “Besides,” he added softly, “kids are so noisy. They cry all the time, they’d ruin our time together. I don’t like kids, you know that.” He ended up sleeping in the guest room, saying we both needed some space to “cool off.” Every word was a carefully crafted defense, painting me as the one making an impulsive, irrational demand. At 2 a.m., my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Then another, and another. A dozen videos flooded in. They were all of Ethan with Leo. The first was from October 2016. Ethan was cradling a newborn, pacing back and forth, rocking him gently. That was the same time Ethan told me he had to fly to Europe for three months to handle a crisis at the international branch. Another lie. More videos followed. Every birthday. Ethan holding Leo’s hand at Disneyland, at the aquarium, building a model airplane together. There was even a clip of him at a parent-teacher conference. In every video, Ethan was smiling. A deep, genuine smile of pure happiness. A look I had never seen on his face before. He told me he didn’t like kids. Another lie. But then why… why had he spent so many nights back then, sitting alone on our balcony, silently crying while holding the tiny baby clothes I had bought? It was as if he was trying to make up for something. For the next few weeks, Ethan was a model husband. He left work early and came home on time. He spent every free moment with me, turning down all invitations and pushing all his networking duties onto his assistant. “I need to be home with my wife,” he’d say proudly into his phone. “Yeah, I’m a whipped husband. So what?” Just as I started to think our life was returning to normal, that Sarah and Leo were just a nightmare I’d had, Ethan shattered the illusion himself. The company was on annual leave, and Ethan had planned a surprise trip for us to Iceland to see the Northern Lights—something I’d always dreamed of. We were at the airport, about to check in, when he took a call. The color drained from his face. “It’s an emergency at the office,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry. We’ll have to do this another time.” I stared at his face, a mask of practiced regret. I had to know. “Is it really the office, Ethan?” He stopped walking, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. The old me would have just nodded and accepted it, always putting his work first. “Of course it’s…” My last shred of patience snapped. I held up my phone, showing him the text that had arrived three minutes earlier. It was from Sarah. **[Leo has a 100-degree fever. Let’s see if his daddy will abandon you for him.]** Ethan froze, a look of pure panic and disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Who do you choose?” I asked, my voice flat. He reached for me, but I pulled away. Through his phone, I could hear the faint, pained cries of a child. “Daddy… I don’t feel good… I want you…” Ethan’s hand tightened around his phone. He looked at me, his eyes dark with a conflict I couldn’t decipher. “You don’t have a child, Mia,” he said, his voice strained. “You don’t understand how terrifying it is when they get sick. We can see the Northern Lights anytime. If you really want to go, just go ahead. I’ll fly out and meet you when this is over.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll explain everything later,” he threw over his shoulder. In ten years of marriage, I had seen Ethan run towards me countless times. This was the first time I had ever seen him run away, a desperate, frantic sprint in the opposite direction. An airport attendant offered me a tissue, and I realized my carefully applied makeup was streaming down my face. A dull, constant ache in my chest made it hard to breathe. My phone vibrated again. A text from Sarah. **[I told you. You’re the other woman. Why won’t you just leave him?]** On that day in the coffee shop, after she showed me the DNA test, I had asked her what she wanted. She’d smiled brightly. “To take back my rightful place as Mrs. Hayes, of course.” I turned off my phone, ignoring her taunts, and headed for the airport exit to catch a cab. I absentmindedly pressed the wrong button in the elevator and ended up in the deserted underground parking garage. As I turned to go back, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind, and I was dragged into a windowless van. My hands and feet were bound, my mouth gagged. “You move, you make a sound, and I’ll gut you,” a gruff voice hissed, pressing the cold steel of a knife against my side. I huddled in the corner, trembling, trying not to make a sound. “Call Ethan Hayes,” the man ordered his partner. “Tell him if he doesn’t back off the Southridge deal, he’ll never see his precious wife again.” The Southridge deal. Ethan had told me about them. A rival firm he was trying to acquire, a group that was fighting back tooth and nail. “We’ll just wait them out,” he had said. “Starve them until they give in.” They used my phone. The first call went to voicemail. The second. The tenth. Each unanswered ring felt like a drop of ice water on my heart. “Dammit!” the man yelled. “I thought this guy was obsessed with his wife! Call him again!” This time, he answered. His voice, crackling with suppressed fury, filled the small van. “Mia, what the hell is your problem? Why do you have to take it out on a child?” He didn’t even let me speak. “So you miss one trip, but a little boy is sick! Do you have any compassion at all?” He was practically shouting now. “You know what? You could never be a good mother. Deciding you shouldn’t have our baby was the rightest decision I ever made.” My breath hitched. “What did you just say?”

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Before the final SAT exam, my genius boyfriend’s mom got hit by an electric scooter right in front of the testing center. He was a complete mess when he saw me. “Tori, can you please take my mom to the ER?” I was about to say yes without a second thought, but then a few lines of text flickered into existence in front of my eyes: 【The male lead was planning to dump the side character right after the test anyway. He only stayed with her for a few more years because she saved his mom.】 【Just say yes! He’s freaking out. Yesterday, he intentionally bombed two major problems on the math section just to lower his score enough to get into the same college as the female lead. If he misses the reading comprehension section today, he won’t even get into a top-tier school!】 The words, like comments from a livestream only I could see, left me stunned. It took me a moment to find my voice. “No.” Even if he had the potential to be a National Merit Scholar, that wasn’t a good enough reason for me to throw away my own future for him. … Ethan couldn’t believe I’d refused. He got agitated. “Tori, my mom raised me all by herself. She’s the most important person in my life. I can’t just leave her here and go take a test.” Mrs. Davis was unconscious on the pavement, and the kid who hit her with the scooter looked like he was about to faint. “You’re really not going to help me?” Ethan’s voice rose, sharp and accusing. “You talk a big game about loving me, about wanting me to succeed, but it’s all just talk, isn’t it? The second something real happens, I see who you really are. You’re just selfish.” I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “The reading section is first. If you miss it, you’ll have to guess on the whole thing. And they lock the doors fifteen minutes after it starts.” He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Like it makes a difference for *your* score? What, you think acing the reading section is suddenly going to get you into a UC school?” My breath hitched. I couldn’t believe those words came out of Ethan’s mouth. Ethan was always number one in our class. I knew how much this test meant to him. I was the one who stood in the long lunch line for him every day so he’d have more time to study. I was the one who asked my cousin at a rival magnet school to sneak me their test prep materials for him. But seeing those floating comments—that he’d *deliberately* tanked part of his math score—made it hard to breathe. “Isn’t that the valedictorian? What’s going on?” “We’ve got twenty minutes till the doors close. C’mon, let’s go.” Other students were whispering as they hurried past. In the distance, I could hear a siren getting closer. 【What’s wrong with this side character? The simp won’t even help? She’s going to ruin everything for him.】 【The female lead is here! Oh no, please don’t make our girl Chloe take his mom to the hospital. Don’t let it mess with her test!】 “Ethan? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I snapped my head up and saw Chloe’s cool, composed face. So *she* was the “female lead” the stream was talking about. Ethan’s voice was weak. “My mom… she got hit. She’s unconscious.” “Oh my god, what are we going to do? The test is about to start.” Ethan seemed to pull himself together. “It’s okay, I’ll figure it out. You should go get to your seat. Don’t worry about this, just focus and do your best.” The stream chat exploded again. 【See? The difference between love and not-love is so obvious. He’s panicking but still tells the female lead not to worry. Such a man!】 【Yeah, our girl Chloe has to do well! Go get into the same college as him!】 I watched the glowing text scroll by and silently took two steps back. The ambulance arrived. I moved forward to help lift the stretcher, but Ethan shoved me away. “We don’t need your fake sympathy.” Before he climbed into the ambulance, his eyes skipped over me and landed squarely on Chloe. “Don’t worry. Go on. Do great.” Sitting in the exam room, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. I listened to every single word of the proctor’s instructions with laser focus. I didn’t let myself relax until the very last second of the exam. When I walked out, it was no surprise that Ethan wasn’t there. My best friend, Maya, grabbed my arm. “We’re free! The class president is having a huge bonfire at the beach tonight. Are you and Ethan coming together?” I shook my head. I didn’t even know if he’d made it back in time for the test. “Hey, isn’t that Ethan over there?” I followed Maya’s finger and saw him standing under the big old oak tree with Chloe. He flagged down a cab, held the door for her with his hand over the frame so she wouldn’t hit her head, and then slid in beside her. “Where are they going? Wait, why isn’t he waiting for you?” Maya immediately realized how awkward and sad I must have looked and shut her mouth. “They’re probably going to the hospital,” I said. I told her what happened before the test, leaving out the part about the weird, magical comments. Maya was furious on my behalf. “Why should *you* have to take his mom? Is he the only person whose future is on the line today? So what if he’s number one, he can’t just expect his girlfriend to sacrifice her own SATs for him.” I thought about the comment saying he was going to dump me anyway and gave a weak, bitter smile. Maybe it was for the best. Better to get it over with now than be strung along for a few more years. I skipped the bonfire. After dinner, I just locked myself in my room. I opened my chat with Ethan. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted, and finally just sent: *How’s your mom doing?* The class group chat was blowing up with thousands of post-exam messages, but my chat window with Ethan was silent. I felt like a prisoner with a bag over my head, waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall. Eventually, I couldn’t resist opening Instagram. Chloe had just posted a new story. 【First time seeing you like this. It’s okay, I’m here.】 The picture was a silhouette of a guy under a streetlight, his shadow stretched long on the pavement. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew Ethan’s profile anywhere. The only thing I didn’t recognize was the cigarette between his fingers. Even as a shadow, I could feel his despair. My throat tightened. I wanted to call him. But then the comments popped back up. 【He’s totally broken. He’s never done this badly on a test in his life. Chloe, our baby, go hug him! Don’t let him be sad all alone!】 【Yes! Run your fingers through his hair and then reward him with a kiss! Don’t wait until he’s at the altar with the side piece to finally make your move!】 【How can she not see it? His eyes are screaming ‘I’m vulnerable, please comfort me!’】 My eyes widened at the text. *At the altar?* I immediately canceled the call I’d just started. So even if we somehow made it to our wedding day, he would still leave me for her? Why should I bother fighting to be a supporting character in their story? I waited all night. I didn’t get a reply, and I didn’t get a breakup text. The next day, the news about Ethan’s mom had spread. A few mutual friends planned to go visit her at the hospital. We walked into the room with a bouquet of flowers and were met by an exhausted-looking Ethan. He glanced at me, his voice ice-cold. “What are you doing here?” “I’m sorry I didn’t take your mom to the hospital yesterday. I…” “Tori, you can drop the act. I see exactly what kind of person you are now.” From the bed, Mrs. Davis’s voice was weak. “Ethan, what’s going on?” “Your classmates are here to see you, Mom.” He stepped aside to let everyone else in, but he physically blocked me from entering. Our friends froze, not knowing what to say. I stared at him, stunned, and quietly held out the flowers to him. He shoved them back at me. “I will never forgive you,” he hissed, then turned and shut the door in my face. Tears blurred my vision, but the floating text became sharper than ever. 【Smart move by the ML. His mom was only won over by the side character’s constant, perfect care. By not giving her the chance to do that now, his mom won’t pressure him to stay with her later.】 【But wait, why hasn’t he broken up with her yet?】 【Yeah, for real. Shouldn’t he just dump her? Why keep such a selfish girlfriend around?】 Reading that, I felt a surge of anger. If I helped him, I was a doormat. If I didn’t, I was selfish. Did anyone in this stupid “narrative” care about *my* future? For the next few days, I didn’t bother texting Ethan. Instead, I called my dad, who had moved to California a few years ago when his company expanded. We talked about college options out there, and he offered to help me find an internship for the summer. I’d always planned on staying in-state for college—not at Ethan’s Ivy League choice, obviously, but at least in the same city. But now that we were ending, the farther away the better. Before the scores were released, our class president organized a big grad party at a local pizza place. When I got there, Ethan had already arrived. Chloe was sitting right next to him. They were both wearing clothes in the same shade of blue, looking for all the world like a couple. I had just sat down when Maya slid in next to me. “What is going on with you and Ethan? Did you break up?” I gave a grim smile. “Basically.” “What do you mean, ‘basically’? Are they wearing matching outfits? That’s so messed up. Does he have to rub it in your face the second you break up?” I hadn’t thought about it, but now that Maya mentioned it, I felt like everyone at the table was whispering, waiting to see me fall apart. Someone at the table started talking about another class. “Did you guys hear about the senior couple from Mr. Henderson’s homeroom? They broke up.” “No way! They were so solid. The principal even called their parents in, and it didn’t change anything. Why break up after graduation?” “Their scores were just too different. Reality hits, you know? It was bound to happen eventually.” I kept my head down and sipped my soda. But then Chloe laughed. “People really break up over test scores? I thought guys just liked pretty girls. I mean, look at our class, at least half the guys have a crush on Tori.” My head shot up at the sound of my name. I met Chloe’s taunting gaze. Then Ethan chimed in from beside her, his voice casual. “What’s the point of being pretty if you’re a selfish person?” Ethan’s friends started piling on. “Seriously, man, if I were there, I would’ve driven your mom to the hospital for you, no questions asked. I’d never let you miss your shot at a school like Princeton.” “I’d be pissed too if I were you.” Maya muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “Wasn’t Chloe there, too?” The table went dead silent. The quiet was broken by a rowdy cheer from across the restaurant. The other senior class was having their party here, too, and Liam, their class heartthrob, was walking toward our table. Our class president called out, “What do you want, Liam? Here to start a turf war?” Maya nudged me. “I think he’s coming for you,” she whispered. I looked up and met Liam’s eyes. He was clearly a little drunk, the tips of his ears bright red, but his voice was sincere when he stopped in front of me. “Tori, can I get your number?” The question was followed by a chorus of whistles and catcalls from both tables. I was totally flustered, but before I could respond, Ethan’s voice cut through the noise. “What are you doing asking for my girlfriend’s number?” Liam looked at Ethan, then glanced at Chloe in her matching blue shirt. “I don’t want your girlfriend’s number. I’m here for Tori’s.” The cheering got even louder. “We’ve been in the same grade for four years, and I’ve always wanted to get to know you,” Liam said to me. “Just adding you on Snap isn’t a crime, right?” It wasn’t. I pulled out my phone and let him scan my code. He grinned. “Talk to you later,” he said with a little wave, and walked away. From across the table, Ethan stared daggers at me and chugged his entire glass of beer. The stream chat lit up. 【Why is the ML so mad? And look at the FL’s face, she’s so upset.】 【Drink up, drink up! Get drunk and tell Chloe how you really feel. I bet we’ll see some real progress tonight!】 【What kind of progress? 😉 I’m excited. They’re both eighteen, after all.】 The comments were making my head spin. Suddenly, someone yelled, “Chloe, are you okay?” Sometime in the last few minutes, Chloe had gotten herself completely drunk. She swayed in her seat and collapsed right into Ethan’s arms. Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her stand up. “I’m gonna take her home.” As he was leaving, he looked back at me. “You and Maya get an Uber together later, okay? Don’t go home by yourself.” Maya couldn’t help herself. “Is he for real? One minute he’s calling you his girlfriend, the next he has his arm around another girl and is taking her home. What a psycho.” Our class president tried to smooth things over. “He’s probably just still mad at you, Tori. You guys should just talk it out. It doesn’t have to be this dramatic.” Watching them leave, I laughed without any humor. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Ethan hated public displays of affection. He’d lecture me if I even tried to secretly hold his hand in the school hallway. Being held that intimately? That was something new. Angry or not, the person he liked was never me. While we were waiting for our ride, my phone buzzed. It was a DM from Chloe. 【Sorry. I don’t think he likes you anymore.】 Attached was a picture. It was dark, clearly taken in a car, but it was unmistakably Ethan, and she was kissing him. Maya, who had been reading over my shoulder, exploded. “What is WRONG with her? Is she proud of kissing someone else’s boyfriend? She has to send you a picture to gloat? And Ethan is a total scumbag! I swear, I want to slap them both! This is insane!” Listening to Maya use every curse word she knew, I felt my own tears dry up before they could fall. “It’s for the best,” I said, my voice hollow. “Better to face reality now than get dumped at my own wedding, right?” “You and your silver linings,” Maya grumbled, but she pulled me into a hug. “If you want to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it all in.” I watched the stream comments fly by, all of them celebrating. 【Our girl Chloe is so brave! They don’t have to waste all those years apart anymore!】 【Yes! Finally! I was so tired of watching the genius ML with a dumb girl who he has nothing in common with.】 【Seriously, geniuses should be with other geniuses. That’s a relationship of equals.】 I didn’t cry. I just felt numb, thinking about all the years I had wasted. On the way home, I sent one last text to Ethan. 【Ethan, we’re done.】 As expected, he didn’t reply. The next day, the SAT scores were released. I did a little better than I expected—good enough for a great university in California. Without hesitating, I accepted my spot, then booked a flight. My dad had already set up an internship for me at a friend’s tech company. It was time to get a taste of the real world. Right before the plane took off, my phone rang. It was Ethan. “Tori, where are you applying? Did you score high enough for State U? It’s closer to my campus. Send me your scores, I’ll help you figure out which school is the best fit.” It took me a few seconds to process what he was saying. “Ethan, we broke up. You don’t need to worry about where I’m going.” “Tori, come on. I was just giving a friend a ride home. You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” The flight attendant announced that all electronic devices needed to be turned off for takeoff. I hung up the phone and switched on airplane mode.

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I was using the new smart fridge my husband, Julian, had just installed, trying to put together a shopping list for the weekend. Suddenly, a shared family account he’d forgotten to log out of popped up on the screen. It only had one other user profile, one I didn’t recognize. I tapped on it. A list titled “Rose Care Guide” was staring back at me. *Rose is allergic to shellfish, avoid spicy food.* *Rose gets emotional, buy her favorite white chocolate to calm her down.* *Rose gets cold easily, keep the thermostat set to a constant 78 degrees.* I scrolled down with a cold smile, my eyes landing on the last item, a bolded calendar reminder: **“Next Wednesday, take Rose to pick out a wedding gown.”** My face was a mask of calm as I closed the list and picked up my phone to call him. “Darling,” I said, my voice sweet, “does your Rose prefer a classic or modern wedding dress? I’d love to help you pick one out.” … On the other end of the line, my husband Julian’s breath caught for a fraction of a second. “Ava, what kind of joke is this?” His voice, the same warm, magnetic tone I’d known for eight years, was perfectly steady. “What rose? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He let out a low chuckle, his words dripping with practiced affection. “The only rose I have is you, sweetheart.” I clutched the phone, my eyes scanning the dark night outside the window as a smirk played on my lips. “The one from your shared list. The rose who’s going to be trying on wedding gowns.” His voice immediately relaxed, a hint of manufactured realization in his tone. “Oh, *that*. That’s for Mark. He’s getting ready to propose to his girlfriend, and he asked me to help him plan the wedding details.” “You know how he is, a total mess with this stuff. I’ll have to chew him out later for syncing his lists to my account and making my Ava jealous.” It was the perfect excuse. Mark was his best friend from childhood, the best man at our wedding. He was certain I’d never doubt it. “That’s just Mark for you,” he continued smoothly. “Always dumping his problems on me. I’m sorry he made you worry, honey.” “Is that so?” I asked lightly. “You two must be close if he needs you to help him choose his fiancée’s wedding dress.” Julian went right along with it. “You know it. We’ve been brothers since we were kids. Honestly, the way he spoils his girlfriend, I’m almost jealous.” “Ava, don’t overthink this. You’re the only one for me. Is your dress for the gala tomorrow night ready? I can have the driver pick it up.” “No need,” I said. “I’ve already made my own arrangements.” I ended the call, tossed my apron aside, and took a complete screenshot of the list. The lock turned. Not even fifteen minutes had passed before Julian was home. He walked in and immediately wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. He smelled of the cool night air. “Ava, I was still worried. I cancelled the rest of my meetings and came straight home.” He cupped my face, his deep eyes filled with sincerity and concern. “Have I been too busy lately? Have I been neglecting you, letting your mind run wild like this?” “Your voice on the phone… it didn’t sound right. My heart just sank. No business deal is more important than you.” “It’s all my fault. I haven’t been thinking about your feelings these past few weeks.” He took all the blame, shouldered all the responsibility, painting me as the hysterical, paranoid wife seeing ghosts. I stared at the face I had once been so completely lost in, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “No, it’s not you. I think I’m just tired lately.” He let out a quiet, audible sigh of relief. “You silly girl.” He brushed his fingertip against my nose. “Alright, stop worrying. I’ll go run you a bath.” He shrugged off his custom-tailored suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. I watched him walk into the bathroom, then reached for the jacket to hang it in the closet. A thick, gold-embossed card fell out of the pocket. I picked it up. It was a collection voucher from a private couture atelier. The name of the custom gown was “Starry Night Rose.” The listed materials and labor hours indicated a price tag that was astronomical. At the bottom, in handwritten script, was the recipient’s information. It wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Mark’s fiancée. Clutching the thin card, I dialed my best friend, Zara. She was a shark—the top divorce lawyer in the city, with a network that was frankly terrifying. “Zara, I’m sending you a name and an address. Find out everything you can. I want to know her connection to Julian.” For the next few days, Julian was the picture of devotion. Kisses in the morning, embraces at night. He started driving me to and from work and even began looking up recipes, cooking elaborate meals for me. He was playing the part of the perfect husband, wracked with guilt over a near-misunderstanding and desperate to make amends. On Tuesday afternoon, Julian’s grandfather called. The old man asked about my health before changing the subject. “Ava, you and Julian have been married three years now. It’s time you started shifting your focus more toward the family.” “A man is in the prime of his career. He needs a supportive wife at home.” “Our Julian is a capable man, and he adores you. You need to make sure the home front is secure for him.” Every word was a nail wrapped in cotton candy. Not fatal, but it pierced deep. I gave a few noncommittal answers to get him off the phone. Julian walked in with a bowl of soup, sitting down next to me. “Grandpa giving you another lecture?” I nodded. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t listen to him. He’s from a different era.” “You just do what makes you happy, Ava. I’ll support you no matter what.” He said all the right things. I nestled against his chest, inhaling the sour, rotten scent of fermented lies. On Thursday, Zara called. “I’ve got it all,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “The woman at that address is named Rose Miller. Twenty-three years old. She started at Croft Enterprises three months ago.” “She has that innocent, girl-next-door look. Calls him ‘Jules’ in front of everyone.” “And here’s the kicker. I had someone pull the security footage.” “The day before yesterday, Julian personally took her to the atelier. He was there for the entire fitting, helping her choose the style, watching them take her measurements.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart. Zara scoffed. “It gets worse.” “I got into her private cloud storage. The password was Julian’s birthday.” “It’s filled with photos of them together.” I hung up and opened the folder of photos Zara had sent me. Rose’s album was titled *My Knight*. The most recent picture was posted two days ago. *【J says this gown is all mine, just like he is.】* *【He’s going to give me the title I deserve at the family gala next week.】* The photo was of a breathtakingly beautiful gown, the exact same design as the one on the collection voucher. The fabric was a rare, one-of-a-kind silk that Julian had recently purchased at a high price from a master artisan—a bolt of fabric he told me was for my wedding anniversary gift. I scrolled down. *【On a night when I was falling apart, J drove across the entire city to be with me. He brought me my favorite white chocolate and held me all night.】* *【He said that from now on, he’ll never let me be hurt again.】* The photo was of Julian’s sleeping profile, his brow slightly furrowed, one of his hands tightly gripping Rose’s. The picture was taken in our bedroom. In our marital bed. The home I had poured my heart and soul into designing, a place filled with our memories. I scrolled again. *【My new car from J! He even had the interior customized in my favorite color! He said it’s my own private pumpkin carriage, and one day it will take me to a castle.】* The photo was a selfie of her in the driver’s seat, smiling at the luxury car logo on the steering wheel. It was the new car Julian had brought home last week. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, the screen shattering on the hardwood floor. I sank into the sofa, every ounce of strength draining from my body. Eight years. Eight years from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. All the promises he’d made, all the things he’d done for me, now felt like red-hot branding irons searing my heart over and over again. He said he loved me, yet he held another woman in our bed. He said he was in a late meeting, but he was comforting another woman’s fragile emotions. He said I was his only rose, but he had already prepared a wedding gown and a new title for someone else. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy. Why? What did I do wrong? Julian, how could you do this to me? My heart was torn to shreds, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe. I leaned against the cold tile, crying until no more sounds would come out. And then, somewhere in the middle of the silent sobs, I started to laugh. I stood up and splashed cold water on my face. My pain wouldn’t earn his guilt. My tears were worthless. *You want to give her a title, Julian? Fine. I’ll help you make it a night to remember.* Just then, Julian pushed the door open. Seeing my state, his expression changed instantly. “Ava, what’s wrong? Why are you so pale?” He rushed over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. I looked up at him, my eyes red and swollen from crying. “Julian, I don’t think… I can do this anymore.” He froze, his face a perfect mask of concern and heartache. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? We’re going to the hospital, right now.” He started to grab his coat. “No,” I said, grabbing his wrist. “It’s just… my heart. It feels so heavy.” Julian stopped. He knelt before me, taking my hands in his, his face a portrait of regret. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on work, I’ve completely ignored how you feel.” “Ava, listen to me. The business doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Only you.” “I’m clearing my schedule tomorrow. We’ll go to Aspen, just like you’ve always wanted. We’ll go see the snow. How does that sound?” He was so earnest, as if all my pain stemmed from his neglect, not his betrayal. I looked at him and, to his surprise, I smiled. “Okay,” I whispered. “Whatever you say.” The family gala next week was actually the Croft Foundation’s annual charity ball. The Crofts were one of the city’s founding families, and the event was a massive affair held at their sprawling country estate. As the most brilliant heir of his generation, Julian was naturally the center of attention. He looked impeccable in a tailored black tuxedo, moving through the crowd of socialites and billionaires with an easy smile. My mother-in-law, dripping in jewels, stood beside him, her face beaming with pride. His grandfather, the patriarch of the Croft empire, sat at the head table, leaning on a dragon-headed cane, his presence commanding the room. “Ava, come here.” The old man beckoned to me. I walked over, and he patted the empty seat beside him. “Sit.” “Tonight’s guests are all very important people. Don’t walk around with such a long face. People will think the Croft family mistreats you.” “Julian is out there building an empire. You need to learn to be the woman behind him. Be softer. More supportive.” “And another thing, it’s about time that belly of yours showed some activity!” His words were gentle, but they carried the weight of an order. I lowered my eyes and said nothing. He seemed ready to continue his lecture, but Julian appeared with a glass of champagne. “Grandpa, are you scolding Ava again?” He stood naturally behind me, resting a hand on the back of my chair and smiling at his grandfather. “Ava hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’ve told her to rest and not to worry about a thing.” He was always like this, flawlessly protecting me in public, giving me the ultimate appearance of respect. The old man grunted and turned to speak to someone else. Julian leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Don’t listen to him. I love you just the way you are.” I smiled, my gaze drifting over his shoulder, where I saw a face that had no business being here. Rose. She was wearing a pale pink slip dress, a white silk shawl draped over her shoulders. Her long hair was curled, her makeup was light and dewy, and her expression was a mixture of timidness and poorly concealed triumph. Her hand rested unconsciously on her lower abdomen. She was standing near one of Julian’s cousins, pretending to be his date. Julian’s eyes flickered in her direction. It was only for a second, but I saw it all: the joy, the possessiveness, the certainty of a man who believes he has won. Halfway through the evening, it was time for the old man to give his speech and announce the company’s major plans for the coming year. As the heir apparent, Julian was called to the stage. He took the microphone and began by reporting on the year’s successes. Then, his tone shifted. His eyes swept across the room before finally landing on me. “I want to thank my grandfather, my uncles, and all of our partners. But most of all, I want to thank my wife, Ava Croft.” Every eye in the room turned to me. “However,” he paused, “tonight, I must also announce a difficult decision.” His gaze finally moved away from my face, becoming cold and unfamiliar. “I, Julian Croft, will be seeking a divorce from Ava.” A wave of gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall. “What? A divorce?” “What’s going on? I thought they were the perfect couple.” “My God, announcing a divorce at the family gala? Is he insane?” His grandfather’s face darkened. He banged his cane on the floor. “Julian! What is the meaning of this nonsense!” Julian ignored him, his voice as cold as a tombstone. “This isn’t nonsense.” “Ava and I have irreconcilable differences. Our marriage has been over in all but name for years.” “For too long, she has been consumed by her own career, neglecting her duties to me and to this family. She has failed to provide the support and care that a wife should.” “That is, until I met a girl who is willing to put family first. A girl who is willing to build a home with me.” “And she is carrying my child. I have a responsibility to her, and I intend to give her the title she deserves.” He turned and extended his hand toward Rose. “Rose, come up here.” With tears streaming down her face, Rose lifted the hem of her dress and, in the dead silence, walked step by step onto the stage. She went to Julian’s side, and he pulled her into his arms. He bent his head, tenderly kissing a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered into the microphone. “I’m sorry you had to endure this.” Then, he looked up, his eyes fixing on me with the air of a judge delivering a sentence. “Ava, for the sake of the years we spent together, you can leave now with your dignity intact. We can keep this civil.” “I will provide you with a settlement generous enough to ensure you live comfortably for the rest of your life.” “But if you choose to make a scene, the only person you will humiliate is yourself.” He had planned it all perfectly. In this place, in this way, he would nail me to a cross of public shame. He wanted everyone to know that it was me, Ava, the barren wife, who was selfishly clinging to the Croft name. And he was just the victim, a man fighting for true love and the family he so desperately wanted. I looked at the two actors on the stage. I looked at the old man at the head table, his face shifting from rage to disappointment. And I smiled. Step by step, I walked onto the stage. I took the other microphone from the stunned emcee. In an instant, every camera, every pair of eyes in the entire estate, was fixed on me.

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On the day of our hospital’s winter holiday party, the new intern, a master of passive aggression, posted about me on the internal employee forum. She claimed that as the head of cardiothoracic surgery, I was greedy for taking a $100,000 holiday bonus all for myself. What she didn’t mention was that the “bonus” was the annual payout for performing all of the hospital’s most complex, high-risk surgeries—surgeries that only I was qualified to do. The result? The entire hospital staff was calling me a greedy monster. So, I decided to give the people what they wanted. I submitted a formal request: 【To promote departmental unity, I voluntarily request to transfer all high-risk surgical cases to other qualified physicians.】 The moment the memo went out, the hospital nearly ground to a halt. The department heads camped outside my office, begging me to take it back. … I had just finished a grueling twelve-hour aortic dissection repair when my assistant, Chris, handed me his phone. Pinned to the top of the hospital’s internal forum was a trending post: 【Let’s talk about Dr. Zara Khan in Cardiothoracic. A $100,000 holiday bonus? Isn’t that a little much?】 The poster was anonymous, but the profile picture was a pink bunny. I recognized it. It was the new intern, Lily Chen. The post was simple: a screenshot of the bonus distribution list, my name and the number “100,000.00” clearly visible, though other details were blurred out. The caption was dripping with sarcasm: 【Happy Holidays! I was hoping for some cookies or maybe a hot chocolate bar, but I guess the hospital decided to just make it rain cash. It’s just… Dr. Khan gets a hundred grand, while the rest of us nurses and junior doctors are working ourselves to the bone for a few hundred bucks. Lol, I guess my imagination is limited by my poverty.】 She conveniently left out the fact that this wasn’t a holiday bonus. It was the annual performance payout for all “Level IV” surgical procedures. And in the entire cardiothoracic department—no, in the entire hospital—the only person capable of independently performing ultra-complex Level IV surgeries like Type A aortic dissections or giant ventricular aneurysm repairs was me. The comment section had already exploded. 【WTF! A hundred grand! She might as well just rob a bank!】 【We in the ER are running around like headless chickens 24/7, and our year-end bonus isn’t even a fraction of hers. How is that fair?】 【They call her the hospital’s top surgeon. Looks like she’s the top earner, too.】 I scrolled through the comments, my face a blank mask. The life I had just spent twelve hours saving suddenly felt a little less precious. Back in my office, the atmosphere was tense. People looked at me differently. A group of nurses who usually chatted by the water cooler fell silent the moment I walked in, their faces a mixture of contempt and envy they couldn’t quite hide. My mentor, Dr. Evans, the department chief, called me into his office. He sighed. “Zara, how are you going to handle this?” “Dr. Evans, you know that wasn’t a holiday bonus.” He nodded, then shook his head. “I know. But they don’t. You can’t silence a mob.” I understood what he was implying. He wanted me to back down, to return some of the money to appease the masses. Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Dr. Mark Sloan, the associate chief of cardiothoracic surgery, walked in with Lily in tow. Mark was a few years older than me and always acted like he was my senior, but his surgical skills were consistently a step behind mine. He’d watched me win award after award, and the sour look in his eyes was palpable from across the room. He entered with the air of a peacemaker. “Chief, Dr. Khan. Lily is young and didn’t know any better. I brought her here to apologize.” He gave Lily a little push forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she bowed to me, her voice choked with fake tears. “Dr. Khan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just… I was so shocked when I saw the number, and it felt unfair. I just wanted to ask on behalf of everyone. I didn’t have any bad intentions.” She kept repeating “I didn’t mean to,” and “on behalf of everyone.” Her apology felt sharper than a scalpel in winter. Mark smoothly picked up where she left off, his tone patronizing. “Zara, you see? Lily was just thinking about department morale. And really, you can’t blame her entirely. The bonus structure is a bit problematic. It’s bound to cause misunderstandings.” He looked at me, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “How about this? You take some of that money and treat the whole department to a nice dinner. We’ll build some camaraderie. We’ll just let this whole thing blow over. She’s just a kid, we should be more understanding.” The way he said it made it sound like I’d taken money I didn’t deserve and now needed to buy my way out of trouble. I watched the two of them, their performance perfectly synchronized, and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, Dr. Sloan. My perspective has been too narrow. I’ve been so focused on surgery that I haven’t considered everyone else’s feelings.” Mark thought I was giving in. His smile widened. Lily lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly in a display of remorseful fragility. I ignored them and turned to Dr. Evans. “Chief, the root of this problem is that I have a monopoly on these skills. I’m taking up too many resources and leaving no room for my colleagues to grow.” “To promote departmental unity, and to give talented mid-career surgeons like Dr. Sloan more opportunities, I’ve decided to submit a formal request to the hospital administration.” I paused, watching the color drain from Mark’s face, and said, word by word, “I am voluntarily transferring the scheduling for all Level IV surgical procedures to other qualified surgeons in the department. I will limit my work to routine Level I and II surgeries.” Dr. Evans shot up from his chair, his face pale. “Zara! What are you doing? This is madness!” Mark’s face was as white as a sheet. He had probably imagined a thousand ways to undermine me, but he never, ever imagined that I would take the prize everyone was so jealous of and just… throw it at him, pot and all. Level IV surgeries represented the pinnacle of the profession, but they also carried the highest risk. Success meant glory and a huge payout. Failure meant lawsuits and a ruined career. He had the guts to be jealous, but did he have the skill to take over? I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I walked out of the office, pausing beside Lily. “Congratulations,” I said softly. “You got the fairness you were fighting for.” Her face went completely bloodless. My request hit the hospital administration like a bomb. The hospital president, Mr. Harrison, called me personally, his voice graver than I’d ever heard it. “Zara, who are you trying to prove a point to? Do you have any idea what this request means?” “Mr. Harrison, I’m not trying to prove a point,” I said calmly. “I’m simply responding to the will of the people. I don’t want to be the cause of any more division over bonuses.” There was a long silence on the other end. He knew better than anyone that the most advanced equipment and operating rooms in the cardiothoracic wing were essentially for my exclusive use. He knew how many high-profile patients—politicians, CEOs, complex cases from all over the country—specifically requested me as their surgeon, generating millions in revenue and prestige for the hospital. Now that I was stepping back, he was the first one to feel the heat. “Just calm down. I’ll hold onto your request for now. I’ll have the IT department take care of the forum post.” “There’s no need, sir,” I interrupted. “If everyone feels my presence is creating an unfair environment, then I will step aside. I’m confident the hospital will continue to function perfectly well without me.” I hung up. A few minutes later, Chris rushed in, looking panicked. “Dr. Khan, it’s bad! The forum is blowing up again!” I opened it. A new post was trending. 【Insider Info! Dr. Khan is threatening to go on strike over unfair bonus distribution!】 The poster was anonymous again, but the tone was even more inflammatory. 【Using her skills to hold the entire hospital hostage. Is this a doctor’s compassion, or a doctor’s greed?】 A comment from one of Mark’s sock puppet accounts, which I recognized, was getting a lot of upvotes. 【I’ve always heard she was difficult, but I never thought she lacked this much perspective. The operating room isn’t her personal stage. The world keeps spinning without her.】 Lily had even waded in with her main account, posting a comment that was carefully crafted to sound objective but was really just fanning the flames. 【As an intern, I’ve seen the tireless dedication of our senior staff, but I’ve also seen flaws in the system. I believe our hospital is a compassionate community, and personal feelings should never be placed above a patient’s life. I hope certain individuals can calm down and not do something that will disappoint us all.】 She had successfully painted herself as a concerned whistleblower. I had to laugh. Just then, the ER called. The head nurse’s voice was frantic. “Dr. Khan! Ambulance just brought in a trauma patient, suspected Marfan syndrome with an acute Type A aortic dissection rupture! The patient is in shock! We need you now!” A ruptured Type A dissection. The mortality rate is measured in hours. The surgery is the Mount Everest of cardiac procedures. I grabbed my white coat and ran. But as I reached the ER triage desk, a middle-aged woman blocked my path. She was the patient’s wife. Her eyes were red, but her face was filled with suspicion and alarm. She was clutching her phone, the screen displaying the very forum post that had put me on trial. “You’re Zara Khan?” she asked, her eyes raking over me with distrust. “Are you the doctor who’s going on strike over money?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The family’s doubt was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The fighting spirit I had just mustered was shattered in an instant. I looked at her, then at the patient in the trauma bay behind her, a life rapidly slipping away, and the whole situation felt absurd. I wanted to explain, but I knew that in the face of inflamed emotions, any explanation would be useless. “I’m not on strike.” She clearly didn’t believe me. She took a step back, as if I were a monster. “I don’t care if you are or not! I won’t let a doctor with no ethics operate on my husband!” “I want a different doctor!” she yelled. “Don’t you have any other experts in this hospital?” The ER chief rushed over. Hearing her words, his face turned green. “Ma’am, please calm down! Dr. Khan is the only surgeon in this hospital who can perform this surgery! If we wait any longer, it will be too late!” “I don’t care! I want someone else!” the woman shrieked stubbornly. At that moment, Mark and Lily arrived. A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face before he replaced it with a look of deep concern. He approached the woman, his voice gentle. “Ma’am, please don’t be upset. We understand how you feel, but saving your husband is the priority right now. Dr. Khan’s skills are still very reliable…” His words seemed to defend me, but they only served to confirm her belief that my ethics were questionable. Lily, ever the thoughtful one, handed the woman a cup of water. “Ma’am, please try to calm down. Or, perhaps we could ask Dr. Sloan. He’s also a very talented surgeon in our department.” Her suggestion immediately gave the woman a new ray of hope. She grabbed Mark’s hand like a lifeline. “Doctor, you do the surgery! I trust you!” Mark feigned reluctance. “Well… that’s against protocol. Dr. Khan is the attending surgeon…” But his eyes kept darting in my direction, full of challenge. Mr. Harrison and Dr. Evans, having heard the news, came rushing down. Seeing the standoff, the president looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. He pulled me aside, his voice a low, desperate plea. “Zara, I’m begging you. A life is on the line! Just back down for now. Apologize to the family, calm them down!” Apologize? What was I supposed to apologize for? For the bonus I earned with my skills? For the scalpel in my hand that could save a man’s life? I looked at the president’s frantic face, at the smug curl of Mark’s lip, at the innocent, venomous eyes of Lily Chen. And I suddenly felt so tired. I turned to the president and said calmly, “Sir, since the family and my colleagues have so much faith in Dr. Sloan, let him be the lead surgeon. And that transfer request I submitted? Please approve it as soon as possible.” Without another look at anyone, I turned and walked back to my office. Behind me, I heard Dr. Evans’s furious roar, “Zara! Is this a mutiny?” And the president’s weary concession, “…Fine. Sloan, you’re lead. Khan, you’ll supervise.” I didn’t turn back. Supervise? A master teaching a novice? I was afraid he wouldn’t understand the instructions. I locked myself in my office. Through the door, I could feel the controlled chaos of the hallway. Nurses rushing, equipment carts rattling, Mark’s confident voice barking orders, playing the part of the savior. Chris knocked and came in, his eyes red. “Dr. Khan, are you really not going to do anything? That patient… he’s not doing well.” I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and said nothing. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. 【Dr. Khan, I’m the patient’s daughter. My mother is very emotional, but we looked you up. We trust you. Please, I’m begging you, save my father.】 My heart lurched. But what could I do? Mark had already taken the case. If I stormed in now, would I be trying to prove he was incompetent, or trying to steal his glory? In the eyes of people already blinded by prejudice, everything I did would be wrong. I picked up the unapproved request from my desk and signed my name. Time ticked by. One hour. Two hours. Suddenly, my office door was thrown open. Dr. Evans burst in, his face ashen, his lips trembling. “Zara! Something’s happened!” My stomach dropped. I stood up. “Mark… he can’t find the tear! He can’t dissect the vessels of the aortic arch, and now there’s massive bleeding! We can’t get a blood pressure reading!” I had expected this. The most critical and dangerous step of a Type A dissection is reconstructing the three branch vessels of the aortic arch under deep hypothermic circulatory arrest. The vessels there are as thin as a cicada’s wing, the anatomy is complex, and the slightest mistake is catastrophic. Mark’s skills were nowhere near that level. “They need you in there now!” Dr. Evans grabbed my arm, his hand shaking violently. “Hurry! Any later and it will be too late!” I looked at him and asked slowly, “Chief, if I go in there now, what am I? Am I saving a life, or am I cleaning up Dr. Sloan’s mess?” “If the patient lives, the credit is his. He was the ‘lead surgeon,’ and I was the effective ‘supervisor.’ If the patient dies, the blame is mine, because I ‘intervened’ at a critical moment and disrupted his rhythm.” “Either way, he comes out of this unscathed. And me?” Dr. Evans froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was right. He was asking me to go, but what guarantees could he offer me? Just then, my phone started ringing frantically. It was the president. I put it on speaker. On the other end, his voice was cracking, on the verge of tears. In the background, I could hear the shrill alarm of a heart monitor and the panicked shouts of nurses. “Zara! For God’s sake! I’m begging you! Get in here! The patient is crashing! Mark has completely lost it!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384900”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel