Author: Momo Chan

Liam Archer lost a bet with his newly adopted “little sister.” The punishment: be single for a month. So he handed me the divorce papers. “Just sign them. It’s only for a month. You’ve got to have a sense of sportsmanship.” I didn’t say anything. I just obediently wrote my name. Not long after, Liam lost another bet. “This time, I have to spend the night with her. We’re just talking, nothing else. Don’t get any ideas.” As he spoke, a small, square foil packet fell out of his pocket. He cleared his throat, made an excuse about a work emergency, and headed for a hotel. Once he was gone, I replied to a message that had just come in. [I’m leaving the country in a week. Want to come?] [Yes.] 1 The next day, I started packing. Halfway through, Liam, who hadn’t been home all night, walked in. There were fresh, angry red marks on his neck, and he yawned from lack of sleep. “Going on a trip?” I nodded, a knot of guilt in my stomach. Liam didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. “It’s about time you got out. You’re always cooped up in this house, you have no idea what’s going on in the world. Not like Zoey. We can talk about anything.” Zoey. The “little sister” he’d met at a bar six months ago. They were inseparable, constantly making bets. The stakes started small—a coffee, a meal—but had escalated to hugs and kisses. I had cried. I had thrown fits. All it earned me was Liam’s disgust. “It’s just a game. Why do you have to be so serious?” Gradually, I stopped speaking up. So now, hearing him praise her at my expense, I just stayed silent and continued packing. After a moment, Liam asked, “When do you leave?” “Six days.” The next thing I knew, I was airborne. He lifted me, tossed me onto the bed, and pulled me into his warm embrace. “Don’t move. Just sleep with me for a bit.” I couldn’t break free. I was forced to breathe in the scent of another woman on his skin, my mind conjuring a chaotic slideshow of images. Tangled limbs, frantic passion, filth. Tears started to fall, hot and silent. Liam frowned, annoyed. He gave my back a few perfunctory pats. “You know, I’m the only one who could ever put up with you being so dramatic, Kiara.” “Without me, you’d be worse off than a stray dog on the street.” He repeated the same lines he’d said a thousand times before and slowly drifted off to sleep. I wiped my tears and carefully slipped out of his arms. Staring at the face I had loved for ten years, a cold resolve settled in my heart. Even if I had to live like a dog, I wouldn’t stay by his side any longer. 2 As the day of my departure grew closer, I started having vivid dreams of the past. The first time eight-year-old Liam saw me, he stared so intently that he tripped and fell flat on his face. It left a small, permanent scar on his forehead. He wore it like a badge of honor, announcing to everyone that he would be my one and only knight, protecting me for the rest of our lives. He was a boy of his word. When the chubby kid next door stole my candy, Liam cornered him in an alley after school and knocked out two of his teeth. When a girl in my class, Chloe, deliberately spilled ink on my dress, he drew ninety-nine hideous caricatures of her and plastered them all over the school, scaring her into staying home. Back then, wherever Kiara Reed was, Liam Archer was never more than a few feet away. We were inseparable. We were in love. Until eighth grade. On a perfectly ordinary day, my parents died in a plane crash. I was an orphan. My uncle took me in. I changed schools, moved my legal records, and traveled thousands of miles to a new city down south. In that strange new world, I learned to go to school alone, to eat alone, to be alone. My days were full, but my heart was always empty. The day I was diagnosed with depression, the confused, accusatory look in my uncle’s eyes was a weight I couldn’t bear. I found myself standing at the foot of a thirty-story building, gazing up at the roof with a strange sense of longing. When I looked away, I saw him. Liam. I thought I was hallucinating, but he walked right up to me, his eyes shining like stars. “Kiara, I’ve been going crazy thinking about you.” I broke down, sobbing. “Take me with you. Please.” “I can’t stand it here anymore! The clothes get mildewed if you leave them out, and the roaches are indestructible!” Liam held me for a long time. Then he went to my uncle and got down on his knees. He swore an oath: “I will take care of Kiara. I’ll help her finish school, we’ll get into our dream college together. If I fail, may I die a horrible death.” And just like that, he took me home. After college, he married me. At our wedding, as he slipped the ring on my finger, he cried like a child and swore on his life, again, that he would make me happy forever. But now, I opened my eyes. The other side of our king-sized bed was empty and cold. Liam hadn’t been home in five days. The only way I knew what he was up to was through his social media. In his latest post, there was a sterile white gauze patch on his forehead, like he’d just had surgery. A comment below asked what happened. He replied: “Zoey said the old scar was ugly and ruined my good looks, so I had it removed.” I froze. The mark of my knight was gone. He wasn’t going to protect me anymore. It’s okay, I told myself. I was leaving tomorrow. There was no point in dwelling on it. But the sharp, needle-like pain in my heart was impossible to ignore. 3 A long time later, my phone buzzed with a new message. [Get to Midnight Sun now.] Midnight Sun was the city’s biggest and most exclusive nightclub, a chaotic, anything-goes place. It was also where Liam and Zoey had met. I hated it there. I put my phone down, pretending I hadn’t seen the message. Another one came through immediately. [If you’re not here in an hour, you’re not going anywhere, ever.] He knew I was leaving tomorrow. It was a threat. I gritted my teeth and went. As I pushed open the door to the designated VIP room, a roar of cheers erupted. “Forty-two minutes! Liam bet she’d be here in thirty! Liam loses! Zoey wins!” “That’s eighteen losses for Liam tonight! Is he throwing the game on purpose?” “He’s so whipped!” Liam glanced toward the door, a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but he didn’t acknowledge me. He turned, grabbed Zoey from across the table, and pulled her into a brutal, passionate kiss. A bottle of expensive liquor was knocked over, crashing to the floor, but neither of them noticed. When they finally broke apart, a thin, silvery thread of saliva connected them, disgustingly intimate. The catcalls and whistles from the crowd were deafening. A wave of nausea washed over me. I had to get out of there. I took one step back, but a voice stopped me. “Kiara. Over here.” Fighting back the sickness, I walked toward him. Liam pulled me onto his lap. He pinched my cheek, his voice scolding. “That was just a game. Don’t you dare get jealous. It’s your fault for being so slow. You made me lose.” “I’m sorry,” I said automatically. Someone at the table clicked their tongue. “Damn, Mrs. Archer is so obedient. Liam can do whatever he wants, and she doesn’t say a word. I need to find a girl like that.” Liam waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t. Too obedient is boring.” “Then I’ll find one like Zoey. Fun, exciting.” “Go for it,” Liam said, “if you’re not afraid of a little pain.” He tilted his head, revealing a fresh bite mark on his neck. Zoey, who was taking a drink, laughed and shot back, “Like you weren’t the one begging me to bite harder last night. Said it didn’t feel good unless it hurt.” Liam threw a banana at her playfully. “You need to work on your technique.” They bickered as if I wasn’t there, as if no one else was in the room. The curious, judgmental stares of everyone else were like knives, pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. I clutched the fabric of my dress. “Can I go home?” I whispered. “I’m getting tired.” Liam seemed to notice me for the first time. He rubbed his nose and called for a server to see me out. But Zoey objected. “She just got here. Let’s make one more bet, for fun.” 4 My first instinct was to refuse. But Liam answered for me. “Sure. You’re on.” Zoey immediately produced a set of dice, blocking my exit. “Simple game. High or low.” “The winner gets to ask for one thing from the loser.” Her eyes glinted with a sly, unsettling light. Liam squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous. Zoey just likes purses and jewelry. If you lose, just let her pick something from your closet.” I never cared about those things anyway. So I agreed. The dice rattled in the cup. Ten seconds later, she slammed it down on the table. “I call high!” Zoey declared. That left me with low. I lost. She immediately held out her hand. “I like your necklace. I’ll take that.” I froze, my hand flying to the pendant at my chest. I took a step back. “Not this one.” Zoey’s face darkened. “What’s your problem? Can’t afford to lose? Where’s your sportsmanship?” A dozen pairs of disdainful eyes turned on me. “This was my mother’s,” I explained frantically. “It’s the only thing I have left of her. I can’t give it away. Pick something else. You can have anything from my jewelry collection, even the pieces worth millions.” My parents didn’t leave me much, and over the years, I’d lost some of it during moves. This necklace was all that was left. I couldn’t lose it. Zoey scoffed. “You should have said that before the bet. It’s too late now. A deal’s a deal. If we start changing the rules, no one will ever want to play again.” She was relentless, refusing to back down. I looked to Liam for help. He knew how much this necklace meant to me. He would help me. But he just said, “Kiara. Take it off.” I stood there, stunned, all the strength draining out of me. Zoey, impatient, stepped forward to claim her prize. She yanked at the chain, her nails scratching my neck, drawing blood. I didn’t even feel the pain. I just stared at Liam. His expression was cold, indifferent. “You can always win it back later. You…” He was cut off by a sharp crack from the floor. “Oops,” Zoey said, feigning surprise. “My hand slipped. This thing is so fragile. It shattered into a million pieces. How ugly.” She stepped on the shards as she walked away, even giving one a kick. The room was dead silent. My hands were numb as I knelt to pick up the pieces. The last one was near Liam’s foot. He moved to help, but I snapped at him. “Get away from me!” Liam was used to being the center of attention. Being challenged like this, in front of everyone, extinguished any flicker of guilt he might have felt. His voice was glacial. “Kiara, there’s a limit to your tantrums.” I ignored him. I carefully wrapped the fragments in my handkerchief and turned to leave. Behind me, there was a loud crash as he kicked something over. Someone tried to play peacemaker. “Liam, maybe you should go after her. She looks really hurt.” Liam snorted. “Let her go. We’re already divorced. If she drops dead in a ditch, it’s got nothing to do with me.” “I’ve been too good to her over the years. I’ve spoiled her rotten. She thinks the whole world revolves around her. Now she’s throwing a fit and ruining everyone’s fun over some stupid dead person’s necklace. Is it really that serious? She’s insane.” “Let her go. Mark my words, she’s got no parents, no friends. I’m the only savior she’s got. In three days, she’ll come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.” He kept talking, his words a venomous torrent. I didn’t look back once. I didn’t shed a single tear. This time, we were really, truly over. 5 Back home, I put the pieces of the necklace into a small silk pouch and hung it back around my neck. I stared at the empty room, feeling a profound sense of nothingness. It was like I had nothing left. After all these years, I hadn’t managed to hold on to anything. Useless. I found myself thinking again, why wasn’t I on that plane with them? Then I would be with my parents forever. I wouldn’t have been taken in by an uncle who only wanted my inheritance, and I wouldn’t have been rescued by a boy whose heart would eventually change. I wouldn’t be like a piece of driftwood, tossed about, unwanted. I sent a message to the person I was supposed to meet. “I’m not going to make it tomorrow. Have a safe trip.” Then, I went into the bathroom. Just as the water in the tub was about to close over my head, my phone started ringing, loud and insistent. By some strange impulse, I struggled to the surface and answered it. My throat was raw and swollen from the water. It took all my strength to force out his name. “Ethan?” Ethan Vance was a student I had sponsored. After Liam and I got married, he had turned down every job offer I received. He said the world was a dangerous place, and he was afraid that if I was exposed to too much, my depression would return. He said he would take care of me, that I should just stay home and be happy. For the first two years, it was bliss. I was completely cared for. I watched movies, surfed the web. One day, I came across a website for underprivileged students, kids who were struggling but full of dreams. My heart ached for them. I had the money, so I sponsored a dozen of them. Later, I found out most of them were scams. Only Ethan was different. He had the saddest story—no parents, working since he was in elementary school. He was also the most honest. He never asked for an extra penny. As long as he had enough for food each month, he would return the rest. He gave me all his personal information, sent me regular updates, shared his awards and certificates with me. I watched as Ethan got into a top university and started his own company with a friend. The day he graduated, he was not only the valedictorian but also a successful young entrepreneur. I was so proud of him, but I declined his invitation to the ceremony and cut off all contact. My father always used to say, “Lend a hand when they’re down, but disappear when they’re on top.” Until six months ago, when we met again at the headquarters of Liam’s company. He was there for a business meeting; I was there to bring Liam lunch. The negotiation had just ended. Liam, furious that he hadn’t gotten the terms he wanted, took his anger out on me, knocking the lunch I’d brought to the floor before storming out. The soup I had spent hours simmering stained the floor and the hem of my dress. The silence in the room was thick with embarrassment. Then, a man in a sharp suit walked over, knelt down, and began to wipe the mess from my dress. “Ma’am,” he said, looking up at me, “your husband has a terrible temper.” It was Ethan. He was no longer the hardened negotiator from the meeting, but a gentle, tame wolf. That was the first time we had met in person. Because of his business dealings with Liam’s company, we started running into each other more often, and we reconnected online. The day I walked out of the city records office, Liam had rushed off to his hotel. Ethan happened to message me. [How have you been?] I told him the truth. [Not great. I’m divorced. I don’t know where to go.] He suggested, [Maybe you should travel. Clear your head.] But a bird that has been caged for too long forgets how to fly. Then he said, [I’m going to Switzerland on business in a week. It’s beautiful there. Want to come along?] [Yes.] 6 “Did you make other plans?” he asked now, his voice tight with worry. I looked at the overflowing bathtub and was at a loss for words. “No.” “Then why did you change your mind?” “Because… I’m just tired.” My bleak, pathetic life was exhausting. I didn’t want to fight anymore. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. For a while, all I could hear was the sound of the wind. I thought he was about to hang up. I was about to get up and go back to the bathroom. Then he spoke again. “Let me take care of you. Then you won’t have to be so tired.” I froze. My resolve to leave this world alone crumbled. With a trembling finger, I managed a single, affirmative sound. “Okay.” Ethan was unbelievably fast. I don’t know how fast he was driving, but by the time we hung up, he was already downstairs. He changed his flight, picked me up, and we headed straight for the airport. It was so sudden it felt like a kidnapping. When we boarded the plane, my hair was still damp. I was in a daze. He got me a blanket, draped it over my shoulders, ordered me a hot drink, and pressed it into my hands. Then, like a magician, he pulled a stack of magazines from his bag and set them in front of me. “You can look at these if you get bored. You studied art, right? These are some of the most respected publications from the last few years. I thought you might be interested.” His voice was gentle, comforting. “I just have a little work to do. Let me know if you need anything.” After I nodded, he turned to his laptop and began to work. The light from the screen illuminated his handsome face, his long fingers flying across the keyboard. He looked exactly like the stoic, unapproachable executives from the movies. But for some reason, I felt a sense of peace. I sipped my drink, feeling the warmth return to my body. I opened a magazine, and a riot of color filled my vision, a stark contrast to the black and white world I had been living in. The moon outside the window was bright. It lit up the sky. It felt like it could light me up, too. 7 When we arrived in Bern, the capital of Switzerland, Ethan took me to our hotel. One suite. I took the master bedroom, he took the guest room. He was there to inspect a potential partner’s manufacturing plant, a deal that was crucial for his company’s future. So the first week was incredibly busy. He was gone before I woke up each morning, leaving only a handwritten note and a freshly made breakfast. And a new, updated travel guide for the day. The guides were meticulously detailed: which bus to take, which restaurant to eat at, the best time to visit each attraction. He was like an invisible tour guide—I couldn’t see him, but he was everywhere. Following his guides, I visited art galleries, museums, clock towers, rose gardens… I took pictures, ate delicious food, saw incredible sights, and experienced all kinds of performances. It was magical, exhilarating. Even the most ordinary streets were fascinating. I could spend ages just looking at a uniquely designed streetlight. I felt like a country bumpkin, wandering through this magnificent city. But I had never felt so relaxed, so free. Liam had never taken me on a real trip. He always said that with my history of depression, I needed to limit my exposure to the outside world, to keep my mind from wandering. Trapped in his gilded cage, I had thought life was utterly pointless. But now, I found myself falling in love with the world. Ethan and I would meet for dinner, our second meeting of the day. He would listen patiently as I shared my adventures, a gentle smile always on his lips. Then he would turn into my personal hype man. “You should seriously consider photography. Your pictures are amazing.” “You’re a walking encyclopedia! I learned so much about art history today.” Being praised like that by someone five years younger than me made my cheeks burn. “Stop it,” I said, embarrassed. “Who taught you to flatter people like that?” “You did.” My heart skipped a beat. The soft light in his eyes pulled me back years ago, to when we first met. He was the student, I was the sponsor. “First place again? You’re incredible!” “You broke the record! You’re going to be amazing one day.” It was as if fate had come full circle. The tree I had planted all those years ago had grown, and now it was sheltering me from the storm. 8 While I was enjoying the peace and quiet in Switzerland, on the other side of the world, someone was losing their mind. The VIP room, usually a scene of wild partying, was thick with a tense, oppressive atmosphere. At the center of the storm was Liam, chain-smoking, his face a dark, terrifying mask. No one dared to speak. Because Kiara was gone. It had been seven days since their fight, and he still hadn’t gotten the apology he was waiting for. A strange panic had started to set in, and he had finally gone home to look for her. But she was gone. Her clothes, her documents, all her personal belongings were missing. He tried to call her, but he was blocked. Every other way he tried to contact her was met with a red exclamation point. This wasn’t a trip. This was a severing of all ties. Liam refused to believe Kiara would actually leave him. He had domesticated her, turned her into a helpless, broken-winged canary. She couldn’t survive without him. But what if? The thought gnawed at him. He tried to drink it away, but the alcohol only fanned the flames of his anxiety. Something had slipped from his control, and it infuriated him. Zoey arrived late, dressed in a slinky black dress that showed off a lot of skin. She slid in next to Liam, pressing herself against him. “Who upset my big brother?” she purred. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” Liam waved her away dismissively. “It’s nothing. Stay out of it.” “Is it because Kiara ran…” Zoey began, trying to be clever. “I said, stay out of it!” Liam roared, his voice suddenly sharp and dangerous. Zoey flinched, her eyes filling with tears. But this time, Liam didn’t comfort her. He just kept drinking, his voice cold. “If you’re going to be a buzzkill, you can get the hell out.” Zoey shut her mouth and quickly poured him another drink, a silent apology. For all her wildness, she was still just a parasite, surviving on the whims of men. Cut off from her source, she would quickly wither. That night, Liam drank himself into a stupor. Someone had to carry him home. Lying on the cold, empty bed, he groaned, “Honey, get me a glass of water…” But the only answer was a vast, crushing silence.

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Before the company went public, the intern suggested serving boba tea to our foreign investors. My boyfriend said, “That’s creative. Stop crushing new talent.” The shareholders chimed in, “Boba tea is so down-to-earth. It’s not like the investors are royalty.” I didn’t say a word. I just quietly swapped it for black tea and a fruit platter before the meeting started. The deal was a success, but she went on a livestream, crying that I had bullied her and stolen her credit. My boyfriend’s silence was his agreement. The live comments were a storm of ridicule, and the trending hashtag was everywhere: “Audrey Collins, get out of the business world.” I was murdered with a can of gasoline. My mother died of a heart attack. My father was killed in a hit-and-run, and no one dared to help him. Reborn into a second life, I just nod. “Fine. Just remember to add extra sugar.” Then I turn around, quit, and take every single investor with me. 1 “I just think, for the investor reception, we don’t have to be so… formal.” Chloe’s voice was soft as she stood before the conference table, a tablet cradled in her hands. She wore a simple white dress, her eyes wide and clear. “Something like artisanal boba… it’s a local, trendy brand that’s relaxed but also has a strong identity. It could reflect the young, vibrant atmosphere of our company.” As she spoke, she swiped through her presentation. Images of colorful boba teas flashed across the screen, paired with macarons and miniature cupcakes. It looked less like a pitch for serious investors and more like a mood board for an office party. I stared at the screen, my face a carefully composed mask of neutrality. Underneath the table, my fingers slowly curled into a tight fist. I had been in this meeting before. In another life. The last time she suggested boba, I shot it down immediately. I pointed out that one of the key partners from Dalton Capital had Type 2 diabetes and another had a severe dairy allergy. She had teared up on the spot. “Does Audrey… not like me?” My boyfriend, Ethan, had given me a cold look. “Don’t be so petty, Audrey.” Later that night, she went live on Instagram, sobbing to her followers about how I used my power to crush her ideas. That video got over a million views. And when the deal finally closed—thanks to my back-breaking work—she got all the credit. I was branded the toxic, creativity-killing female executive. Then came the breakup with Ethan. The systematic purge from the company I helped build. The relentless, suffocating wave of online hate. And then, the gasoline. I died in a blaze so hot it left me unrecognizable. When my father came to identify the body, he collapsed on the spot. A fatal brain hemorrhage. My mother, upon seeing the single, sterile line of text on the cremation certificate, suffered a massive heart attack. A neighbor found her hours later, long after her last breath had passed. And Chloe? She took everything that was mine, walked onto a stage in a custom couture gown to accept an award, and said, “I want to thank Audrey for teaching me what it means to be a professional.” I am reborn. Reborn in this conference room, as she says the words again, proposing boba tea for our most important investors. I watched the corner of her mouth. That faint, almost imperceptible smirk. She was waiting for me to object, just like last time. But this time, I didn’t give her the satisfaction. “I think it’s a great idea,” I said, my voice cutting smoothly through her presentation. I smiled. “Boba is young, it’s trendy, it’s creative. Chloe, you’ve put a lot of thought into this.” She froze. A strange, heavy silence fell over the room. “When you’re hosting executives,” I continued, my smile unwavering, “you want to show them who you are.” Ethan glanced at me, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle, pleased curve. As if he was finally seeing the compliant woman he always wanted me to be. “Well, if Audrey’s on board, then let’s move forward with the plan,” he said. The room exhaled. A chorus of agreement followed. “The younger generation just gets it.” “Right? We don’t always have to do that stuffy English high tea thing.” “Who doesn’t love boba?” I let my gaze drift over the faces of my old friends around the table. The same ones who held my feet to the fire in my last life, all while claiming it was for the good of the company. This time, I’ll let you burn yourselves. I excused myself from the room and pulled out my phone, dialing a number from memory. “Noah,” I said, my voice low. “You told me once that you had a standing offer for me. Senior partner, equity, full decision-making authority… is that still on the table?” There was a pause on the other end, then a rich, knowing laugh. “Always. For you, Audrey, my door is always open.” “Good,” I said. “Then let’s talk.” 2 In my last life, Chloe stood in the center of this same room. White dress, ponytail, tablet in hand, selling her boba tea gospel with a pure smile and a gentle voice. I couldn’t help but offer a word of caution. “We’re hosting the executive partners from Dalton Capital, not a panel of TikTok influencers.” She flinched. Her lips trembled. “Does Audrey… not like me?” Ethan, sitting right beside her, shot back at me, his voice sharp. “Are you targeting her?” I was stunned into silence. “You’re just jealous,” he’d said, his voice dropping, “that she’s young, charming, and that people actually like her.” The room was silent. Then, one by one, the other partners chimed in. “What’s wrong with a little creativity? Maybe we’re just too old to get it.” In that moment, I understood. It didn’t matter if you were right. If you weren’t fragile and doe-eyed, if you didn’t know how to play the victim, no one would ever take your side. And she played it perfectly. That night, she went live on Instagram. The title of the stream was: 【I was bullied into silence at my dream internship today 】 She sat in what was clearly a staged, poorly-lit corner of her apartment, her clothes artfully damp, her eyes red and puffy. She cried as she spoke. “I suggested using a local boba brand for a reception, and my boss, the VP… she called me an idiot in front of everyone… I just don’t understand. Are young people not allowed to have ideas?” The comments exploded. 【Who treats an intern like that in 2025?】 【This is a textbook case of workplace abuse. That VP is toxic.】 【I’m reporting Audrey Collins. She has no right to be in a leadership position.】 【Sounds like she’s just threatened by someone younger and more creative.】 I had just gotten out of a late-night meeting. I opened Twitter to see my name trending for all the wrong reasons. It was my birthday. I opened my private social media, and a new post was at the top of my feed. It was from Ethan. 【Hoping every intern with a good idea gets to see it through without being maliciously shut down.】 The picture was a cup of boba tea, held next to Chloe’s tear-stained face. I texted him immediately. What the hell is this? His reply was instant. Figure it out yourself. It was followed by a voice memo, his tone cold and detached. “Audrey, I don’t think this is working anymore.” I drove to his office like a madwoman. I just wanted to ask him, “What did I do wrong?” He sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable. “The deal is done. Chloe’s concept was a hit with the secondary investors. Right now, the company needs a symbol, a fresh face. It doesn’t need your… emotional volatility.” “A symbol?” I gritted out. “After five years of building this company with you, I’m just a ‘symbol’?” “Can you please be rational?” He sounded annoyed. “Look at yourself right now. You’re hysterical.” I was fired the next day. A termination letter was slid unceremoniously across my desk. I became the poster child for toxic female leadership. The media invented stories about my “chaotic personal life,” my “abusive management style,” my “pathological need for control as an aging woman in tech.” Someone went to my parents’ small town and filmed a vlog outside the community clinic where my mother worked, narrating, “What kind of person could come from a family like this?” My father tried to stop them and the stress of it all sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. The day they threw the gasoline on me was two days after Christmas. They cornered me outside an old warehouse. A group of them, their faces twisted with self-righteous anger. They called me a “corporate monster,” a “parasite who kills the dreams of the young.” They shoved me to the ground and emptied a canister of fuel over me. “Did you drive Chloe to suicide?” one of them screamed. “How dare you still show your face?” I struggled, shouting back, my voice raw with terror. “You’re insane! She’s not dead! She’s lying to you!” No one listened. “Light it.” Someone struck a match. As the flames consumed me, my last coherent thought was of the new beige trench coat I was wearing. My mother had saved up for months to buy it for my birthday. In the final second before the fire melted my skin, my phone screen lit up. It was the last voice message my father ever sent me. “Pumpkin, Daddy’s on his way to bring you home.” But he never made it. On his way to me, he was killed instantly by a driver who ran a red light. And my mother, when she heard the news of my death, locked herself in the bathroom that night. She slit her wrists in the bathtub and never woke up. No one dared to claim my body from the morgue. It was three days before the county officially processed me as an unclaimed Jane Doe and sent me to the crematorium. “No name necessary for this one,” they’d said. Chloe’s livestream tears earned her millions of followers and the title of “the ultimate survivor.” Ethan took full control of the company, hailed as a hero for “purging the toxic elements from his leadership team.” The entire internet celebrated my death. They said I deserved it. I died worthless. And now, I am back. Back, listening to her say those same words one more time: “I propose we serve boba tea to the investors.” I look at her, and I smile. “I love it. Let’s do it.” 3 “Audrey, are you sure you want to sit this out? This presentation is critical.” My assistant, Maya, stopped me in the hallway, her arms full of binders. I pulled on my black trench coat, my expression serene. “Didn’t Chloe say she wanted the chance to lead a major client-facing event? Let’s give her the opportunity.” Maya gave me a complicated look, then lowered her voice. “Mr. Henderson is backing her so openly… people are whispering. They’re saying you’re being sidelined.” A small smile touched my lips. “Sidelined? He can try.” I pushed the door open and walked back into the conference room. Chloe was already standing at the front, dressed in a pale pink pantsuit. “This is our big chance to connect with the partners at Dalton Capital,” she said, her voice bright. “I’ve outlined the full hospitality plan for your review.” The first slide of her PowerPoint deck was a single, massive title: “A Gen-Z Inspired Hospitality Initiative” Below it was a high-resolution logo of a trendy boba chain, so bright it was almost blinding. “My plan is to set up a custom boba bar during the break. We’ll have flavors like Jasmine Green Tea, Peach Oolong with Cheese Foam, and Grapefruit Green Tea, with fully customizable sweetness levels. For food, we’ll have lava cakes and candied orange peels to really showcase our team’s energy.” As she spoke, she glanced back at me. It was part boast, part challenge. I sat in the back row, sipping a glass of warm water, calmly flipping through a prospectus. “One of the senior partners at Dalton has advanced Type 2 diabetes. Are you planning on displaying the exact sugar content for each drink?” I asked coolly, not bothering to look up. Chloe faltered for a second. “Well, they can order a zero-sugar option.” “A ‘zero-sugar’ boba that still uses a fructose-based powder and a sweet cream foam for the topping. Are you going to stand there and explain the glycemic index of every ingredient to them?” “I…” “The primary contact for this deal is their Singapore division. Culturally, they lean Western. Do you think they’ll appreciate fruit-flavored sugar water?” “I… I can make a special note of it in the briefing,” she said, her posture stiffening. “And besides, not every single investor will refuse boba. We can always offer a second option…” “Chloe has prepared a comprehensive plan,” Ethan interrupted, his tone a clear defense of her. “We shouldn’t be so quick to tear down a junior team member’s ideas.” I finally looked up at him and offered a small, knowing smile. “So, Audrey, what’s your final opinion?” Chloe asked, biting her lip, her eyes wide and pleading. I looked right at her, my smile slow and deliberate. “My opinion is,” I said, letting my gaze sweep across the room, my voice soft, “the plan is excellent. Very creative. If no one else has any objections, I say we proceed exactly as she’s outlined.” A palpable wave of relief washed over the room. Someone whispered, “Wow, Audrey’s really mellowed out.” “Yeah, she’s not as intense as she used to be.” “You have to give the kids a chance to shine…” What they didn’t understand is that I simply had no interest in cleaning up their mess this time. After the meeting, I walked to my office and locked the door. My phone buzzed with a text from Noah. 【Got the files. We’re running the framework by the board. We can greenlight as early as next week.】 I sent him the business plan I had been working on for months. The name on the cover wasn’t Audrey Collins. It was Nexus Strategy Group, a new boutique consulting firm I’d quietly registered. And just this morning, the firm’s ownership structure had been transferred to a blind trust. On paper, it was anonymous. In reality, I controlled everything. Down the hall, Chloe was still in the conference room with the events team, laughing and coordinating her “boba bar.” She looked like a blooming flower. That evening, a text came in from Ethan. 【Chloe is still a little naive. She gets nervous easily. As a senior leader, you should guide her a bit.】 I laughed out loud. He wanted me to mentor Chloe? Did he want her career to implode even faster? I texted back a simple, “Okay.” Then I opened my laptop, compiled her entire history of breaking company policy—her undeclared influencer side-gigs, the times she’d used company resources for personal projects—into a single, anonymous document, and sent it straight to the Ethics & Compliance department’s whistleblower email address.

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Leo was cheating on me. A one-night stand. The girl got pregnant. Now she was here, in my husband’s high-rise office, demanding he take responsibility. Leo lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his impassive face. Then he turned and handed the choice, the power, the entire mess, to me. “It was once,” he said, his voice flat. “If you can forgive me, we can move on from this. Make it work.” He paused, the ash on his cigarette growing long and fragile. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The blood drained from my face. I could hear it rushing in my ears. “It was your mistake, right?” I asked, my voice a tremor. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. You’ll take the blame, won’t you?” 1 My marriage to Leo was built on my sister’s leftovers. My younger sister, Chloe, is a whirlwind—vibrant and charming, with a stubborn streak a mile wide. The idea of being shackled to a man for the sake of a “strategic family alliance” was, to her, a life sentence. So she took the trust fund top-up—a cool twenty million—and vanished. My mother, heartbroken over her favorite’s departure but unwilling to lose a son-in-law like Leo, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from our family, the House of Sterling, would be an acceptable substitute. As if Leo would simply take one, regardless of the model. But this was Leo Vance. In the world we lived in, a world of old money and new power, he was the apex predator. Chloe leaving him at the altar wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a public humiliation. And now they wanted him to marry me? The quiet, overlooked older sister? It was delusional. Still, I went to see him. I walked into his office, laid out my case, and proposed myself as a solution. To my everlasting shock, he agreed. This year marks our fourth anniversary. To the outside world, we are a power couple. In private, we are like polite roommates who happen to share a bed. Even in our most intimate moments, there is a formal, almost respectful distance between us. My mother has been relentless, a constant drone in my ear. You need a child. You’re useless, Audrey. A baby is the only thing that will anchor a man like Leo. What will you do if he just leaves? I always wanted to say, Leo isn’t a dog to be leashed. And even if I had a leash, would he ever willingly wear it? But I never said that. I would just nod, my posture shrinking, my voice a murmur of agreement. It was the version of me she expected, the version she despised the most. She’d roll her eyes in disgust, turn on her heel, and leave me in her wake. Then, against all odds, the impossible happened. I got pregnant. 2 My period was late. First one week, then two, then four. Last night, I took a test. Two stark pink lines appeared against the white plastic. This morning, I went to the clinic for a blood test to be sure. The doctor held the report, her expression neutral. “You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping the baby?” “I think so,” I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. Leo didn’t know. This child was never part of our sterile, five-year plan. I needed to talk to him. Clutching the report in my purse, I drove to his office downtown. Leo was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, Sarah, showed me into his expansive corner office, her smile professionally warm. She brought me a cup of coffee and a small plate of artisanal pastries. I lifted the porcelain cup, the rich aroma filling my senses. Then I paused. Can you drink coffee when you’re pregnant? I had no idea. A quick search on my phone. Yes, in moderation. Relief washed over me. I took a small, careful sip, letting out a sigh of pure satisfaction. The sigh was cut short by a commotion from the reception area. A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, sliced through the calm of the executive floor. I opened the office door a crack and found myself staring directly into the eyes of a woman being held back by security. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing. “Get Leo Vance out here!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the marble floors. “Does he think he can knock someone up and just walk away?” The sound was deafening. The spectacle, mortifying. The crowd of onlookers, a blur of judgment. The shame was so intense I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I wanted to scream, This has nothing to do with me! Just then, Leo appeared, his face a thundercloud. He cut through the crowd, his eyes finding me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was there. A large, warm hand with perfectly sculpted knuckles covered my eyes, blocking the scene. I flinched back instinctively. With a soft click, he pushed the door closed, shutting me inside. I blinked in the sudden silence. Wait. My husband cheated, knocked up another woman, and the angry, pregnant mistress was at his door… and I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? 3 It turned out I was involved. Just not in the way I expected. Leo dismissed the onlookers with a single, cutting glare. He murmured something to the woman, his voice too low for me to hear. Then he opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me. He was so calm, so infuriatingly composed. I had the absurd urge to applaud. To cheat on your wife and handle the fallout with the detached air of a CEO managing a hostile takeover… it was a singular talent. The woman was cool. She wore simple, expensive athletic wear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into the leather armchair opposite me, crossed one leg over the other, and radiated an aura that screamed, Don’t mess with me. She was also, I noted with a clinical sort of bitterness, stunningly beautiful. Sharp, delicate features, eyes that were both cold and captivating. It was the kind of face you couldn’t bring yourself to hate. Too bad she had a mouth. “So, you’re the wife?” she said, her eyes flicking over me with casual dismissal. “Divorce him.” She placed a hand on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. He needs to take responsibility for me.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me? Logically, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when marriage becomes a battlefield, the one with the least to lose often screams the loudest. “Hah,” I let out a short, empty breath and reached for a small biscotti from the plate on the table. It was nutty and perfectly crisp, not too sweet. Delicious. “Want one?” I offered, holding it out to her. Her face twisted in disgust. She pointed at me, turning to Leo. “Is she insane?” For the first time, a crack appeared in Leo’s composure. A frown line creased between his brows. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the private lounge connected to his office. He smoked an entire cigarette in tense silence. “It was once,” he finally said, his voice rough. “I was at a conference. Someone spiked my drink. It was an accident.” “Audrey.” He met my gaze, his eyes sharp and serious. “It was my mistake. So you get to decide.” He took a step closer. “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make this work, for real this time.” He took a breath. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The word—divorce—landed like a punch to my solar plexus. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my palm, the small pain a welcome anchor. “It was your fault, right?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. That will be the story.” 4 Leo studied my face. He was a handsome man. More handsome than anyone I’d ever known. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, sexy sound of his breathing. In those moments, I could forget everything and lose myself in pure sensation. A divorce. It would be a shame. But not impossible. “So, your decision is a divorce?” he asked, his voice hardening. I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the other room. “After a scene like that? I don’t see another way.” “It’s just… my mother,” I said, needing the reassurance. “You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I had to confirm it again. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cool, unfamiliar distance that made my stomach clench. But I was an expert at managing that feeling. I took a deep breath and pushed it down. Leo stood up, brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle everything.” Phew. That was a relief. “Okay. In the divorce, you can have everything else. I just want Helios Pharmaceuticals.” “Fine.” “And, if it’s not too much trouble, a house. One of the villas in the Heights would be nice.” “Done.” “Could I also have three hundred million?” Leo turned back, his gaze pinning me to the spot. “You want everything and a divorce?” A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips. “If we don’t get a divorce, Audrey, it’s all yours anyway.” I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own feet. Well, you’re the one who cheated, I thought. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. And if we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours. …Wait. Even with a divorce, he’d still have a wife and child. Just a different set. Damn it. He really was a businessman, wasn’t he? Always calculating, always making sure he came out ahead. 5 Leo sent the woman away. What they discussed, what he promised her, I have no idea. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone. The delicious pastries were gone, too. Not a single crumb left. I stared at the empty plate. As I was leaving, I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed his assistant, Sarah, by the arm. “Those little biscotti from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you… could you pack some for me?” Sarah’s expression was a painful mix of pity and confusion. From behind me, Leo’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp with contempt. “Pack them for her.” The scandal exploded. By evening, my mother was calling. The first call, I ignored. The second, I ignored. On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water. Finally. Peace. In that quiet, a single thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity: I was going to have this baby. This child. I would provide half its chromosomes. It would be nourished by my own body, grow from my own flesh, and emerge as a new, independent life. It would be connected to me by blood and bone. My family. My ally. Why on earth would I not bring him into this world? Yes. I was going to have my baby. The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of red. Can you drink alcohol when you’re pregnant? No. Wait. In moderation. So, cheers! 6 At eight o’clock, my mother descended. The banging on my front door was loud enough to be reported for disturbing the peace. But I live in a gated community with no close neighbors. A small perk. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and turned the stereo up until the floor vibrated. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled screaming through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a lecture on “The Uselessness of Audrey,” followed by the classic sermon, “What is Audrey’s Purpose for Existing?” No new material, nothing innovative, but still a performance I had no desire to hear. After a while, the noise stopped. A while after that, my front door opened. Leo stood over me, pulling the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand-new one. His face was a mask of cold indifference. “Put your SIM card in this,” he said, his voice clipped. “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back. Now.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “You see, Leo? You were wrong.” “What?” “You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. But my mother still came here to blame me.” He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.” Leo’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a complete failure. One star. Would not recommend. My mother stormed into his corporate headquarters and had to be physically restrained by security. I was just leaving my lab at the time, exhausted after an all-nighter. The sample reactions weren’t promising, and the whole research team was feeling dejected. Leo always said that in these moments, a leader should offer encouragement and inspire hope. “But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to feel discouraged.” To me, the most inspiring thing about them was their courage to fail a thousand times and still be willing to start over. That was a resilience I understood. My train of thought was derailed by my assistant. “Dr. Sterling, your mother is here. She’s demanding to see you.” She could demand all she wanted. If I didn’t want to see her, she wouldn’t. I took the private elevator down to the garage, planning to slip away unnoticed. But as my car rounded the corner, she materialized in front of it like a vengeful ghost, her eyes burning with rage. There was no escape. I ended up buying her a coffee. As we sat in stony silence, I mentally calculated. It had been 372 days since we’d last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A real shame. “You’re divorcing Leo?” she began, dispensing with pleasantries. “Yes.” “Are you sick in the head?” The attack came with zero warning, a verbal ambush. The onslaught continued without pause. “Do you have a brain in there? Do you think you’re better than everyone else? What man doesn’t cheat? Does any man have a perfectly clean slate? But no, not you. You have to make a federal case out of some tiny little thing and scream divorce. If you’re not ashamed, I’m ashamed for you.” “Whose fault is it when a man cheats? It’s yours. You couldn’t keep him, couldn’t control him.” “I told you, being book-smart is useless! You have no social graces, no common sense, you’re stubborn and blind. People always say I favor Chloe, but if you were half as considerate, half as loving as her…” “You’d still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence. She choked, her mouth agape. Then she shrieked, “Audrey, must you always contradict me?” No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells in my belly needed to grow. I stood up to leave. But my movement was like flipping a switch in her. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her face contorted with fury, and just like she had countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me. In that instant, sheer terror paralyzed me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her arm. I could have even fought back. But my body betrayed me. My nerves felt severed, incapable of sending a single command. I just stood there, frozen. A wooden doll, not even breathing. 7 “Mom!” A bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension. My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of pure delight. Standing in the doorway of the cafe was Chloe, slightly out of breath but with a perfect, radiant smile plastered on her face. “Chloe, baby! When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Chloe practically skipped over, squeezing herself between my mother and me. She linked her arm through our mother’s, leaning her head on her shoulder affectionately. “I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.” My mother beamed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, imperceptible step back, giving them space for their mother-daughter reunion. My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle. “Chloe, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” my mother asked. “Leo did, of course!” Both of them turned their heads in unison to look at the man standing directly behind me. Leo. His hand was resting on my lower back, steadying me. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low. I took a shaky breath. “So when,” I asked, my own voice just as low, “did you and your former fiancée get back in touch?” His jaw tightened. “For now, she is still my sister-in-law.” “Oh, right. So how did you get in touch with your sister-in-law?” He didn’t like that question. I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. Someone else didn’t like it either. Chloe pouted, disengaging from our mother and inserting herself between Leo and me. “Leo, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you totally ignored me.” She linked her arm through his as naturally as she had with our mother. Our mother’s eyes darted between them, a flicker of suspicion in her gaze. “Chloe, you two…” Chloe’s face flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stomped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be silly.” She looked from Leo to our mother, her expression a perfect mix of coy denial and unspoken possibility. “Leo and I, we’re just… we’re just…” she trailed off. “Oh, forget it! You guys are so annoying!” That performance—the hesitation, the feigned embarrassment—was classic Chloe. A look of dawning comprehension spread across our mother’s face. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Okay, okay! Wonderful! Today is a happy day. Leo, you come with Chloe. We’re all going home for dinner.” Everyone in that little circle was busy with their own drama. Only Leo spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed Chloe to pull him away. And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me.

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I was nine months pregnant when I cleared the memory on the dashcam. That’s when I found it: a saved location, a strange apartment complex in the West End, woven into the fabric of my husband’s daily commute home. The footage showed him getting out of the car with bags of groceries, his back disappearing into the building with an ease that spoke of routine. Once, I even heard a woman’s voice, a soft, melodic complaint drifting through the open car window. “What took you so long? You’re ten minutes late. I’m starving.” Five years of marriage. Four rounds of IVF to get this baby. I couldn’t bring myself to detonate our world. So I did nothing. I pretended I saw nothing. A week later, I was in the delivery room, the birth turning complicated, when Michael’s phone rang. A frantic voice crackled through the speaker. “Chloe’s on the roof. She says if you don’t come right now, she’s going to jump.” His hand pulled away from mine before his brain could even process the choice. “She’s the daughter of my late mentor…” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I just have to talk her down.” “If you walk out that door today,” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat, raw and desperate, “this baby will not have a father.” He paused at the door, his shoulders tight. He threw a look back at me, a flicker of something—pity, maybe, or regret. But then his resolve hardened, and he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he ran. 1 I knew the woman on the phone. Chloe. I’d seen her face countless times on Michael’s dashcam. I lay on the operating table, my gown soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin. My child wasn’t even born yet, and his father had already abandoned him. Through a haze of pain and fear, I could hear shouting in the hallway. My parents, his parents, their voices clashing in a storm of anger and disbelief. Another contraction ripped through me, a tidal wave of agony, but it was nothing compared to the shattering of my heart. My mother’s voice, choked with tears, was the loudest. “Who the hell is that woman? Is Michael insane? Leaving his wife while she’s in labor?” Michael’s parents were desperately making calls, their voices trembling. “Claire, honey, just hold on. We’ve sent someone to find that damn fool. If he doesn’t come back today, we don’t have a son!” In my struggle, my wedding band slipped from my finger, falling to the floor. A nurse’s shoe kicked it into the shadows under the bed. The contractions were coming faster now, a frantic, punishing rhythm. The alarms on the machines began to shriek, one after another. “Fetal heart rate is dropping!” A doctor’s shout cut through the chaos, and then, my world went black. When I woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nose. A nurse was adjusting my IV drip. Seeing my eyes open, she spoke in a hushed, gentle tone. “You lost a lot of blood. You’re lucky we were able to save you. As for the baby… you can always have another.” A bomb went off inside my chest, leaving a gaping, silent crater where my heart used to be. My mother sat beside me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she gently wiped my own away. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ve been through so much.” My father stood by the bed, his face a mask of pain. Michael’s parents hovered in the corner, their faces etched with guilt. I stared at the blank white ceiling, silent tears tracking a path back into my hair. The last five years of my life played out in my mind like a silent film. Michael’s proposal at our college graduation. The way he stayed up all night researching recipes for my morning sickness. The look of pure joy on his face as he meticulously recorded the baby’s heartbeat at every check-up. Every single one of those tender moments was now a bitter joke. Michael’s best friend, Leo, stood hesitating in the doorway, his guilt radiating off him in waves. “Claire… Chloe, she… she had a depressive episode. Said she’d jump if Michael didn’t go. He didn’t have a choice… you…” He trailed off, unable to finish, as if he finally heard how hollow the words sounded. “And what?” I asked, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I’m supposed to be understanding?” I wanted to ask him how many times he’d covered for Michael. How many of their “guys’ nights” were really something else entirely. But then, suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I waited for my husband to come back. I waited as the sun set and the moon rose, as the darkness of night gave way to the pale light of dawn, and then as night fell once more. At eight p.m., after twenty full hours of silence, Michael finally appeared. His suit was rumpled, and his gaze skittered away from mine. “Claire, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice raspy. “Chloe was in a really bad place. Her father made me promise I’d look after her before he passed. I had to…” I cut him off. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Do you know that our baby is gone?” My words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. “You knew I was having a C-section yesterday. You knew, and you still chose to go to her.” I could feel the last threads of my control starting to fray. “Michael, that was our child.” Silence stretched across the sterile room. He reached for my hand; his palm was cold as ice. “Claire, in five years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Not really. But this one time, I am begging you not to make a scene.” My blood ran cold. “Chloe just lost her father,” he continued, his voice low and urgent. “If she gets accused of breaking up a marriage on top of that, her depression will get so much worse.” I looked at the desperate plea in his eyes, and my heart felt like it was being ripped into confetti. He shouldn’t be begging me for this. He should be on his knees outside the NICU, sobbing his heart out. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He hadn’t asked the doctors why I’d hemorrhaged. He hadn’t asked how scared I was during the surgery. His first words, his only concern, were for another woman. Tears streamed from my eyes, soaking the pillowcase. It took every ounce of strength I had left to force a single word from my throat. “Fine.” He let out a breath he was clearly holding. “Chloe can’t be alone right now,” he said, as if discussing a business arrangement. “I’m going to move in with her for a little while. Just until she’s more stable. Maybe five months or so. Then I’ll come back, and we can start trying for another baby. Okay?” His tone was so casual, like he was rescheduling a meeting. My eyes snapped wide open. It was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The child we had waited five years for was gone, and my husband was already making five-month plans for another woman. In that instant, my world didn’t just crack. It imploded. 2 My hand instinctively went to my flat stomach. Just days ago, it had held a new life, the living proof of the love we once shared. Now, it was just an empty, mocking space. I slowly pulled my hand from his grasp. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Michael.” He looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “The first time you tried to make soup for my morning sickness, you filled the entire kitchen with smoke. You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat and made it your ringtone, showing it off to anyone who would listen. You stood outside the ultrasound room and shouted, ‘Don’t be scared, honey!’ until a nurse chased you away three times.” My voice started to break. “For five years, you spoiled me so completely I barely knew how to function. You insisted on tying my shoes for me… I really, truly believed we would be happy forever.” I lifted my tear-streaked face to his. “But now… when I look at you, I can’t see a single trace of that man. There’s no concern for me in your eyes at all.” The weight of five years of memories washed over us. Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “But Claire,” he finally choked out, “Chloe really needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words pulverized the last glittering shard of hope I had left. I stared at him, at this man who had suddenly become a stranger. My voice trembled as I bit out the words. “Get. Out.” He flinched, took a half-step toward me as if to embrace me, but then he turned. Without another word, he walked away, his figure disappearing down the long, empty hallway. On the day that would have been our baby’s three-month memorial, I knelt at the tiny grave. Michael wasn’t there. “Hi, sweetie. Mommy’s here to see you.” My voice was a soft whisper, but I couldn’t stop it from shaking. My mother wrapped an arm around my shoulders, her own tears falling freely. “I’m here, Claire. Mom’s right here.” I leaned into her, my voice thick with grief. “It’s okay. At least I had him with me for a little while. And… maybe, with things being the way they are… maybe it’s better that he didn’t have to come into this family.” Just as the words left my lips, Michael arrived. He knelt beside me. “My sweet boy, Daddy’s…” “I told you that day,” I cut him off, my voice cold as stone. “If you walked out, this child wouldn’t have a father.” He frowned, a look of pained exasperation on his face, as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum and he was the magnanimous adult, tolerating my outburst. “Claire, I know you’re hurting, but don’t say things like that. I’m his father, and I’m hurting too. You…” My mother’s hand shot out, the sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoing in the quiet cemetery. “Hurting?” she spat. “Is your idea of hurting abandoning your wife during a high-risk delivery to go take care of some tramp?” Michael’s face darkened instantly. But before he could speak, Chloe herself came rushing toward us from the cemetery gates, her eyes red and swollen. She looked only at Michael, her voice catching on a sob. “Michael? Are you done? Are we… are we finally going home now?” My father surged forward. “Michael! What day is it? Do you have any idea what you’re doing, bringing her here?” Michael seemed to realize how terrible this looked. He stammered, “Dad, I didn’t have a choice. Chloe’s not been well. I couldn’t leave her at home alone.” “Not well? And it’s your job, a married man’s job, to take care of her? Do you know what today is for your son? Do you have any idea what your wife has been going through?” Chloe immediately bowed her head, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. “I’m so sorry, sir… I didn’t mean to. It’s just, Michael said he was coming out here today, and I got scared being alone, so I followed him.” It was a masterful performance of fragile victimhood. And, of course, it worked. Michael immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Dad, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t blame her.” My father, incandescent with rage, turned to Michael’s parents. “This is the fine son you two raised!” My mother helped me to my feet, her whole body trembling with fury. “Michael, are you even human?” His parents were frantic now. “Michael, this really isn’t the place,” his mother pleaded. “Please, just have someone take Chloe home.” But Michael acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. Instead, he took Chloe’s hand, his grip tightening. “Her mental state is finally stabilizing. She can’t handle any more stress.” I stared at him, my voice cracking. “So… in your world, she can’t be stressed, but I can? I’m just supposed to handle the death of our child on my own, is that it?” Before he could answer, Chloe spoke up, her voice laced with wounded nobility. “It’s okay, Michael. Claire’s right. It was thoughtless of me. You… you should go back to her. Take care of your wife.” She sniffled. “I’ll… I’ll go home right now and pack your things.” She turned, stumbled, her high heel catching on the edge of a headstone, and she went down hard. Michael’s hand, which was still holding mine, clenched so tightly I thought my bones would snap. He almost let go, almost lunged for her. But he stopped himself, watching as Leo rushed over to help her up. A long moment passed. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy. “I’ll stay with you a little while longer.” He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Chloe. “But you need to remember something, Chloe. Claire is my wife. The one I married. The day she needs me to come home, I have to leave. No tears, no scenes. I’ve done more than enough for you over the years.” Chloe bit her lip, and then, as if she could no longer hold it in, she burst into tears and ran from the cemetery. Michael didn’t move. He didn’t chase her. He just stood there, his expression unreadable. But the hand holding mine was trembling. You can’t hide what you truly care about. Years ago, I was hospitalized with acute gastritis, and he drove all night from a business trip to be with me. His eyes were red with worry, but he put on a stern face and lectured me about eating street food. He was just like this then, too. Saying harsh words with his mouth, while his thumb gently, unconsciously, stroked the back of my hand. 3 That evening, in the private dining room of a restaurant, the air was thick with tension. Our parents sat around the large circular table, the silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Leo leaned over and whispered in Michael’s ear. “Chloe’s still in the parking lot. The valet said she’s just sitting in her car, crying.” Michael didn’t even look up. He was spooning soup into a bowl for me, his movements steady and deliberate. “Let her,” he said, his voice flat. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. The meal was tasteless. It felt no different from all the meals I had eaten alone lately. Chloe was the daughter of Michael and Leo’s beloved professor, a man who had been a mentor to them both. They had all grown up together. Leo never said it outright, but he always looked out for her more than he ever did for me, his supposed sister-in-law. When the main courses arrived, the final dish, a steamed snapper, was placed in front of me. Leo suddenly spoke up. “We should save some of that for Chloe. Fish is her favorite. If you want more, Claire, we can just order another one.” Michael let out a short, cold laugh. He reached out and pulled the entire platter of fish directly in front of my plate. His voice was hard as ice. “What my wife likes to eat is not for outsiders to share.” He said the words. But after he put down his chopsticks, his eyes kept darting toward the door of the private room. A waiter came in to clear the empty dishes. As he was about to take the scraps to the kitchen, Michael, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly stood up. “I’ll do it.” The waiter stared, baffled, but handed over the trash bag. After Michael left, Leo quickly moved to the farthest seat at the table and pretended to be engrossed in an email on his phone. Our parents lapsed back into an awkward, mechanical silence. The tightness in my chest was becoming unbearable. I stood up and walked into the hallway, needing fresh air. Without thinking, I found myself walking down to the underground parking garage. That’s when I heard it: Chloe’s soft, aggrieved sobs, mingled with Michael’s low, comforting murmurs. I ducked behind a concrete pillar. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall. Michael and Chloe were sitting side-by-side on the hood of his car, sharing a takeout container. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Chloe, her eyes red, balled her fist and hit his chest playfully, a pout on her face. “You’re going back to her anyway, so why are you still acting like you care about me?” Michael let her hit him, his expression filled with an endless, patient indulgence. It was a look of pure, unguarded tenderness—completely different from the careful, deliberate kindness he always showed me. “Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice laced with resignation. “I promised your father I’d take care of you for the rest of my life. You know I’m not going to abandon you, don’t you?” Chloe’s sobs subsided as she leaned into his side. Michael picked up a piece of pork rib with his chopsticks and held it to her lips. “I had this sent over from that private kitchen you like,” he murmured. “It’s much better than the food at the restaurant.” She took a bite, and her crying finally stopped. Michael began to explain, his voice low. “Claire just lost the baby. She’s emotionally unstable. This is just one dinner to keep the peace. Once she’s satisfied, she won’t keep pushing me to come home all the time.” So that was it. That was his calculation. All those times, over five years, when he’d sided with me in small, insignificant arguments—it wasn’t about love. It was just a strategy to keep me quiet, to stop me from making trouble for Chloe. A few crumbs of affection were enough to make me feel grateful, to keep me docilely by his side. I looked at the two of them, huddled together against the falling snow. Michael had a sensitive stomach and a small appetite. He’d eaten a full meal upstairs in the dining room, yet he was now eating most of the food in the takeout container. Maybe it’s true what they say. You can only truly enjoy a meal with someone who shares your heart. Whether it was a childhood sweetheart or the great love of his life, one thing was clear. That person wasn’t me. 4 I turned and walked away silently. From my purse, I pulled out the divorce papers I’d had drawn up days ago. When I returned to the private room, divorce papers in hand, both sets of parents stood up. After the spectacle in the cemetery, even Michael’s parents didn’t know how to argue for their son anymore. My own parents just sighed and told me, “If you want a divorce, you have our support.” Michael’s mother hesitated, then gripped my hand, her eyes pleading. “Claire, can’t you just give him one more chance? He’s only like this because he feels so indebted to his mentor.” I said nothing. I just placed the papers on the table. Just as tears started to well in her eyes, the door swung open. Michael was back. And he had brought Chloe with him. She was wearing his suit jacket, and she surveyed the room with an air of entitlement, as if she were the incoming Mrs. Davies. The room fell dead silent. Every eye was on them. “Michael,” his mother’s voice trembled. “Why is she back here?” His father slammed his wine glass on the table. “Michael, have you lost your mind?!” Michael didn’t answer them. His gaze swept over the coat I was wearing and finally landed on my face. “Finished eating?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I’m going home.” He seemed to relax. “Okay. Text me when you get there.” He said it so casually, then turned and gently guided Chloe forward. “Mom, Dad, you know my mentor passed away. Before he died, he entrusted Chloe to me. I can’t go back on my word. For the next little while, I need to give her a job, so she’ll be starting at the company.” His brazen honesty made our earlier outrage seem petty and overwrought. Chloe smiled politely and reached for his mother’s arm. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am. Michael has taken such good care of me. He wanted me to meet all of you tonight. Since everyone is here, perhaps I could offer a toast?” Michael’s mother looked at me, her face a mess of conflicting emotions. “Claire, why don’t you… sit down and we can talk about this?” I was about to refuse, but Chloe cut in, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Yes, Claire. You should sit. You’re still his wife, after all. There are some things you should be aware of, don’t you think?” CRACK. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean in the silent room. I stared in shock as my mother lowered her hand from Chloe’s face. “Mom!” My mother turned to me, her eyes blazing, her voice shaking with a rage I had never seen before. “I carried you for ten months. Do you think I don’t know my own daughter? You married him when you were twenty-two. You’re twenty-seven now. Five years! You gave up a scholarship to study abroad for him. You managed his company socials for him. When he had stress-induced gastritis from drinking too much, you stayed by his hospital bed for three days without sleep. You loved him that much. You wouldn’t be letting go unless your heart was completely dead.” Her voice broke. “I don’t need you to be rich or famous. But I will not stand here and watch him humiliate you with his mistress. If you won’t do it, I’ll do it for you!” Her words were like a hammer blow, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. Chloe cradled her cheek, tears pooling in her eyes. Michael immediately pulled her behind him, his expression dark and terrifyingly angry. “Claire,” he seethed. “When did you learn to hide behind your parents to…” “Do you know what I find most disgusting about you?” I cut him off, stepping forward and slapping him across the face with all the strength I had. “Michael, you’re the one who deserves to be hit!” I snatched the divorce papers from the table and threw them at his chest. He caught them automatically. His eyes widened as he read the title. His pupils contracted. “Claire… you want a divorce?”

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Everyone in this city knows the two families that run the underbelly, the Hawthornes and the Sterlings, are bound by generations of arranged marriages. As the sole heiress of the Sterling family, I was engaged to Caleb Hawthorne before I could even form a complete sentence. An engagement that became a city-wide joke the moment photos of Caleb in bed with a college girl went viral. The story they spun was that the girl, drunk and heartbroken in some downtown dive bar, had mistaken Caleb for a male escort and bought him for the night with a wad of cash. Everyone expected her to be found in the river. But Caleb just laughed. “The way she cried,” he’d told the papers, a smirk playing on his lips, “it was interesting.” From that moment on, he was addicted to her. He paraded her around the city, a whirlwind of public trysts and whispered scandals. It all came to a head three months later, when the college girl showed up on my doorstep with a swelling belly. When I confronted Caleb, his voice was calm, dismissive. “Chloe is innocent, Ava. All she wants is my love, nothing more.” “Don’t worry,” he’d added, as if it were a comfort. “You can play games, but the position of Mrs. Hawthorne will always be yours.” I had to laugh. Caleb, you have it all wrong. It was never me who needed you to become the lady of the Hawthorne estate. It was always you who needed me to become the master of it. 1 Caleb found me in the study, where I was finalizing the guest list for the Memorial Gala. He placed a cup of steaming tea beside my hand. “Ava,” he began, his voice soft. “Add Chloe’s name to the list for next week’s gala.” The tip of my fountain pen dug into the polished mahogany of the desk, leaving a deep, black wound. The gala to honor the memory of my parents. And he wanted me to invite his mistress? I lifted my head, my eyes locking with his. “Caleb, do you really think I’m that much of a pushover?” “Of course not.” He looked at me, his dark eyes holding the same deep affection they always had. It was a look I used to treasure. Now, it just felt like a well-practiced lie. “Chloe is carrying a Hawthorne child, after all. We can’t keep her hidden away forever. The gala is the perfect opportunity for her to be introduced to the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ava, you’ve always been the reasonable one.” Reasonable. The word he used when he meant compliant. I picked up the teacup, its warmth a stark contrast to the ice in my veins, and poured the entire contents onto the Persian rug at his feet. “This is me being reasonable,” I said. “Are you satisfied?” He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached for my hand. “Did you burn yourself?” His warm fingers traced my skin, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I snatched my hand away. “Stop this charade, Caleb. Cut the act!” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a patronizingly fond smile on his face. “Ava, getting angry isn’t good for you.” That look—the one you give a misbehaving child—made the fire in my chest roar to life. I grabbed the silver letter opener from the desk and brandished it at him, my voice a low growl. “I am not joking. And I said no.” The tenderness in Caleb’s expression finally evaporated. He stepped forward, reaching for the blade. “That’s dangerous. Give it to me.” “Get away from me!” In the struggle, the sharp edge of the opener sliced across my palm. A clean, deep line of red split the skin. We both froze. Blood welled up, dripping one by one onto the pristine invitation cards, staining his name and mine a brilliant crimson. Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk—a special ringtone I’d never heard before. Chloe’s ringtone. Caleb’s eyes darted from my bleeding hand to the glowing screen of his phone. He answered it. “Hey, Chloe.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “Don’t cry. I’m just taking care of a few things. I’ll be back with you soon.” I stood there, watching the blood flow freely from my palm, listening to him soothe another woman with a tenderness that cut deeper than any blade. Every word was a fresh twist of the knife. He waited a long time, so long the blood on my skin began to grow tacky. Finally, he hung up. Ignoring my wound, he let out a heavy sigh. “Ava, Chloe said she doesn’t want to make things difficult for you. She won’t come.” He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “But,” he continued, “if you attend as the sole hostess, she’ll feel like an outsider. It will upset her.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So?” He looked at me then, his gaze steady, and delivered the final blow, one word at a time. “So, the Memorial Gala is canceled.” He said it so simply. “That way, no one has to go.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Canceled? The Memorial Gala? It wasn’t just a party. It was the anniversary of my parents’ deaths. It was the Hawthorne family’s most sacred, blood-bound promise. Ten years ago, on September 9th, a brutal turf war had erupted, threatening to wipe the Hawthornes off the map. My father, seeing his oldest allies on the brink of collapse, sent every soldier, every asset, every gun the Sterling family possessed. He saved the Hawthornes, but in doing so, he signed our own death warrant. By sunrise, the great Sterling family was annihilated. The only one left was me, an eight-year-old girl in a blood-soaked dress. I remember Caleb’s grandfather, the Old Man, holding me, his body shaking with sobs. He led the entire Hawthorne clan to my parents’ graveside and knelt. He swore an oath before their tombstones to cherish me as his own granddaughter. He made a blood pact. The day I came of age, I would marry the Hawthorne heir. The family would never, ever forget the debt they owed. And now, this gala—a tradition bought with the lives of my family, this engagement forged from destiny and death—was being erased. All because Chloe didn’t like it. Caleb ignored the blood draining from my face. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, placing a soft, familiar kiss there. “Ava, don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice laced with the same hollow reassurance. “She just wants the baby. It won’t affect your position as Mrs. Hawthorne. At all.” “Next month, when I officially take over as Head of the House, I promise, I will marry you.” 2 For years, the Old Man had been living abroad for his health. He was scheduled to return next month to officially pass on the Hawthorne Cane—the symbol of the family patriarch—to Caleb. In his mind, Caleb was already the king. After that night, I locked myself in my room. A cold war of silence descended on the house. For three days, I refused all food and drink. Meanwhile, a barrage of text messages from Chloe lit up my phone. You really think Caleb loves you? You’re just an arrangement, a business deal. Don’t get carried away. Can’t you just disappear? Die off like the dinosaur you are and let Caleb have a real life, a life where he can find true love? Then came the picture message. A close-up of a woman’s pale neck, covered in a galaxy of dark, angry bruises. Love bites. Even with me pregnant, he can’t get enough. We’re together every single night. And you? After all these years, has he ever even touched you? I deleted the message without a flicker of emotion and blocked the number. It was the night of the Hawthornes’ monthly family dinner. The long dining table was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, all of whom avoided my gaze, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and guilt over the canceled gala. I walked toward my seat at the head of the table, beside the patriarch’s empty chair, but my steps faltered. Chloe was sitting there. She wore a simple white dress, an innocent smile gracing her lips, as if she were born to sit in that very spot. Caleb was in the patriarch’s chair beside her, placing a piece of salmon on her plate as if they were the only two people in the room. A dead silence fell over the table. The air was thick with embarrassment. I walked to the head of the table and stood before her. “Get up.” Chloe flinched as if I had struck her. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor. Her eyes immediately welled with tears as she shrank against Caleb’s side. “Ava… I… I didn’t mean to.” I ignored her performance, my voice low and even. “I said, get up.” Caleb finally looked up, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, what is it now? It’s just a chair. Are you really going to make a scene over a chair? Chloe’s pregnant. I want her close so I can look after her. What’s the big deal?” I almost laughed. The absurdity of his words was breathtaking. “A chair?” I pointed to the carved, high-backed seat. “Caleb, you tell me. Is this just a chair?” My voice rose, echoing in the silent room. “This is the seat of the Hawthorne matriarch! What the hell is she, that she thinks she has the right to sit there?” Caleb slammed his hand on the table, the silverware jumping. He shot to his feet, shielding Chloe behind him. “She is carrying my child! My son! That means she is not an outsider!” he roared. “Ava Sterling, I respect you as my fiancée, but don’t you dare overestimate your importance! Anyone who tries to make her move from that seat answers to me!” He stood there, a barricade, defying me—defying his entire family—for her. A memory, sharp and painful, pierced through my anger. I was ten years old, new to the Hawthorne mansion, a timid, frightened little thing. Some of the older cousins were teasing me, pushing me. Caleb, barely a teenager himself, had beaten them all to a pulp. He had taken my hand, pulled me up the grand staircase, and announced to the entire household, “She’s with me. I protect her. One day, she will be the lady of this house. Anyone who makes her shed a single tear, I will make them wish they were never born.” The boy who had once shielded me from the world with his own body was now using that same body to shield another woman from me. He was pushing me away, violently and completely. The dinner ended in shambles. Late that night, Caleb came to my room, smelling of whiskey and regret. “Are you satisfied now?” he slurred. I said nothing. I simply unlocked my phone and showed him the text messages from Chloe. He stared at the screen for a moment, his drunken anger deflating. “She’s young,” he said, his voice regaining its composure. “A bit childish sometimes. I’ll apologize to you on her behalf.” He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist in a placating embrace. “Ava, I promise you, no matter what, you will be the lady of this house. The day I become patriarch next month, we’ll get married.” He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice a desperate plea. “After we’re married, Chloe’s child can even call you ‘Mom.’ But you have to promise me you’ll be more generous. You have to be patient with her, okay?” “Disgusting.” The word escaped me like a venomous hiss. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Who ever said I was going to marry you?!” 3 Caleb didn’t come back after that night. Three days later, the frantic banging of our head butler on my bedroom door shattered the morning silence. “Miss Sterling! It’s terrible! Mr. Caleb… he’s taken Miss Chloe to the Sterling archives on the top floor! He forced the door!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The archives. The room where every surviving belonging of my parents was kept. I sprinted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and kicked open the partially ajar door. The room was a wasteland. My parents’ wedding portrait, shattered. My mother’s favorite porcelain vases, reduced to dust. My father’s calligraphy set, splintered and broken. Everything was destroyed. In the center of the devastation sat Chloe, crying dramatically over a small scratch on her leg. And kneeling beside her, like a devoted servant, was Caleb, dabbing at the tiny wound with a handkerchief. “Silly girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “So reckless. I told you to take your time smashing things, didn’t I?” “CALEB!” The name tore from my throat. “What are you doing?!” He looked up, his expression utterly untroubled. “Ava. You’re here. Perfect. Could you grab the first aid kit? Chloe scraped her knee on some glass.” “I asked you,” I repeated, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it would split me in two, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” “Chloe said the light in here was good,” he replied, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “She thought it would make a nice nursery.” He gestured impatiently. “Are you going to get the antiseptic or not? It’ll scar if we wait too long.” “You BASTARDS!” The scream was primal, ripping through me. The old wound on my hand, not yet fully healed, tore open again. Fresh blood dripped onto the floor. Seeing me, Chloe seized her moment. She pressed herself deeper into Caleb’s arms, her eyes meeting mine with a triumphant glint. With a flick of her hand, she swept a small glass figurine of my parents from a nearby table. It shattered on the floor. Caleb’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Ava, what is your problem?!” he yelled. “You’re scaring her!” “I’m scaring her?” My voice was raw with disbelief. “Caleb, did you ask my permission before you brought her up here?!” He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “This is Hawthorne property, Ava. Why would I need anyone’s permission to show my fiancée around?” The words hit me like a physical blow. This room… this sacred space that the Old Man himself had promised would be mine, forever untouched. “Ava, this is the last thing I can do for your father,” he had told me, his voice thick with grief all those years ago. “This room, and everything in it, is the Hawthorne family’s eternal promise to the Sterlings. Anyone who dares to touch a single thing in here is striking at the very root of our family.” And now his own grandson, the heir he was so proud of, was digging up that root with his bare hands for a woman he’d met in a bar. “Hawthorne property?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. I took a step toward them, my finger shaking as I pointed at Chloe. “This property was bought with Sterling blood! What is she that she even deserves to breathe the air in this room?” “Get out,” I snarled. “Get. Out. Now.” I lunged, my hands reaching for Chloe’s hair. Caleb moved faster than I thought possible. He twisted, shielding her completely with his body, taking the brunt of my attack on his back. “Ava, have you lost your mind?!” he roared. I froze, staring at him as he sheltered her. That posture. That broad, protective back. When we were children, another boy had thrown a rock at me. Caleb had shielded me just like this, wrapping his arms around me, letting his own back take the blow. That protection had once been mine alone. Now, he was using it to defend someone else. From me. My heart didn’t just break. It felt like it was being ripped from my chest by hand. “It’s just a bunch of junk belonging to dead people!” he spat, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. “You’d attack a pregnant woman over this trash? Ava, I am so disappointed in you.” Trash. He called my parents’ memories trash. The last thread of sanity inside me snapped. I turned and grabbed a heavy curtain rod from the floor. “Then let’s all die together!” 4 Caleb whirled around, keeping Chloe tucked securely behind him. But as he moved to grab the rod from me, Chloe stumbled out from his protection. With a small, theatrical cry, she fell sideways into a pile of shattered porcelain, dragging her arm across the sharpest shard. “Ahh—! Caleb! It hurts! She hurt me!” she shrieked, cradling her bleeding arm. Caleb’s head snapped towards her. His eyes, seeing the blood, turned a dangerous shade of red. “AVA!” I had never seen him so furious. It was an anger that went beyond rage; it was murderous. “You dare hurt her?” he hissed, his voice trembling. Before I could speak, he pulled a small, tactical knife from his belt. The one he always carried for protection. He advanced on me, and for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of him. “You like getting physical, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Fine. Let me teach you what happens when you cross the line.” In a flash of movement, the world exploded in pain. The blade of his knife was through my hand, pinning it to the wooden floorboards.

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On the set of the reality travel show Nature’s Embrace, I was the nobody they hired to cook. Seraphina Stone was the starlet who’d built a career on public meltdowns. The moment she tasted my food, she flipped the table and screamed that it was disgusting. Then, pointing at a dove in a cage across the room, she ordered me to stew it for her, to “replenish her energy.” The live comment feed scrolling across the giant monitor on set went wild with approval: 【YAS, QUEEN! SERAPHINA IS SO REAL!】 【This is the chaos we live for! Never compromise!】 【What’s the cook waiting for? Get that soup started for Seraphina!】 What they didn’t know, what none of them could possibly know, was that the dove was the beloved pet of Caleb Sterling. And if anyone touched that bird, every single person on this set would have their careers torched to the ground. 1 I’m Chloe Ross, a C-list actress so far down the Hollywood food chain I’m practically plankton. My one marketable skill, a flair for cooking, had landed me this gig as the on-air chef for Nature’s Embrace, a live-streamed wellness retreat show. Every other person here was a bigger name than me. So, naturally, by the time I brought the final dish—a pan-seared branzino—to the rustic farmhouse table, the other cast members had already devoured most of dinner. “You must be exhausted, Chloe. Come, sit and eat.” Seraphina Stone, sitting at the head of the table, beckoned me over with a saccharine smile, taking my hand in hers. The live feed erupted. 【She’s so sweet! She actually remembered the cook hadn’t eaten!】 【OMG I wish Seraphina would hold my hand.】 【Did Chloe even wash her hands before touching our queen?】 【Ugh, Seraphina doesn’t even care that the chef smells like kitchen grease. A true angel!】 The screen was a waterfall of praise for Seraphina’s kindness, as if conveniently forgetting I was the one who had cooked the very meal they were all digesting. Seraphina had skyrocketed to fame on a brand of weaponized “authenticity.” Throwing things and shrieking were just another Tuesday for her. Her fans adored her for “keeping it real,” hailing her as “Hollywood’s only authentic soul.” Here, she was the sun, and everyone else was a planet in her orbit. With millions watching live, Seraphina delicately lifted a piece of the branzino to her lips. She chewed twice, her brow slowly knitting together in a frown. “Pah—!” She spat the perfectly cooked fish onto the floor. In the next instant, she shot to her feet, her hands gripping the edge of the linen tablecloth. With a theatrical roar, she yanked it. “Is this supposed to be food for humans? It’s inedible!” The sound of shattering porcelain and glass exploded through the room. A tidal wave of gravy, wine, and leftover food flew straight at me. I jumped back, but a dark, greasy stain instantly soaked the cuff of my jeans. The comment stream lost its mind. 【OMG SERAPHINA IS A LEGEND!】 【This is the content I signed up for! Never let them serve you trash!】 【That cook took forever with the last dish. She probably burned it.】 【The realest woman in Hollywood! We need more of this honesty!】 【FLIP THAT TABLE! That food looked gross anyway!】 【#TeamSeraphina!】 As part of the show’s interactive gimmick, the live feed was projected onto a massive screen for the cast to see. Right now, everyone could read the dense scroll of cheers for Seraphina and accusations aimed at me. A few scattered comments murmuring 【kinda wasteful tho…】 were immediately buried under an avalanche of fan outrage and reported for removal. The set descended into chaos. The other guests swarmed Seraphina, cooing and consoling her. “Seraphina, are you okay? Watch your hands.” “Just let it go. She’s only the cook.” “‘Only the cook’? Her one job is to make decent food!” a guy in horn-rimmed glasses snapped at the actress who’d tried to de-escalate. “If Seraphina hadn’t tasted it first, we all could have eaten that garbage fish!” The speaker was Liam Ashford, heir to the Ashford hotel fortune and Seraphina’s self-appointed knight in shining armor. After every one of her public spectacles, it was his family’s money and influence that cleaned up the mess, insulating her from any real consequences. The actress who’d spoken up blanched, remembering the fates of others who had crossed Seraphina Stone. She fell silent. The live feed surged. 【Liam protecting his woman! A real man!】 【Stop shipping them, ugh. Our girl is single and thriving!】 【He’s right. Who knows what was in that nasty fish.】 【Seraphina has a sensitive stomach. This Chloe person probably did it on purpose.】 【Why hasn’t the cook apologized to Seraphina yet?】 “It’s okay, everyone. It was my fault, I was too impulsive,” Seraphina said, tugging on Liam’s sleeve, her voice suddenly fragile. “Chloe worked so hard on all this food. It’s normal to mess up one dish…” Liam smiled at her, a look of pure adoration on his face. “You’re just too good for this world, Sera.” 【See? She’s so kind. She always reflects on her actions after her episodes.】 【Don’t blame yourself, Seraphina! It’s the cook’s fault!】 【#CancelTheCook! We support Seraphina standing up for herself!】 Reading the supportive comments, a grateful smile touched Seraphina’s lips. “Thank you all for the comfort. But please, don’t be too hard on Chloe. I was also in the wrong… Hiss…” She trailed off, clutching her stomach. “Sera, what is it?” Liam immediately steadied her. Seraphina managed a pale, brave little smile. “It’s nothing. Just a stomach cramp. It’s an old problem, it has nothing to do with Chloe’s cooking.” Her words were gasoline on a bonfire. Liam whirled on me, his face burning with rage. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You served her rotten fish! Apologize to her right now, or I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.” 【APOLOGIZE TO SERAPHINA!】 【I’m so worried about her. Can we get this psycho cook fired and blacklisted already?】 【APOLOGIZE!】 【Get off the show! Get out of Hollywood!】 【CHLOE ROSS APOLOGIZE!】 【CHLOE ROSS APOLOGIZE!】 The screen was a solid block of text demanding my apology. All I could feel was a bitter, hollow laugh stuck in my throat. Was it for my carefully prepared dish, now spat on the floor and declared garbage? Or for my own dinner, which was now a pile of trash at my feet? My gaze drifted past Liam’s furious face to Seraphina. There wasn’t a trace of pain in her eyes. Only a poorly concealed glint of triumph. I couldn’t understand where this came from, why she was targeting me like this. We’d never met before this show. “It’s alright, Liam. If Chloe doesn’t want to apologize, let’s not force her,” Seraphina said, playing the magnanimous peacemaker. But Liam wasn’t letting go. “She’s still defending you when she’s doubled over in pain because of your rotten fish! Do you have any conscience at all?” Seraphina’s eyes drifted to the corner of the yard. “Tell you what,” she said, her voice soft but laced with steel. “I saw that plump-looking dove over there. Chloe, you’re such a good cook. Why don’t you stew it for me? To help me recover. We’ll call it even.” She was looking at a beautiful, all-white fantail dove, pacing elegantly inside a wicker cage. And seeing that dove, it all clicked. I finally understood the source of her bizarre, relentless hostility. The crew had found the bird wandering the property earlier and caged it. Before dinner preparations had even begun, Seraphina had ordered me to kill and cook it for her. But I had recognized it instantly. On its leg was a delicate, gleaming gold band with a distinctive pattern. It was the mark Caleb Sterling—the reclusive, all-powerful scion of the Sterling dynasty—put on his prized pets. I had no idea how the bird had ended up here, but I would never mistake that mark. I knew Caleb valued his privacy above all else, and the last thing he’d want was his pet becoming a plot point on a globally streamed reality show. At the time, I’d simply told Seraphina the bird was too sinewy to eat and deflected. I never imagined she would hold a grudge this long. I took a step forward, positioning myself between her and the cage. I kept my voice as level as I could. “Ms. Stone, that bird can’t be eaten. It has a leg band. It’s clearly someone’s pet.” Seraphina arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock pity. “First you said it was tough, now you’re saying it’s a pet. If you don’t want to cook it for me, just say so. You don’t have to keep making up excuses.” Seeing Seraphina look so wounded, any flicker of doubt Liam might have had was extinguished. “Seraphina has bent over backwards for you, and you’re still arguing? You’re the chef! Cooking is your job!” The live feed chimed in. 【What is this cook’s problem? Is she obsessed with Seraphina?】 【It’s just a bird. If she wants to eat it, just make it for her!】 【I bet she’s doing this for screen time. So pathetic.】 【Wait, I think I do see a leg band. Maybe it is a pet?】 【Is that Chloe’s PR team in the comments? How much are they paying you?】 【So what if it’s a pet? She can just cook it. It’s an honor for the bird to be eaten by Seraphina.】 【What if the owner comes looking for it?】 【Who cares? Liam will just buy it for her!】 【Like Liam Ashford can’t afford one stupid pigeon?】 【I looked it up. It’s just a common dove. Nothing special.】 Buoyed by the comments, Liam puffed out his chest and addressed the cameras. “If the owner of this dove is watching, please contact the production team. I will buy it from you for ten times its market value.” Amidst a sea of 【Liam is so rich!】 and 【Baller move!】, a single comment popped up: 【Did the owner agree to sell? This sounds like a forced sale.】 It was immediately swallowed by a flood of 【Money talks, dude】 and 【Who wouldn’t sell for 10x the price?】. Another cast member chimed in. “Just do it, Chloe. It’s not like you got to eat anyway. We could all try some. It’s no big deal.” I gritted my teeth. “You don’t understand. This bird is different. Messing with it will cause serious trouble.” That was the last straw for Seraphina. She dropped the stomach-ache act entirely. She stormed over, snatched the cage, and unleashed her signature brand of chaos. “You say no? Who are you to say no? You’re protecting this stupid bird because you want to steal it for yourself, don’t you? Well, I won’t let you!” With a final shriek, she slammed the cage onto the stone patio. The wicker frame shattered. The terrified dove burst out, fluttering wildly before landing with pinpoint accuracy on my shoulder, letting out a mournful coo. “How did it fly right to her?” one of the guests gasped. Seraphina’s face twisted into a victorious sneer. “You all see that? She’s already tamed it. She was planning to take it for herself all along!” Liam was right behind her. “Chloe Ross. No wonder you kept making excuses. You’ve been plotting this from the start.” 【Seraphina called it! Chloe is so manipulative.】 【She says it has an owner when Seraphina wants to eat it, but suddenly the owner doesn’t matter when she wants to steal it?】 【Is it possible the dove is actually Chloe’s? I mean, it flew right to her.】 【Get real. It landed on her shoulder so now it’s hers? Please.】 【Yesss, another Seraphina meltdown! This is so satisfying!】 I looked at the trembling bird on my shoulder, at Seraphina’s gloating face, at the cold, amused eyes of everyone around me, and at the endless stream of insults on the screen. I sighed, a deep, weary breath, and finally told them the truth. “This dove isn’t mine. It’s Caleb Sterling’s.” For a single, beautiful moment, the entire set was silent. Even the live feed paused. The next second, Seraphina burst out laughing. “Chloe, if you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Caleb is a friend of mine. He’s never owned a pet in his life.” A wave of understanding washed over the other guests. “I knew it. How would someone like Chloe Ross know anything about Caleb Sterling’s pets?” “She almost had me for a second.” “As if the Sterling heir’s pet would just show up here.” Liam scoffed. “Chloe, you clearly have no idea who you’re dealing with. Caleb Sterling despises people who use his name to get ahead. Looks like you’re finished in this town without me even having to lift a finger.” The live feed was a party. 【LMAO, she tried to bluff and got called. Epic fail.】 【Get her off my screen. I’m so sick of this clown.】 【Wait, Seraphina just called the Caleb Sterling by his first name? Is there something going on there?】 【I heard the Sterling heir had a famous ex he’s never gotten over. What if it’s SERAPHINA?】 【OMG IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!】 【No wonder Seraphina can be so authentic and never faces backlash. The Sterling family is protecting her!】 【I remember Liam saying he was friends with the Sterling heir.】 【Maybe Caleb asked Liam to look out for Seraphina since he can’t do it publicly?】 【Oh my god, is our girl Seraphina going to marry into the most powerful family in the country?】 【But why did they break up?】 Seraphina gave a shy smile at the comments. “Please don’t use his name so much. He doesn’t like the attention. Besides, I want to be recognized for my acting, on my own merit.” Her vague, suggestive words sent the feed into a frenzy. 【You can do it, Sera! We believe in you!】 【So she broke up with him to focus on her career and become his equal? That’s so romantic!】 【OMG. He protects her from the shadows while she works to become a star for him. It’s a real-life fairytale.】 【Chloe Ross needs to apologize already.】 【She is SO screwed. You don’t mess with the woman Caleb Sterling protects.】 【Just cook the damn dove as a peace offering. Maybe Seraphina will ask Caleb to go easy on her.】 Seraphina saw that last comment and smiled graciously at me. “Chloe, if you cook the dove now, I’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.” The other cast members were all nodding, and I could see the director off-camera frantically gesturing for me to agree. The name ‘Caleb Sterling’ was enough to make titans of industry tremble. If he was offended, everyone here would pay the price. I knew then that it was hopeless. These people were beyond reason. Ignoring all of them, I quietly pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. The cameraman, sensing drama, immediately zoomed in. The call connected almost instantly. A deep, languid male voice came through. “Yeah?” I held the phone to my mouth, my voice clear and steady. “It’s me. Your precious dove is here on the set of Nature’s Embrace.” “Someone just smashed him out of his cage and is demanding I stew him for dinner.” “I thought you might want to handle it.” There were two seconds of dead silence on the other end. Then, a voice, devoid of any discernible emotion, said: “Five minutes. Stay put.” After I hung up, Seraphina applauded dramatically. “Great performance. But if you’re going to hire an actor, at least make it realistic. We’re in the middle of the mountains. How could Caleb possibly get here in five minutes?” I didn’t bother answering her. I gently checked the dove’s wing, finding a small scratch from a splintered piece of wicker. I found a first-aid kit and began to carefully clean the wound. A guest tried again. “Chloe, just stop this. Apologize and cook the bird.” “Yeah, we still have a show to film.” “Come on, everyone knows Seraphina is the one that got away for Caleb Sterling. Don’t be so stubborn.” At that, I finally looked up at the speaker. “Did Caleb Sterling tell you that himself?” Then I turned to Seraphina. “If he’s your ex, how did you not recognize his voice just now?” “Your phone’s volume was so low, how could I possibly hear it?” Seraphina snapped, taking an involuntary step back from the look in my eyes. “For all I know, you hired a voice actor who sounds like him months ago just for this moment.” Liam stepped in front of her, shielding her as if I were about to attack. “That’s enough. You’re just digging your own grave.” The live feed was still a cesspool. 【Can this be over already? I’m sick of looking at Chloe Ross’s face.】 【How dare she question if Seraphina is his great lost love? Is she implying that SHE is? LOL.】 【Five minutes? Why not five seconds? So fake.】 【The script is terrible. One star.】 【I can’t wait to see the look on her face when no one shows up.】 【But she seems so calm… what if it’s real?】 【Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a nobody. How would she even have his number?】 【I am living for the moment Chloe Ross has to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness.】 “It’s okay,” Seraphina said, slipping her benevolent mask back on. “Since Chloe called someone, the least we can do is wait.” The feed lit up with praise for her patience. 【Seraphina is so gracious, she’s willing to play along with this charade.】 【She preaches chaos but she’s the kindest one there.】 【I’ll bet you a thousand dollars the person who shows up is a paid actor.】 【I’m actually excited to see who it is lmao.】 The set fell into a strange, tense stalemate. Seraphina and Liam wore undisguised smirks, eagerly awaiting my public humiliation. The other guests were a mixture of detached amusement and pity for my pathetic last stand. The director was sweating bullets just off-camera, torn between the desire for a ratings explosion and the terrifying possibility of having angered someone truly powerful. The minutes ticked by. The mountain air grew cooler, the only light coming from the production crew’s massive lamps that turned our small clearing into a miniature sun. Five minutes passed. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the wind. Seraphina’s smirk widened until it nearly split her face. She pretended to check a non-existent watch on her wrist. “Oh, dear. Time’s up, Chloe,” she cooed. “Where’s your Caleb? Did he get lost?” Liam snorted. “The cell service out here is terrible. Maybe the delivery guy she hired didn’t get his Venmo payment and bailed.” Just as the words left his mouth, a low, deep thrumming sound echoed from the distance, a sound completely alien to the natural rhythm of the forest. It was a penetrating hum that grew rapidly louder, more visceral, more deafening. It was the sound of helicopter rotors.

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To get a divorce, I told my husband I was having an affair. Liam, who had always been a man carved from ice, suddenly shattered. “Then break up with him! Why are you divorcing me?” “This is between you and him. What does it have to do with me?” “Did some asshole on the outside put you up to this?” “No. It’s impossible. As long as I don’t agree to this, he’ll never be anything more than the other guy. He can keep dreaming!” Wait. I thought this was just a business arrangement. 1 My marriage to Liam Sterling was a merger, pure and simple. A union of two families, not two people. On our wedding night, I laid it all out for him. “Don’t worry,” I said, pulling the pins from my hair. “I won’t develop any… inconvenient ideas. We can have our own lives. As long as we keep up appearances, we’re good.” He blinked, probably surprised by my pragmatism. He gave a short, decisive nod. “Okay. Whatever you say.” I wasn’t surprised. I’d heard the rumors for years: Liam Sterling’s heart already belonged to someone else. Who she was, where she was, what she was doing now—I genuinely didn’t care. As long as he didn’t parade her in front of me, I could live with it. For the kind of money I now had access to, money I couldn’t spend in ten lifetimes, I could accept almost anything. And so, our married life unfolded in a quiet, unremarkable rhythm. We lived under the same roof, a sprawling minimalist mansion that felt more like a museum, and our daily conversations rarely went beyond “Morning,” “Afternoon,” or “Good night.” And most of the time, I was the one saying them. Liam would just nod, offering a clipped, “Hm.” Occasionally, a flicker of guilt must have moved him, because he’d add a perfunctory warning. “It’s supposed to rain. I’ll have the driver pick you up tonight.” Or, “Are you going to that same place today?” “That same place” was the chic downtown lounge where my friends and I held our weekly court. Liam had been there exactly once. My friend Maya had immediately started in on him. “Getting a meeting with the Liam Sterling is harder than getting tickets to the Met Gala. Who knew he played the part of the doting husband for afternoon cocktails?” Liam, who was used to boardrooms and not this kind of playful teasing, actually stammered. “Chloe is my wife. Being with her is… where I should be.” He didn’t last long. A call came through, and he was on his feet, his expression a mask of apology. An urgent matter at the office. I knew a convenient excuse when I heard one. He was off to see his real love, wasn’t he? I waved a dismissive hand, playing the part of the magnanimous wife. “Go, go. Work is important.” Before he left, he didn’t just settle our tab; he covered a blank check for whatever shopping my friends and I did for the rest of the afternoon. The moment the door swung shut behind him, Maya leaned in, her eyes glinting. “Okay, spill. Is Mr. Ice King just as frosty in the bedroom?” I nearly choked on my Aperol spritz. How could I tell them that, a year into our marriage, Liam and I had never even… done that? He was a workaholic. He’d come home late and disappear into his study, and by the time he emerged, I’d be fast asleep. I mumbled something noncommittal. They all shook their heads, a chorus of worldly advice. “Chloe, a man who’s all looks and no action is a tragedy,” Maya said. “Anyway, it’s a business arrangement, right? Everyone in our world has their own thing going on. I guarantee you Liam has someone on the side. Let me call up a few… distractions for you.” “You’re gorgeous, you’re rich. Don’t let yourself be trapped on a glacier.” “You’re young. You need to live.” One comment after another, they wore me down. The idea, once unthinkable, started to shimmer with possibility. My friends were women of action. That very night, they arranged for eight male models to appear at my penthouse suite at The Carlyle. It was a sea of broad shoulders, long legs, and lean, sculpted abs. Each face was uniquely, devastatingly handsome. I pointed vaguely at one with a tiny beauty mark just below the corner of his eye. “You.” The others departed with theatrical sadness. The chosen one, whose name was Leo, knelt before me. He took a sip of champagne, cupped my face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss me. The moment I saw my own reflection in his dark eyes, a different face flashed in my mind. Liam’s. I snapped back to reality, pushing the young man away. “Never mind,” I said, my voice hollow. “You can go, too.” My mind a blur, I went home. 2 Liam Sterling had been a legend in our circles since we were kids. First, because he was brilliant. He excelled at everything effortlessly, earning praise from our parents and sparking jealousy in our peers. Second, because he was beautiful. A sharp jawline, intense eyes, the kind of face that could sell whiskey or break hearts. If he’d gone into acting, he’d have been a superstar on his looks alone. So when I found out he was my intended, my first question was, “Why our family?” The Vances and the Sterlings had never been particularly close. But the word was that it was Liam’s grandfather, the old patriarch, who had pushed for the match. I understood immediately. It was a classic move to anchor a grandson, to keep him from running off with some unsuitable girl—his “one that got away.” I wasn’t exactly losing out on the deal, so I agreed. Why not? It was just that… seeing that face every day, it was hard not to feel a certain stirring. I decided my rejection of the male model stemmed from a simple, stubborn thought: if I was going to sleep with someone, it had to be someone on Liam’s level. So, I chose our one-year anniversary. I gave the household staff the day off and set up a candlelit dinner. I changed into a silk slip dress that clung to every curve. The woman in the mirror was elegant, sensual. I couldn’t believe Liam would be indifferent. But when he came home, his initial surprise quickly hardened into a frown. He scanned the rose petals scattered across the floor of the dining room and asked in a low, tight voice, “You did this? Where did you learn this from?” He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, but I knew it wasn’t pleasure. A cold sweat prickled my palms. My voice was barely a whisper. “I…” Liam took a deep breath, visibly reining in his anger. “Go change,” he said, his voice sharp. “You should get some sleep. I have to go back to the office. I’ll call someone to clean this up.” He turned and left. He didn’t come home for the next two weeks. The embarrassment of that night, the raw humiliation, coiled around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. One night, I woke with a start, my hand instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed. It was empty. Cold. In that moment, I made a decision. “You want a divorce?” Liam stared at the papers on the coffee table, his voice trembling slightly. “Why?” Why? The list was a mile long. He never talked to me, he never slept with me, he cared if my trust fund was solvent but not if I was happy… But most importantly, I knew that if this continued, I would inevitably fall for him. And I refused to waste my heart on someone who didn’t care about me. I searched for a reason, then plucked one out of thin air. “I’m seeing someone.” A man like Liam Sterling, I reasoned, couldn’t possibly tolerate the flagrant infidelity of his wife. I doubled down, my voice firm. “I’m in love with someone else. I want to be with him.” Silence. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Liam’s face was a tight mask. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice laced with acid. “In love? That’s not what you call it. You call it a home-wrecker.” Huh? I guess he had a point. I nodded. “Okay, yes, you’re right. So I don’t want him to be the other man anymore. I want to make it official.” I’d say anything to get this over with. His eyes widened in disbelief. “You love him that much?” Before I could answer, Liam just… broke. “Cheating is between you and him! What does that have to do with me?” he burst out, his voice cracking. “You should break up with him! Why are you divorcing me for it?” “Did he put you up to this? Men out there are scum.” “Wake up, Chloe! What kind of decent guy agrees to be the other man?” “No! This is impossible. As long as I say no, he will never be anything but your dirty little secret. Let him dream!” His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he were about to cry. I held out a tissue. “Liam, calm down.” “Look, I know what I did was wrong, but… don’t just say no. Think about it. I won’t ask for a dollar more than what’s in the prenup. We don’t have kids. It’ll be clean.” I tried to reason with him, my voice soft. “Think about it. Once we’re divorced, you’ll be free to be with your true love. No one in your family can force you into a marriage ever again. Isn’t that a win-win?” He wasn’t buying it. He snatched the papers and ripped them in half, the sound echoing in the silent room. “Impossible. I’m not making room for him.” Well, shit. The negotiations had failed. 3 How had that gone so wrong? I was baffled, but it didn’t take long to come up with a theory. Over the past year, the Vance and Sterling corporations had launched several joint ventures. They were probably in a critical phase right now. A divorce would rock the boat, spook investors. The potential losses would be astronomical. I cursed myself for being so impulsive. Liam was clearly the more rational one. His presence at home increased dramatically. Suddenly, he was everywhere. If I was on the sofa sipping a smoothie, he’d be at the dining table with his laptop, pretending to work. If I was watching a show on my tablet, he’d wander over, glance at the screen, and then walk away, seemingly satisfied. When I tried baking some macarons, he stood guard at the kitchen entrance like a sentinel. “Are those for him?” I frowned at the slightly browned edges of one tray. “This batch is a little burnt. Want one?” He gritted his teeth. “So I only get the rejects?” What was his problem? Of course I was giving him the burnt ones. I wasn’t going to eat them myself. I’m not an idiot. “Fine, don’t eat it.” I moved toward the trash can, but he shot forward, intercepting my hand. He popped the macaron into his mouth. “Did I say I didn’t want it?” he mumbled, chewing furiously. “Whatever he gets… (chew, chew)… I get too…” He was eating so fast I was afraid he’d choke. I handed him my glass of juice. “Here, drink something.” He took it, his eyes locked on mine, and drained the glass. A few drops escaped the corner of his mouth, tracing a path down his neck, over the bob of his Adam’s apple, and disappearing beneath the collar of his crisp white shirt. He suddenly waved a hand in front of my face, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “So? I’m better looking than him, right?” I blinked, snapping out of a trance. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah.” What did he just say? I had no idea. Just agreeing was the safest bet. That night, when he got into bed, the mattress dipped. I instinctively shuffled away, only to meet his wounded gaze in the dim light. “Do you have to be so far away?” he asked, his voice laced with hurt. “Do you hate me that much?” What was he talking about? We had to get divorced, yes, but there was no need for bad blood. Our families would still have to interact. I quickly moved closer, trying to placate him. “No, of course not. Don’t overthink it. I’m not disgusted by you or anything.” He turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I held my breath, only to realize the man beside me was doing the same. The thought of us both lying there, silently suffocating, was so absurd that a laugh escaped me. A moment later, Liam shifted. “Chloe?” he asked, his voice soft in the dark. “Can I… can I hold you?” I hesitated. But he didn’t wait for an answer. He shifted closer, sliding an arm around me. It was stiff, almost robotic, and he held me loosely, as if I were made of glass. He rested his head near my shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Goodnight, Chloe.” For the first time in a long time, I slept through the night. I’ve always been resilient; I can eat and sleep even if the world is ending. When I woke up the next morning, his side of the bed was empty. But on my nightstand, there was a note, his handwriting a powerful, elegant scrawl: Urgent meeting at the office. Don’t go running around. Wait for me to come home. 4 I decided that meeting someone for coffee didn’t count as “running around.” So I went, my conscience clear. The text had arrived that morning: It’s Leo. I wanted to see you. Is that okay? It took me a minute to place the name with the face from that night. The young, clean-cut model with the mole by his eye. I called him. His voice on the other end was electric with excitement. “You called me! You actually called me!” “I got into college,” he rushed on. “NYU. Thank you so much for the money you gave me last time. Without you, I wouldn’t have even been able to take the SATs. I just… I want to thank you in person. Please?” Leo was only eighteen. Cursed with a gambling-addicted father, a mother who’d died too young, and a little brother to care for. Loan sharks were harassing him constantly, and in his desperation, he’d turned to modeling. The night I’d picked him was his first time. After I’d pushed him away, his eyes had filled with tears. “If you send me back, they’ll kill me,” he’d whispered. Getting rejected meant his fee would be docked, and he’d be in even deeper trouble. My heart softened. I transferred him a sum of money large enough to solve his immediate problems and told his agent to leave him alone and let him go back to school. A boy that beautiful could easily be pulled into a much darker world. Hearing he’d gotten into a good school filled me with a sense of genuine warmth. “Of course,” I said. “And congratulations.” He chose a coffee shop downtown. As I arrived, I realized with a jolt that the Sterling Corp tower was just a few blocks away. But Liam had left in such a hurry this morning. He wouldn’t have time for a casual coffee, right? I shook my head, trying to dislodge him from my thoughts. We were getting a divorce. Why was I still thinking about him? Leo had picked a table by the window with a great view. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and light-wash jeans, his legs long and lean, he radiated a youthful energy that made me feel younger just by being near him. “I didn’t know what you like, so I didn’t order,” he said, his cheeks flushing as he pushed the menu toward me. He was adorable. I pointed to the cheapest coffee on the menu. He noticed immediately. “Oh, please, order something else. Don’t worry about the price, I can afford it.” “I’m working part-time,” he explained, his voice earnest. “I’m tutoring, and I wait tables. You don’t have to drink that. For someone like you to even come here is… I know this place is beneath you…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down at the floor, mortified. I patted his arm. “Don’t be silly. This is my favorite. And please, stop with the formal address. You can call me Chloe.” His eyes lit up. “Really? Okay… Ch-Chloe.” “Chloe Vance! You’re meeting him again!” I spun around. It was Liam. His face was thunderous, and behind him stood a procession of people in business suits, several of whom I vaguely recognized from his company. Oh, great. I’d stumbled into their corporate coffee break. A wave of guilt, completely unwarranted, washed over me. Liam closed the distance in three long strides, pulling me behind him. He leaned down, his voice a low hiss in my ear. “We have an audience. Play along. Please?” I glanced at the executives still frozen in place. As soon as my eyes met theirs, they quickly looked away, but not before I saw the undisguised hunger for gossip on their faces. I understood. We couldn’t let them see any cracks in the facade. “Okay,” I nodded meekly. Liam’s glare was fixed on Leo. I quickly made an introduction. “This is Leo. He’s, um, a friend of mine.” Liam actually laughed, a short, sharp sound. “A friend?” He seemed to process something, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He turned a condescending smile on Leo. “You hear that, kid? She just thinks of you as a friend.” “And what’s a friend? A revolving door. You get it? Sooner or later, she’s coming home to me.” “Don’t think you can fool her by playing cute. It won’t work.” “So, tell me. How much will it take to make you disappear?” I was stunned. Leo was stunned. “What?” 5 What in the world had gotten into him? Before I could say anything, Liam’s hand found mine, his grip tight and possessive, like a mother hen protecting her chick. Leo, who had clearly never been in a situation like this, went bright red. His eyes started to well up. “I… I wasn’t trying to fool her. I just wanted to say thank you.” I couldn’t stand it. I pulled my hand free from Liam’s. “Would you stop talking nonsense? Apologize to Leo. Now.” Now it was Liam’s turn to look shocked. “Chloe, he’s playing the victim card. It’s manipulative.” He was unbelievable. “Are you going to apologize or not? If not, I’m leaving with him.” “Don’t.” Liam conceded, his cheeks puffed out like a goldfish. He mumbled a reluctant, “Sorry.” Then, as if a thought just struck him, he straightened up. “Wait a minute. He’s trying to steal my wife. Why am I the one saying sorry?!” This was getting more ridiculous by the second. Leo, finally catching on, started bowing repeatedly. “It’s okay, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Chloe, I should go.” Before he left, he pushed a small, wrapped box into my hand. “This is for you. Really, thank you so much.” With me acting as a shield, Leo made his escape. I looked at Liam’s employees, their faces alight with the thrill of corporate gossip, and sighed. The damage was done. They’d all seen this deeply dysfunctional scene. Giving up, I dropped into a chair and looked up at him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were busy. Busy drinking coffee?” I huffed, my annoyance clear. So, he had been lying to me. The “urgent meeting” was a sham. Just as I thought. A business arrangement, and a husband full of lies. The coffee in my cup suddenly tasted bitter. But Liam, inexplicably, seemed to be in a fantastic mood. “The meeting’s over. I was treating them to a break.” He waved his team over, but when they approached, he said, “Go on, order whatever you want. I’ll expense it later. My wife missed me, so I’m staying with her.” Excuse me? Who missed him? Definitely not me. An employee gushed, “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling are so devoted to each other.” “Haha, thank you, Mrs. Sterling! Looks like we’re going to run up quite a tab on the boss’s card.” Why were they thanking me? I wasn’t paying. Although, I guess half of Liam’s money was mine, so it made sense. “Mrs. Sterling is so beautiful. No wonder the boss talks about you all the time.” “It’s true! We’re all so envious of you, Mr. Sterling.” What did they just say? Liam talks about me all the time? Liam cleared his throat loudly, cutting them off. “Ahem, alright, that’s enough. Get going, your adoration is blinding me.” After they scattered, I stared at Liam’s clearly guilty face, and something clicked into place. He started to fidget under my gaze. “Chloe, I, uh, I mention you because…” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “Is the person you’re in love with working at your company?”

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The day I was supposed to choose the suit for my wedding, a stranger rushed into the VIP lounge and stabbed me. “Stealing my woman,” he snarled, “and you think you deserve a suit that costs more than a car?” He ripped my shirt, the fine fabric tearing with a sound that seemed impossibly loud. A grotesque smile twisted his face as he brandished a bottle, splashing its contents at me. The acrid smell of chemicals hit me before the liquid did. Acid. The cold steel was already buried in my gut. Pain, white-hot and absolute, forced me to my knees. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Ava is my wife, you understand? So what the hell are you? You’re nothing. Just a dirty little secret she keeps on the side.” Blood, warm and slick, dripped through my fingers. And in that moment, I understood. Ava. My fiancée of seven years. The woman I was about to marry was keeping another man. And I wasn’t the husband; I was the affair. “What are you looking at?” he spat, his face flush with manic pride. “Even if I kill you right here, with my wife’s power, no one will touch me. No one.” Staring at his arrogant face, I used my blood-slicked hand to pull out my phone. I found my sister’s number. “Sloane,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Come get me. The tailor’s shop in SoHo.” A pause. Then, “And let the Monroe family know—the engagement is off.” 1 I ended the call. The suit, a bespoke masterpiece worth a fortune, was now a ruin of blackened, smoldering holes. My exposed skin screamed in protest as the high-concentration acid seared it, a foul yellow ooze mixing with the red of my blood. I glared at the man, the rage in my eyes hot enough to incinerate him. But the boutique staff and the few other clients, drawn by the commotion, only laughed. “Hah, can you believe it? He messed with Ava Monroe’s husband. He’s so screwed.” The man, Caleb, jabbed a finger at my face. “You piece of shit! Still trying to act tough? You think calling someone is going to make me back off? What a joke. The ‘Sterlings’? Never heard of them. I’m calling the cops to have you arrested for stealing this suit, you pathetic homewrecker!” I pressed my hand to the weeping wound in my side, hot blood pulsing between my fingers. The world was beginning to blur at the edges from the blood loss. I glanced at the thugs standing behind Caleb, regretting my decision to come out today without my security detail. My eyes scanned the crowd, a silent plea for help. They just stared back, whispering amongst themselves, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity and scorn. No one moved to help. No one dared. Gritting my teeth against a wave of pain, I locked my gaze on Caleb, my eyes red-rimmed and murderous. “I don’t care who you are, but you need to understand something. My name is Sterling. Leo Sterling, of the New York Sterlings. Now, get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.” My stare only seemed to enrage him further. He kicked me, hard, right in the stomach. “The hell do I care about some ‘Sterlings’? You think I’m scared of you?” The impact tore the gash in my abdomen wider. A fresh surge of blood and fluid soaked through my ruined clothes. But in that moment, I barely registered the pain. His words echoed in my ears. Ava Monroe’s husband. Then who was I? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was all horribly clear. Ava… she was cheating on me. The woman chosen by our families, my high-school sweetheart, the love I’d built my life around for seven years… had a secret husband. Knowing this wasn’t the time to fall apart, I forced the rage down. “Caleb, is it?” I said, my voice a low growl. “You’re going to get me to a hospital, right now. And then you’re going to tell Ava to get her ass over there.” He looked at me with genuine surprise. I shot him a look of pure venom. “Because if anything happens to me today, the first person my family will destroy is you,” I whispered. “And Ava… she’ll be buried right alongside me.” For a second, there was silence. Then Caleb burst out laughing. He grabbed my hair again, slamming my head against the floor. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, ordering my wife around! Even if I kill you, the Monroes have plenty of money. I can afford to pay for a life like yours.” My head rang, my vision swimming in a red haze. He ground his heel into the stab wound, and a tide of pure agony and despair washed over me. Just then, the screech of tires cut through the air. A familiar Maybach sedan pulled up to the curb. The breath I didn’t know I was holding finally left my body. I looked at Caleb and managed a cold, bloody smile. “I told you,” I rasped. “My name is Sterling. Sloane is here. Are you ready to die?” “Leo!” My sister, Sloane, took in the scene, and a storm of fury erupted in her eyes. She rushed to my side, shrugging off her designer coat and wrapping it around my shredded, half-naked body. She pulled me into an embrace, her fierce protectiveness a tangible thing. “Are you okay, Leo? Don’t worry, I’m here now.” A hard knot of emotion clogged my throat, and tears I hadn’t realized were there finally fell. She gently wiped the blood and grime from my face before turning her wrath on Caleb. “You’re the one who did this to my brother?” Her voice was dangerously low. “You have a death wish.” Caleb looked at her as if she were a joke, laughing so hard he doubled over. When he finally caught his breath, he shot Sloane a dismissive glare. “Big words. Let’s see if you’re still talking so tough in a few minutes. Boys! Show her that I, Caleb, am not someone you mess with.” His thugs charged forward. Sloane’s security detail moved instantly, forming a protective barrier around us while efficiently taking down the first wave of attackers. But more men poured out from behind Caleb, and our guards were quickly outnumbered. “Sloane,” I asked, my voice weak with worry, “is this everyone you brought?” Her face was grim. She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. Dad’s on his way with the main team. Let’s see who has the nerve to touch Sloane Sterling’s brother.” Caleb was growing anxious as he watched his men get systematically dismantled. He shot us a venomous look and pulled out his phone. “You just wait! I’m calling my wife to come and destroy you!” He put the call on speaker, and as soon as it connected, he started wailing. “Honey! This woman, some psycho named Sloane Sterling, is attacking me! She says I hurt her brother and she’s going to kill me! You have to come, now!” The voice on the other end, Ava’s voice, was suddenly sharp with alarm. “Sloane? Which Sloane?… Where the hell are you?! Don’t you move a muscle!” Even after seven years, I would know that voice anywhere. And I could hear the tremor of pure panic in every syllable. Good, I thought. Let her come. Caleb hung up, a triumphant, piercing laugh echoing in the room. “Hah! My wife is on her way to end you! She said she doesn’t know any Sloane! She’ll just pay for the damages after you’re dead!” He pointed at his remaining men. “Listen up! A million dollars to whoever takes these two out first!” Greed lit up their eyes. One of them snatched a fruit knife from a nearby refreshment tray and lunged at us. “Leo, close your eyes!” Sloane spun around, shielding me with her body. I felt a warm, strong hand cover my face. A choked gasp from Sloane. The coppery scent of fresh blood filled the air. A terrible premonition seized me. I clawed at her hand, my voice cracking. “Sloane! What happened? Are you okay?” When I pulled her hand away, my vision cleared to the sight of a deep, grotesque gash on her forearm, blood dripping onto the pristine floor. Then came a brutal kick, and she collapsed on top of me with a thud. She coughed, a spray of red misting the air. “Sloane!” I screamed, my heart shattering. I was untouched, but my sister’s white dress was rapidly turning crimson. Hate, pure and undiluted, consumed me. My face, streaked with blood and tears, twisted into a mask of rage. I scrambled for the heavy, cast-iron tailor’s shears on a nearby worktable and launched myself at Caleb’s smug face. Shhhnk. The blades sank deep into his abdomen. “Aaaargh!” he shrieked. I held onto the handles, twisting them savagely in his flesh. “You piece of trash! You dare to touch me!” He gripped the shears, kicked me away, and roared in fury. I landed hard on the floor, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Caleb, now completely unhinged, screamed at his men, “Kill him! Kill him now!” They swarmed me. The next thing I saw was a wooden chair swinging down toward my head. “Don’t you touch my brother!” a hoarse voice cried out. Through my horrified, widening eyes, I saw Sloane stumble to her feet and throw herself in front of me. The chair crashed down on her head with a sickening crack. “SLOANE!” Her body went limp, falling heavily against mine. She twitched once, twice, and then was still. I went insane, scrambling to lift her, but two of the thugs pinned me to the floor, grinding my face into the cold marble. Pinned and helpless, I thrashed and screamed, my cries choked with blood and tears. Caleb just smiled. He brought the pointed heel of his designer shoe down on my fingers, grinding it slowly. “Is this too much for you?” Pain exploded through my hand. I curled into a ball, my body trembling, cold sweat drenching my skin. My vision began to fade, the world dissolving into the sound of Caleb’s maniacal laughter. “Don’t you worry,” he cooed. “I have one more special gift for both of you.” A final blow landed, and the world went black. When I came to, we were in a glass-walled walk-in freezer. The skin touching the metal floor burned with a piercing cold. I was shivering violently. Sloane’s face was already tinged with blue, a delicate frost forming on her eyelashes. I rubbed my hands together, trying to generate some warmth, and pressed them to her cheek. My tears fell, hot against her icy skin. “Sloane, stay with me. Don’t fall asleep. Dad’s coming, he’s almost here. Please, just hold on…” I felt her breathing grow shallow, and my heart sank into a black pit of despair. I looked out at Caleb, my eyes so red they felt like they were bleeding. “Caleb! If my sister dies, I will kill you with my bare hands!” He just chuckled, pulling his cashmere coat tighter as he stepped into the freezer. “You talk way too much.” He shoved a rag into my mouth, then kicked me hard in the chest. “Feeling a little hot-headed? Let’s cool you off.” With that, he kicked over a large bucket of water. The icy liquid spread quickly beneath me, and in the sub-zero temperature of the freezer, it began to turn to ice, freezing my tattered clothes and bleeding skin to the floor. The cold was a physical thing, a deep, gnawing pain that shot straight to my bones. “So? How do you like my gift?” Caleb sneered, admiring his handiwork before turning and leaving us to freeze. I looked at Sloane’s still form, a wave of crushing regret washing over me. I hated myself for being too weak to just get up and kill him. And then, a vibration. My phone, somehow still in my pocket, was ringing. My pupils contracted. The caller ID read: Ava. Ignoring the searing pain of tearing my own skin, I dragged my body across the icy floor until I could reach the phone and answer it. “Leo! Where are you?” Ava’s voice was frantic. “I can explain about Caleb later! Just let him go! Or else…” She hesitated. “Or else I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.” The blood-tinged ice steamed faintly beneath me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. My face contorted with a mixture of insane hatred and utter despair. Hate me? From the day we made our relationship official, Sloane had been secretly helping me build Ava up so that my father would finally accept her. In just three years, Sloane’s guidance had turned Monroe Industries into a market leader. And this was how she repaid us? By taking my money to support her secret husband, and then letting him do this to us? That monster. It was Caleb trying to kill us. The rag in my mouth turned my furious screams into muffled sobs. Just then, Caleb returned. Hearing Ava’s voice on the phone, he froze, then snatched it from my hand. “Hello? Honey? Why are you calling him?” Ava, hearing only silence from my end, sounded panicked. “Where’s Leo?” “So his name really is Leo,” Caleb said dismissively. “I’m just teaching this little homewrecker a lesson. Showing him that you don’t mess with the Monroe family.” There was a dead silence from the other end. Then, Ava’s furious scream tore through the speaker, so loud it was distorted. “CALEB! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO LEO? HE’S LEO STERLING!” A pause, filled with her ragged breathing. “YOU’RE TRYING TO GET ME KILLED!” Clatter. Caleb’s body went rigid. The phone slipped from his grasp and hit the floor. His eyes were wide with a dawning, horrified disbelief. After a few seconds of stunned silence, his head snapped around to look at me. His expression was one of pure terror. He ripped the gag from my mouth. “Are you… are you really Leo Sterling?” he stammered, his voice an octave higher than before. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I gave him a weak, cold smile. “Starting to believe me? Now go get my sister to a…” SMACK. His open palm connected with my cheek. “You shut your mouth! I’m Ava’s husband! What are you?!” His terror was morphing back into a desperate, defensive rage. “So what if you’re Leo Sterling? That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the other man!” He fumbled for his own phone, unlocked it, and shoved the screen in my face. It was a photo of a marriage certificate. Ava Monroe and Caleb Vance. And when my eyes focused on the date, a loud ringing started in my ears. I started to laugh. A wild, unhinged sound. I finally understood why, starting five years ago, Ava was always so “busy with work.” She had married Caleb then. And I, like a fool, had felt sorry for her, begging Sloane to send some of her best people to help ease her workload. All those nights she claimed to be pulling all-nighters at the office, she was with him. Of our seven-year relationship, Caleb had been a part of five. It turned out I really was the homewrecker he’d called me. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, my body convulsing so hard I coughed up a mouthful of dark, clotted blood. “My wife loves me too much to ever yell at me like that! It was you, wasn’t it? You seduced her!” Caleb grabbed me by the throat, his face a mask of frantic denial. “Talk! Say something!” I sank my teeth into his wrist. The coppery taste of his blood filled my mouth, so sickening I wanted to vomit. I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor and looked at him with pure contempt. He didn’t even flinch, his eyes wild with a crazed idea. “You should just die! If you’re dead, then Ava will be all mine again!” He scrambled out of the freezer. When he returned, he was carrying a large canister. He tipped it over, and a cold, pungent liquid splashed all over me. The acrid smell hit me instantly. Gasoline. He was going to burn me alive. Primal survival instincts kicked in. I started dragging Sloane’s unconscious body toward the door, but it was too late. He flicked a lighter and tossed it onto my soaked clothes. The world erupted in flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the small space. I rolled on the ground, screaming in agony, but the fire clung to me, feeding on the gasoline. The pain was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Perhaps my screams were loud enough to pierce through her unconsciousness, because Sloane’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “Leo!” Her eyes widened in horror. A surge of desperate, adrenaline-fueled strength allowed her to break the thin ropes binding her wrists. She stumbled towards me, her movements clumsy. Through the searing pain, I shook my head, my voice a shredded wreck. “No! Don’t save me! Sloane, you’ll die too! Stay back!” But she ignored me, slapping at the flames on my body with her bare hands. “Leo, I’m not going to let anything happen to you!” she choked out, trying to comfort me even then. The moment her hands touched the fire, her skin blackened and peeled back, revealing raw, pink flesh underneath. Her face contorted in pain, a sight that shattered what was left of my heart. Tears welled in my eyes, only to be instantly evaporated by the heat. Sloane didn’t stop, forcing a pained smile onto her face. “Don’t cry, Leo. It doesn’t hurt.” I had never seen my sister, always so poised and powerful, look so broken. And it was all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, she would never be in this position. Regret was a poison, eating me alive. I pounded my fists against my chest, glaring at Caleb with all the hatred in my soul. It was all my fault! I had ruined everything because I was blind enough to fall for a monster like Ava! “Caleb!” I roared through the flames. “When my father gets here, you are a dead man!” He just laughed, his face a terrifying rictus of glee. He began splashing the rest of the gasoline all around the glass-walled freezer, then played with the lighter in his hand. “Still talking tough? I’m about to send you two on a little trip to hell together!” Just as the flames were about to consume us completely, two roars echoed through the building, arriving at the exact same time. “STOP!” It was Ava, her face as white as a sheet. And another, deeper voice, laced with absolute authority and earth-shattering fury. “Who dares to touch my children?” My father, Arthur Sterling, flanked by a small army of his elite security team, strode into the room. The moment his eyes fell on Sloane and me, his expression transformed into something apocalyptic. Ava’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees. Caleb just stood there, frozen, his face a perfect picture of idiocy.

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I’m the daughter of the villain, from nine years in the future. On the very day he was supposed to abduct the woman he loved, I beat him to it and locked a bleach-blond kid in his own basement. He stared at the boy writhing on the concrete floor, his lips trembling. “Lila! Who is he?” I blinked, feigning a shy blush. “He’s my soulmate.” In the weeks that followed, I used his basement to hold the captain of the soccer team, the school bully, and a couple of dropouts from the neighborhood… Until the day I decided to go for a big score. I went to push the door open and found it welded shut. 1 I stood at the front door, my little backpack slung over my shoulders, and stretched onto my tiptoes to press the doorbell. The door swung open, revealing a face that was both intimately familiar and yet a complete stranger. Cole Blackwood. My father. Nine years younger. His eyes were brighter than I remembered, but the storm clouds of gloom were already gathering in his brow. The sleeves of his black button-down were rolled to his elbows, showing off powerful forearms that were still missing the jagged scar he’d get protecting me from a knife. “Which one of the neighbors are you? Wrong house, kid.” He frowned, his voice a low, cold rumble. I tilted my head back and beamed at him. “Daddy, it’s me, Lila. Your daughter. From nine years in the future.” The expression on Cole’s face froze solid. His eyes swept over me, morphing from confusion to sharp suspicion. His right hand was already reaching for the phone in his pocket. “Kid, you can’t just go around calling strange men ‘daddy.’ Did your actual father approve this little field trip?” “You need to leave. Now,” he threatened. “Before I have the cops haul you away for fraud.” I was prepared for this. I pulled a folded copy of a DNA test from my backpack and waved it in front of his face. “The police don’t arrest minors. This is a paternity test. If you don’t believe it, we can go get a new one right now.” His hand paused its journey to his phone. His gaze fixed on the paper, his frown deepening. I could see the gears turning in his head, trying to work out the angle of the scam. While he hesitated, I ducked under his arm and slipped into the house. “Out!” he barked, lunging for me. I dodged him easily and did a quick scan of the living room. “The house looks pretty much the same as it did nine years ago,” I noted. “Just missing my toys and all your whiskey bottles.” I pointed. “Behind that TV console, you keep a safe. The combination is 0-9-0-5-2-4.” Cole froze, his expression turning to one of genuine shock. No one else knew about the safe, let alone the combination. “Who the hell are you?” His voice was laced with a dangerous edge now. “Your daughter,” I said simply. I sighed, knowing he still wasn’t convinced, and pulled a small notebook from my bag. “May 20th, 2013. You were ambushed during a deal with the Vipers at the southside warehouse. You took a bullet in your left shoulder.” “Christmas, 2014. You snuck the newest game console under my pillow and told me it was from Santa Claus.” I held the notebook out to him. “Do I need to mention the time you sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ so off-key in the shower?” The tips of his ears turned a visible shade of pink. He snatched the notebook from my hand and flipped through the pages, his face growing darker with every entry he read. “This is impossible…” he muttered. “It’s very possible. If you still don’t believe me, we can go get that DNA test.” His gaze flickered over my face, a storm of conflicting emotions in his eyes. Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed. “Alex, get a doctor over here. Now. Someone who can run a rush paternity test.” He hung up and glared at me. “Until those results come back, you’d better not try anything funny.” I just shrugged, trotted into the dining room like I owned the place, and plopped down on a chair, my short legs swinging. “Daddy, I’m hungry. Can you make me dinner?” Cole looked at me as if I’d just asked him to build a rocket to the moon. “You want me to cook? I don’t cook. I have never cooked.” “Liar,” I said, ticking off items on my fingers. “You can make sweet and sour ribs, Coke-braised chicken wings, pan-seared sea bass… and your special pineapple and shrimp fried rice is my absolute favorite thing in the world.” His frown deepened. “I don’t set foot in the kitchen. We have Mrs. Gable for that.” “That’s just because you haven’t learned yet,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes. “Turns out, you’re a natural. A total prodigy. Besides, Mrs. Gable could never make it taste the way you do.” 2 Cole’s jaw twitched. His eyes darted unconsciously to the clock on the wall. I knew what he was thinking. According to his original schedule, he was supposed to leave in three hours to drug and kidnap Claire. If he started cooking now, it could throw his entire plan off schedule. Right on cue, my stomach let out a long, pathetic growl. “I haven’t eaten in three days… My tummy is all empty.” Cole’s head snapped toward me. “What do you mean? The future me… he doesn’t feed you?” “No, it’s not that. It’s because you died, so they sent me to an orphanage. And there… only the good kids got to eat.” I dropped my head, my voice sinking to a whisper. “And I was not the good kind.” The Sunshine Home was a front, a pipeline for supplying children to predators. I had waited until the middle of the night, unlocked all the doors so the other kids could run, and tried to set the whole rotten place on fire. But they caught me before the flames got very high. The director and his men, they beat me with belts. They put out their cigarettes on my skin. If the police hadn’t shown up for a surprise inspection, I probably would have died right there. It was in that moment, hovering on the edge of death, that I finally understood. My father, Cole Blackwood, was just a villain in a story. In his desperate fight for the heroine, he had hurt others, and he had destroyed himself. And my mother? She was a woman who had loved him from the shadows. At a gala, a rival drugged my father and locked him in a room with the heroine. But my mother secretly let the heroine go… and took her place. She got pregnant with me and died from a hemorrhage giving birth. By the time my father found out about any of it, it was too late. He was consumed by regret, by grief. He tortured himself. My existence was the only flicker of light in his world of darkness. But when I was five, he died too. The Blackwood fortune was carved up and stolen by vultures, and I was thrown into the orphanage. After my escape and the fire, the hospital authorities were planning to send me to another facility. I didn’t want to be passed around again, so I just grabbed my little backpack and ran. I didn’t expect that the little alley I escaped down would lead me here, nine years into the past. Cole’s fingers clenched into a fist. “And your mother? Who is she?” I bit my lip and shook my head. “I don’t know.” “You don’t know? How can you not know who your own mother is?” His voice was sharp with disbelief. Because in the flashes of memory I had, my mother was only ever mentioned in two simple sentences. One, she was in love with Cole Blackwood. Two, she died after giving birth to me. I held up my small hands. “I never met her. She died from a hemorrhage… Besides, shouldn’t you be the one I’m asking?” The question hit him like a physical blow. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was unsteady when he spoke. “You said… your mother… bled to death when you were born?” His face was growing paler by the second. I asked softly, “Daddy, are you okay?” Cole didn’t answer. He turned and walked to the window, his back to me. He stood there for a long time, shrouded in an aura of profound sadness. I was about to say something else, but my stomach roared again, demanding attention. I really was starving. I’d left in such a hurry I hadn’t even had a sip of water. The sound seemed to pull him back to reality. He turned, his eyes a swirling mix of emotions. “I can’t be sure I believe anything you’re saying right now,” he said, his voice strained. “Why don’t you let me make you dinner first? After the paternity test comes back, you can ask me whatever you want.” I pouted, my lower lip trembling pitifully. A muscle in Cole’s jaw jumped. He hesitated for a moment longer, then finally took out his phone and started searching for recipes. 3 “What do you want to eat?” he asked gruffly, his eyes glued to the screen. “Sweet and sour ribs! And the Coke-braised chicken wings! And…” I rattled off a list of his future culinary masterpieces. Cole raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure I know how to make any of this?” “I’m not sure,” I said with unwavering confidence. “But I know you’re a fast learner.” He let out a short, humorless laugh, but he started gathering ingredients according to my menu anyway. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, stood on the porch, holding bags of groceries. Her eyes traveled past Cole to where I was sitting, and they widened. “Mr. Blackwood… who… oh, my goodness, doesn’t this little one look just like you!” “Mrs. Gable.” Cole cleared his throat, a hint of awkwardness in his voice. “This is… a child who’s staying here temporarily. She was hungry, so I was just about to…” “Oh, heavens, sir! You don’t know how to cook. Let me do it!” Mrs. Gable immediately set down her bags and headed for the kitchen. I looked at Cole expectantly. He hesitated, then surprised me by saying, “That’s alright, Mrs. Gable. Tonight… I’d like to try myself.” Mrs. Gable’s jaw dropped. She looked back and forth between the two of us. “Sir, are you saying… you’re going to cook?” “Yes.” Cole was already rolling up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms. “You can just teach me as I go.” Mrs. Gable looked from Cole to me, and then a look of sudden understanding dawned on her face. Her eyes crinkled into a joyful smile. “Of course, of course! I’ll be your sous chef! And what’s your name, little darling? What’s your favorite dish?” “Sweet and sour ribs!” I cheered, hopping in my seat. The scene that followed was a culinary disaster zone. Under Mrs. Gable’s guidance, Cole fumbled his way through preparing the ribs. He stared at the recipe on his phone so intently you’d think he was trying to set it on fire with his mind, not even noticing when he spilled soy sauce on his hand. Still, he stubbornly refused to let Mrs. Gable take over, insisting on completing every step himself. “Rice wine… soy sauce… dark soy sauce…” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. I sat on a high stool by the kitchen entrance, swinging my legs and acting as commander-in-chief. “Daddy, the heat is too high! …Now add the sugar! …Flip them, flip them!” “Quiet, I know!” he shot back without turning, but there was no real anger in his voice. By the time the first platter of sweet and sour ribs was finally plated, the kitchen was a complete wreck. A sheen of sweat covered Cole’s forehead, and his black shirt was splattered with oil, but the glistening, reddish-brown ribs on the plate smelled absolutely divine. “Try it.” He pushed the plate toward me, his face a stern mask that couldn’t quite hide the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. I eagerly picked up a piece and took a bite. It was the perfect balance of sweet and tangy, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. It was eighty percent there. Eighty percent him. “It’s so delicious!” I exclaimed, my mouth full. “Daddy, you’re a genius!” The corner of Cole’s mouth ticked upward before he forced it back down. “Stop with the flattery.” Mrs. Gable was beaming beside us. “Sir, your talent is just incredible! To cook this well on your first try!” He cleared his throat and turned to get the rice, but not before I saw the tips of his ears turn a faint shade of red. The discovery thrilled me. The nine-years-younger version of my dad was so easily embarrassed! The DNA results came back before evening. 4 When Mrs. Gable rushed in with the envelope, I was on the living room floor, assembling a Lego set Cole had bought for me. He’d insisted it was only a temporary loan, of course. “Sir! The results are here!” Cole strode out of his study. I noticed his fingertips were trembling slightly as he took the envelope. I put down my Lego piece and sat cross-legged, my heart starting to pound. Even though I already knew the outcome, watching him tear open that envelope made me chew on my lower lip with nervous energy. He pulled out the thin sheet of paper, his eyes jumping straight to the bottom line. He froze, looking as if he’d been struck by lightning. “99.99%…” Cole whispered, his voice barely audible. Mrs. Gable was already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I knew it! I said she had your eyes, your nose… she’s the spitting image of you, sir!” Then, a thought struck her. “Sir, who is the missus? When do we get to meet her?” Cole’s expression became impossibly complicated. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I… I don’t know.” Mrs. Gable’s smile froze. Her gaze darted between Cole and me before she tactfully retreated. “I’ll… I’ll go start on dinner…” The room fell silent, leaving just the two of us. Cole slowly crouched down to my level, his eyes—so much like my own—swirling with emotions I couldn’t decipher. “Lila…” He used my name, a rare occurrence, his voice raw. “Your mother really… bled to death?” I nodded. “My mom must have loved you so much, Daddy. To risk everything just to have me.” Cole went rigid, as if someone had hit a pause button on the world. His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times, and a film of moisture seemed to cloud his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he just raised a hand and gently rested it on the top of my head. “Go take a bath. Mrs. Gable laid out some pajamas for you.” After my bath, I tiptoed to Cole’s bedroom and, without knocking, pushed the door open. It was a privilege my future self had earned; I wondered if it would still work now. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a photograph. He immediately flipped it facedown on the nightstand when he heard me. It was a picture of Claire. “What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing with a hint of panic. I padded over to him, my bare feet silent on the rug. I looked up at him. “I can’t sleep. You haven’t sung me my lullaby yet.” Cole stared. “…What?” “My lullaby. The song to help kids sleep.” I climbed onto his bed and burrowed under the covers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t know any,” he said flatly. “You didn’t know how to cook, but you learned. You’ll learn how to sing, too.” I blinked up at him. Cole’s mouth twitched. I think he was starting to regret his culinary adventure. He stood up, towering over me. “Go back to your own room.” “No. It smells better in here.” I pulled the covers over my head. “Li-la.” He enunciated each syllable, but there was no real force behind it. He was helpless against me. I peeked out from under the blanket. The expression on his face shifted from annoyance to resignation, and finally to a strange kind of surrender. “…I really can’t sing,” he said, his voice low. I revealed half my face. “Then just hum something. You smell so good, Daddy…” His body went noticeably stiff. After a long moment, he cleared his throat and began to hum a simple, wordless melody. It was a little off-key, but it was gentle. I closed my eyes. It was the same song he always sang to me after a nightmare. When the humming stopped, I was drifting in the space between sleep and wakefulness. Through the haze, I felt a pair of hands gently lift me into the air. 5 As he adjusted his hold, my pajama sleeve slid down. Cole’s breath hitched. I forced my eyes open and saw him staring at the scars on my arm, his face as white as a sheet. “Who did this?” “The director at The Sunshine Home… but it’s okay, I set his office on fire later…” I mumbled, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. Cole’s arms tightened around me, holding me securely against his chest. His eyes looked red. “It will never happen again,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear it.” I snuggled into a comfortable spot in his arms and let sleep take me. To help Cole fully embrace his new role as a father, I dragged him through a series of classic bonding activities. “Daddy, let’s go to the amusement park!” I announced on Monday morning, sprawling across his desk and pushing aside the contracts he was reviewing. Cole didn’t even look up. “No time.” “What about the Natural History Museum? I heard they have a T-Rex.” “Not going.” “The circus, then? It’s right downtown!” He finally lifted his head, his brow so furrowed you could get lost in the lines. “Lila, I’m very busy.” I pouted and slid a photograph from my backpack across the desk. It was from a trip to Disneyland when I was three. Cole was wearing Minnie Mouse ears, holding me in one arm and an ice cream cone in the other, a huge, genuine smile on his face. He stared at the picture for a full ten seconds, the tips of his ears glowing red. “…This is photoshopped.” “No, it’s not! It was your first time on the carousel, and you almost threw up when you got off.” I pointed at the photo triumphantly. Cole looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He rubbed his temples, defeated. “…Fine. One place.” “The amusement park!” I shot my hand up. “The museum,” he countered. “Deal!” And so began our week-long crash course in father-daughter activities. At the museum, Cole stood stiffly in front of the T-Rex skeleton while I gave him an enthusiastic, detailed account of the epic battle between the Tyrannosaurus Rex and Godzilla—a story he himself would tell me years from now. “Godzilla fought a T-Rex?” he asked, skeptical. “That’s what you told me! You also said Snow White married the Beast.” At the circus, when a clown bounded over for some audience participation, Cole’s instincts kicked in, and he nearly threw the poor man over his shoulder. I had to grab his arm. “Daddy, calm down! It’s part of the show!” Afterward, he actually took me to the amusement park. “Well, we’ve already been to two places. What’s one more,” he grumbled, though his heart clearly wasn’t in the complaint. He was as rigid as a board on the carousel. He almost sent our bumper car flying off the track. And in the haunted house, he was the one whose face went pale when the actors jumped out, while I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Li-la!” He clamped a hand over my mouth the second we were out, his teeth clenched, but I could see the ghost of a smile in his eyes. In all this time, he seemed to have completely forgotten about Claire. But I knew the peace wouldn’t last. According to the original timeline, Claire was about to have a major fight with her boyfriend, Ethan. She would run off to a dangerous part of town, and Cole would go to save her, only to be wrongly accused of being her attacker. That incident would send him into a deep depression, and he’d start drinking heavily. I had to do something to stop it. 6 So the next day, after Cole left for work, I used my allowance to hire a few local troublemakers to tie up the bleach-blond kid who’d been extorting lunch money from the younger students. “Little boss, we brought him like you said. Where’s the cash?” the leader of the group asked, rubbing his hands together. I handed him the bills Cole had given me. “Don’t you dare tell my dad!” “Our lips are sealed!” They snatched the money and vanished. I looked at the gagged and bound kid. “Don’t worry, it’s just for one night. You stole that first grader’s lunch money last week, right? Consider this your punishment.” The kid mumbled incomprehensibly through the cloth stuffed in his mouth. With a great deal of effort, I dragged him into the basement. I had just locked the door when I heard a car pull into the driveway. Crap. Why was Cole home so early? I scrambled to the sofa and pretended to be engrossed in a cartoon. Cole walked in and saw me sitting there, a little too perfectly behaved, and a look of suspicion crossed his face. “Lila, have you eaten?” “Not yet. I was waiting for you, Daddy.” He came over and ruffled my hair. “I’m just going to change.” As he headed upstairs, a loud thump echoed from the basement. That stupid kid was ramming the door. Cole paused on the stairs and glanced at me. Then he changed course and started toward the basement. My heart leaped into my throat. I shot up and ran to block his path. “Daddy! Go change! I’m starving!” I tugged on his sleeve, my voice deliberately loud and whiny. Just then, another heavy thump came from below, followed by a series of muffled cries. Cole pulled his arm free. “Lila, who is in there?” “I don’t know! Probably a rat? A really, really big one!” I said, my eyes wide with innocence. He snorted. “Do I look like a three-year-old to you?” The moment he opened the door, Cole froze. The bleach-blond kid had managed to give himself a bloody nose. His mouth was still gagged, and he was sobbing as he wriggled across the floor. When he saw Cole, his eyes lit up as if he’d found his long-lost mother, and he started desperately humping his way forward. The silence was heavy. Cole turned to me, his face a blank mask. “Explain. Who is this?” I puffed out my chest. “My soulmate!” He looked like he’d misheard. “…What?” “You know… the older boy… who bought me a lollipop at the convenience store last week… I thought he was so handsome…” I said, trying to look shy. The kid’s eyes went wide. He shook his head frantically, smearing blood across the floor. Cole’s face went from pale to dark thunder. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “Lila, did you just kidnap your… soulmate?” “It wasn’t kidnapping! I just… invited him over! I didn’t know he’d be so shy…” I defended myself weakly. Cole closed his eyes, visibly forcing himself to stay calm. He walked over and ripped the tape off the kid’s mouth. The boy let out a terrified yelp. “Mister, I swear I didn’t do anything to her! I don’t even know this little monster! That lollipop last week? She stole it from me!” He was right. He had stolen a kid’s lunch money to buy snacks, and I had simply relieved him of the lollipop. Cole turned to look at me, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?” I shrank back. “The details aren’t important…” He sighed, untied the kid, and ordered him not to say a word about this to anyone. After swearing on his life, the boy scrambled out, tripped on the stairs, and knocked out a tooth on his way. Once he was gone, Cole turned to me with a cold expression and demanded to know why I’d done it. Tears welled in my eyes. “Why are you being so mean, Daddy? You’re the one who taught me. If you see something you want, you take it.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I wanted this big boy. Why couldn’t I just take him?” 7 He was clearly at a loss for words, blindsided by my logic. “When did I ever teach you that?” “In the future.” The truth was, Cole had never directly taught me such things, but I knew his methods. I was just following his example, leaving him with no ground to stand on. His expression softened, becoming more complex. He was silent for a long time. “Lila… that’s not right. You can’t just take what you want by force. Do you understand?” “Okay.” I understood. But why didn’t he? Cole gently took my chin, making me look at him. “I’m serious. No matter what the… future me becomes, the me standing here now is telling you that forcing people is wrong.” “But… what if you like something so, so much?” I asked in a small voice. “You can work hard to earn it, but you can’t hurt others to get it. Truly strong people don’t need to use force to get what they want.” Hearing those words from his lips felt strange. But… he wouldn’t lie to a child, would he? He wouldn’t go back on his word and lock Claire in the basement, would he? I decided to trust him. For now. That evening at dinner, as Cole was carefully picking the bones out of my fish, he asked, “Lila, what grade are you in?” I froze, my fork hovering over my rice. “I don’t go to school.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “Why not?” “After you died, I went to the orphanage. The director said I was pretty and could fetch a high price. He said school makes kids know too much, and the buyers don’t like that.” The air in the dining room turned to ice. I didn’t dare look at his face. “The first buyer he set me up with was a movie director. He said he’d make me an actress. But he locked me in a cage and told me to get on all fours and bark like a dog.” The chopsticks in Cole’s hand snapped in two. “He didn’t like the look in my eyes. Said I was too fierce, not obedient enough… Later, when I got a chance, I bit one of his fingers off.” “And then what?” His voice was a terrifyingly low growl. “They sent me back. I got a beating. With a hot iron poker.” I pushed up my sleeve, revealing the winding, raised scars on my arm. Cole shot up from his chair, his eyes red and frightening, filled with a raw, murderous intent. “I’m going to kill them. Right now.” I jumped down and grabbed his trembling hand. “Daddy, that’s in the future. Right now, The Sunshine Home is just a normal orphanage.” “Lila… I’m so sorry…” His face was a mask of self-loathing and regret. I shook my head. “It’s not your fault, Daddy. It’s their fault for being bad people.” Cole pulled me into a fierce hug, promising me that nothing like that would ever happen again. “Tomorrow… I’ll take you to look at schools. The best one…” The next morning, Cole drove me to school himself. It was even more beautiful than I could have imagined. I heard it was funded by the Blackwood Corporation. I was placed in the first grade, class three, at Sunlight Experimental Elementary. Most of the kids were friendly, especially my desk mate, Daisy, who shared her stickers with me. When school let out, just as I’d expected, Cole was the first person waiting at the gate. “Did you like it?” he asked, taking my backpack and wiping the sweat from my forehead. 8 “I loved it! Daisy taught me how to fold paper airplanes, Mrs. Davis said my handwriting was beautiful, and the chicken wings at lunch were so good!” I chattered excitedly, waving my arms. A genuine smile touched Cole’s lips. “Good. I’m glad.” That night, a breaking news story caught my eye on the television: “Blackwood Corporation officially announced the acquisition of The Sunshine Home today, pledging a multi-million dollar investment to improve its facilities and educational standards…” My head whipped around to look at Cole. “Daddy! The Sunshine Home!” He didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Mm.” A week later, another news story aired during dinner: “Famed director Arthur Vance arrested on suspicion of false imprisonment and child abuse. Sources say police discovered… in his private villa…” The middle-aged man being led away in handcuffs was him—the monster from my past who had told me to bark like a dog. Cole was looking over my homework. “Lila, 3 + 5 = 10?” “Daddy…” My voice cracked. He didn’t look up. “Even I know that 3 + 5 doesn’t equal 10.” I… Just when I thought he might finally be able to let Claire go, Ethan’s call came through. Cole glanced at the caller ID, then answered. “Blackwood, where the hell have you hidden Claire?” Ethan roared through the phone. A flicker of tension crossed Cole’s face. “What are you talking about? What happened to Claire?” “Cut the crap! She told me she was going to see you last night, and now she’s missing!” “I haven’t seen her recently. What’s going on?” There was a pause on the other end, and then the line went dead. Cole stared at the dark screen for a moment, then finally looked at me. “Lila… do you know where Claire is?” My heart sank. Even after everything, he couldn’t let her go. “Daddy, if you go, you’ll only get hurt. Auntie Claire will be okay. Uncle Ethan will save her.” Cole was silent for a moment. “If… if you know something, can you please tell me?” “I don’t want you to get hurt! Just because I’m from the future doesn’t mean I know everything! I don’t know! I wasn’t even born yet, how would I know?” I angrily pushed away from him and ran upstairs. A moment later, I heard the front door close. He had gone anyway.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384830”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

You know the type—the titan of industry, the kind of man who could make the stock market shudder with a single phone call? The kind they write sensational biographies about? I’m his daughter. And from what I can tell, I’m the girl in the story who’s destined to lose. The childhood sweetheart who never stood a chance against the new, exciting girl who falls into the hero’s life like a lightning strike. Case in point: when my fiancé and his new favorite person were kidnapped, and the kidnappers told him he could only save one of us. “Let her die,” he said. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pointed at me, ready to send me to my death. And in that instant, something inside me snapped. I went dark. 1 I was kidnapped. But I was surprisingly calm about it. This sort of thing had a way of happening at least once a year. It’s one of the delightful perks of being the daughter of Magnus Sterling, a man whose favorite pastime is hostile takeovers. This time, however, I had company. Chloe, the precious new secretary of my fiancé, Liam. The two kidnappers had found some clean plastic forks and were trying to get us to eat something out of Styrofoam containers. Chloe was crying, turning her head away in a theatrical display of defiance. By comparison, I was a model hostage. The taller of the two goons didn’t even have to try hard with me. “Well, look at this. The little princess knows how to behave.” “Of course,” I mumbled around a mouthful of lukewarm rice and beans. “Survival of the fittest, right? You adapt, or you die.” 2 After what felt like an eternity, Liam finally arrived, his face a mask of practiced distress. “What do you want?” he demanded, clenching his fists. “Name your price. I’ll pay anything.” “We don’t want your money!” the shorter kidnapper yelled, his voice cracking. “We want a choice! You pick one. The one who stays behind dies!” “Her,” Liam said, pointing a finger straight at me. “Let her die.” He didn’t even blink. He just pushed me forward, an offering to save his own skin. I said nothing. But in the frozen silence of that warehouse, I broke. 3 The tall kidnapper gave Chloe a little shove. She stumbled toward Liam, collapsing into his arms like a damsel in a silent film. He immediately started cooing over her, stroking her hair, whispering sweet nothings. What a touching reunion. If you could ignore the fact that the man holding her was my childhood friend, my fiancé, and had just sentenced me to death. I spat the gag out of my mouth and yelled at the kidnappers behind me. “Hey! You gonna untie me, or what?” Then I turned my attention back to Liam, and the floodgates opened. “You sanctimonious, two-timing cliché! You’re juggling a fiancée your family approved of while playing footsie with your secretary under the desk? Even an octopus doesn’t have that many legs to stand on! “You feed me lines about how much you care, blurring every boundary we have, then you turn around and whisper the same tired poetry to her? God, your mouth must be exhausted, running two different scripts at once. It’s a masterclass in hypocrisy! “What, did she suck out your spine? Put a hex on you? If you had hesitated for even one second, I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming urge to send your entire family a flaming bag of dog shit! “Come on, get over here!” I snarled. “I want a closer look at that shameless face of yours!” I tried to lunge forward, only to be reminded of the ropes binding my wrists. I whipped my head around to face my captors, my expression murderous. “What are you waiting for? Get these things off me!” The shorter one flinched and scrambled to untie me. The second my hands were free, I marched straight up to Liam and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the cavernous space. Perfect. A perfect ten. “And you,” I jabbed a finger at Chloe, who was cowering behind him. “Stop hiding. Do you really think you can solve every problem by crying? The second I open my mouth, you turn on the waterworks. What were you in a past life, a sprinkler system?” I went on like that, a non-stop, creative tirade of insults, for a solid ten minutes. Every time Liam tried to leave, I’d grab his arm, haul him back, and slap him again. He didn’t seem to know how I’d gotten so strong. But he also didn’t dare try to leave again. He just stood there, his face turning a blotchy red, and took it. “God, I’m thirsty!” I fanned my face with my hand and then stuck it out behind me. “Water? A little help here?” The tall kidnapper respectfully placed a bottle of water in my hand. He clearly didn’t dare direct his anger at me, so he turned on Liam and Chloe instead. “Look what you two did! You got her all worked up!” 4 I kept the verbal assault going for another twenty minutes. Finally, I was out of breath. “Tired?” a low voice spoke from directly behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach. A man wearing a dark, simple half-mask that covered one side of his face stood there. “Have some more water.” He put a hand on the small of my back, his body close to mine. He leaned in, his voice a murmur against my ear, like a lover sharing a secret. “Need me to make them disappear for you?” I actually had to think about it for a second. “Could you… not kill them?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” “Murder is a felony,” I said with a shrug. “But making their lives a living hell? I’m open to that.” A low chuckle escaped him. “Consider it done.” Liam’s face had turned a sickly shade of green. “Ava, don’t you dare go too far!” “Are you barking at me?” I flipped him the bird. “I think we both know who went too far. Now get out. The sight of you is ruining my mood.” “You’ll regret this, Ava!” he shouted. I kicked off one of my heels and hurled it at his head. “Regret what? Not dying for you? Get lost!” Liam grabbed Chloe’s hand and they practically sprinted out of the warehouse. The masked man gently touched my hair. “Shall I take you home?” “Sure,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, man.” It wasn’t until he pulled his sleek, black car up to the gates of my family’s estate that the absurdity of the situation hit me. Is this the new standard for hostage situations? No ransom, and a personal chauffeur service home? “Okay, what’s your angle?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “This whole kidnapping felt like a joke.” “Then maybe you should—” The man’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel. “—think of it as a game.” A psycho. Great. I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It’s not like I lost anything today. In fact, I felt like I’d gained something. “Goodbye,” I said, shutting the car door. He lowered the window. “We’ll see each other again, Ava.” 5 I walked into the house to a familiar scene. She runs, he chases, and their dramatic love knows no bounds. My mother, Catherine, was dragging a suitcase toward the front door as I entered. “Hey,” I said with a wave. She nodded, then did a double-take, the theatricality draining from her face. She dropped the suitcase with a thud. “Ava, darling! What happened to you? You’re filthy!” My father, Magnus, stormed out from his study, right on cue. “Catherine Sterling, if you dare take one step out of this house…” His line was cut short by my mother kicking him sharply in the shin. “Magnus, can’t you see our daughter is in distress?” Dad’s demeanor shifted instantly. He rushed over, his face etched with concern. “Sweetheart, what is it? Who hurt you? I’ll ruin them.” “It’s fine,” I said, giving them the condensed version of events. “I already yelled at them.” “Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” my father soothed. “That Liam Prescott wanted the best of both worlds, did he? We’ll see how he likes having no world at all. Don’t worry, Dad will find you someone a hundred times better. I think it’s about time for a hostile takeover. The Prescott Group is about to go bankrupt.” A week passed. The Prescott Group was fine. Two weeks passed. Still fine. Three weeks passed. Annoyingly, stubbornly, fine. “Daddy,” I whined, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you love your little girl anymore?” A smile spread across his face, a deeply unsettling, “benevolent” smile that made my skin crawl. He patted my head. “There, there, sweetheart. The engagement is still on. There’s a big surprise waiting for you.” In his dreams. I played the part of the dutiful daughter, but secretly, I was planning my great escape. One dark and stormy night, I was halfway over the garden wall when my father, who had apparently been waiting for me, had his security team nab me. They bundled me into a car and drove me straight to a wedding venue. I spat out the cloth they’d stuffed in my mouth for dramatic effect and screamed at the heavens. “Dad, you have no honor!” 6 I got married. But the groom wasn’t Liam. It was a man I’d never seen before. I tugged on my dad’s arm while he was chatting with the stranger at the altar. “Dad, who is this?” “Your husband,” he said, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders like they were old college buddies. “Handsome, right? Your dad has great taste.” The man looked like he was about to be strangled. I quickly intervened. “Hi, I’m Ava Sterling.” He coughed, straightening his tie. “Ethan Cole. A pleasure.” I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “How much is my dad paying you?” “Excuse me?” Ethan looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?” “Oh, come on, I get it. My dad strong-armed you with a pile of cash to stand in for the groom and save face, right?” “What makes you so sure I wasn’t a willing participant?” he asked, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. There was something familiar in that smile. I shook my head. A man who looked like that? I would have remembered. I glanced to the side and saw my father practically leaning on top of us, shamelessly eavesdropping. “Dad!” He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. He just straightened his suit jacket. “I’ll just… go check on the guests. You two kids talk.” Before he walked away, he leaned in and whispered, “He’s the sole heir to the Cole fortune. He doesn’t need my money.” I froze. If he didn’t need money, and he looked like a movie star, what could he possibly want from marrying me? My charming personality? My talent for creative insults? “What I want isn’t important.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. Damn it. Did I say that out loud? “The real question,” Ethan continued, his voice low and persuasive, “is what you want. Don’t you want to see that man utterly humiliated? I have to say, my credentials are… significantly better than his. “Don’t you want to see Liam Prescott become the laughingstock of the entire city?” he pressed on. “Don’t you want to join forces, crush his company, and watch him lose everything?” “I do!” I blurted out, grabbing his arm and linking it with mine. “Honey!” Either way, I came out on top. Only a fool would turn down a deal that good. Years later, I would look back on this day and want to scream at the sky. “Ethan Cole, you magnificent liar!” 7 Halfway through the ceremony, Liam and his parents walked in. No one had bothered to inform the Prescott family about the change in grooms. The smile on Liam’s face froze, then curdled. “Ava, what is the meaning of this?” I rolled my eyes. “Are those two things above your nose just for decoration? Use your eyes.” Liam’s father, his face turning a furious shade of purple, confronted my dad. “Magnus! This is hardly appropriate!” “Hold on,” my father said, his voice dangerously calm. “Are you sure you want to talk to me about what’s appropriate? Because I have a list of your son’s dirty little secrets. We can discuss them right here, in front of everyone, if you’d like.” Liam’s face flushed. “You’re lying!” “How dare you speak to my father that way!” I snapped. “Look at you, you pathetic excuse for a man. I must have been blind to ever put up with you. Not only were you cheating on me, but you were ready to let me die to save your little girlfriend!” “Say whatever you want,” Liam sneered, trying to regain some composure. “You’re the ones who broke the engagement and switched grooms at the altar.” “Enough,” Ethan’s voice cut through the tension. It was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. The room fell silent. He took a thick envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor in front of Liam. A cascade of glossy photographs spilled out—candid shots of Liam and Chloe, their arms around each other, kissing, looking far too intimate. “You can’t hide what’s done in the dark, Prescott,” Ethan said, his smile laced with ice. Liam’s face went white. He lunged for the photos, but my father casually kicked them, sending them scattering across the marble floor. A few of the guests picked them up, their eyes widening. Suddenly, my accusations carried a lot more weight. Ethan was still smiling that cold smile. “Now, if security could please remove the irrelevant parties, I have a wedding to get back to.” My father signaled his security team, and a few large men efficiently escorted the sputtering Prescotts out of the hall. The ceremony continued. Ethan and I exchanged rings. “The groom may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announced. My toes curled in my shoes. This was mortifying. I didn’t know this man. “Don’t be nervous,” Ethan whispered, leaning in. “We’ll just angle it for the cameras.” As he turned his head, his profile silhouetted against the light, something clicked in my brain. A flash of memory. The half-mask. The low voice. The car. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I gasped, grabbing the lapels of his suit. “You were the one who kidnapped me.” A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “You finally remember,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “Wife.”

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