Author: Momo Chan

The girl who was supposed to be me showed up on a Tuesday, clinging to my mother’s legs and sobbing that she was the real daughter. My mother froze. My older brother, Mark, froze. I froze. Mark, ever the man of action, immediately declared he was taking us all for DNA tests. Mom, her legs threatening to give out, fumbled for her phone to call my dad. “David, you need to come home. I think we have the wrong daughter.” My father’s reply was unnervingly calm. “I know.” “What do you mean, you know?” “You’re the one who told me to change her,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “She was crying too much, you said she was giving you a headache. So I went and found one that didn’t cry.” A beat of stunned silence. Then, my mother’s shriek nearly shattered the windows. “I told you to change her diaper!” 1 I was halfway through a marketing proposal when my mother drifted into my home office, her expression weighed down with the gravity of a Shakespearean tragedy. “Chloe, I can’t hide this from you any longer.” I leaned back in my chair. Here we go. “The truth is,” she continued, her voice trembling, “you’re not our biological child. We’ve loved you as our own all these years, and the thought of sending you away… it’s unbearable.” She paused, waiting for my reaction. I just watched her, silent. “And now… my other daughter, the one I never got to meet… she’s here. Chloe, you have no idea, she looks exactly like me.” Mom buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Now that she’s back, I have no choice but to send you away. I just hope… I hope you won’t hate me.” I slowly closed my laptop and held out my hand. “Give me your phone.” She looked up, confused, but handed over her iPhone. I navigated to her Kindle app, went to her library, and long-pressed on her three most recent reads. The Secret Heiress Returns. Switched at Birth: The Rancher’s Daughter. My Cruel Billionaire, My Secret Baby. I deleted them from the device. “I thought you were still in the middle of The Alpha’s Reluctant Mate,” I said dryly. “What happened? Did you get tired of the pack politics?” Mom’s grief vanished, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “The updates were too slow,” she mumbled, her words rushing together. “I lost interest. Well, since you’re busy, I’ll just… go.” She scurried out of the room. “Close the door on your way out, please.” As the door clicked shut, I heard her muttering to herself. “So serious. So boring. Just like her father, not an ounce of imagination.” Who else has a mother who treats her Kindle Unlimited subscription like a sacred text and tries to act out the plot twists? With a sigh, I reopened my laptop, trying to find my train of thought. But the door burst open again. This time it was my four-year-old brother, Leo, his eyes wide with panic. “Chloe, it’s bad! They found out! My… my real sister is here!” Leo, my mother’s most devoted and impressionable student. He was the only one in the house who would willingly play a part in her melodramas. His utter lack of cynicism made him the perfect accomplice. I gave him a flat look. “You’re too late. I already called Mom’s bluff. Didn’t she tell you?” I leaned forward and pinched his soft, chubby cheek, summoning my most wicked smile. “Uh oh, Leo. Looks like you’re not Mom’s favorite little actor anymore. She found a new playmate.” His lower lip trembled. “No, Chloe, I’m for real! There’s a girl downstairs, and she says you’re not Mom and Dad’s real daughter. She is.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And Mom saw her and just… collapsed on the floor. You have to come see.” When I got downstairs, the girl was curled into my mother’s arms, delivering a heart-wrenching monologue. “Mom, I finally found you,” she wept. “You have no idea what my life has been like.” She gestured vaguely at her arms. “Beatings were normal. I’d get new bruises before the old ones could even fade.” Her voice cracked. “And they hated me because I was a girl. After my brother was born, it felt like even breathing was a crime.” My mother looked completely bewildered, her maternal instincts short-circuiting. She stared at the girl, then back at me, unable to get into character. “Congratulations, Mom,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your dream came true.” I gestured at the girl. “And wow, she really is your spitting image. We can probably skip the DNA test.” “Chloe, honey, come help me up. My legs feel like jelly,” Mom pleaded, reaching a hand toward me. But the girl was faster. With a practiced swiftness, she was on her feet, supporting Mom’s arm. “I’ve got you, Mom.” “Call your father,” Mom instructed, her voice shaky. “Tell him to get home. Now.” “I will, I will!” the girl chirped eagerly. Then she paused, her face falling into a mask of tragic beauty as she looked at me. “Chloe… would it be okay if I had Dad’s phone number?” My little brother, Leo, who had been hiding behind my legs, muttered under his breath. “She’s so extra. Mom must love her.” 2 “It’s over for you,” Leo whispered, his little hand clutching the hem of my sweater. “Hey, if you have to leave, can you take me with you? I choose your side.” My dad, David, was summoned home from the office. My older brother, Mark, canceled a business trip and raced back. Compared to my mother’s flustered panic, my dad was an island of calm. “Alright, everyone, settle down,” he said, surveying the scene. “I know all about this.” Every head in the room swiveled toward him. “You know?” we all asked in unison. My dad gave my mom a cryptic look. “You know, too. In fact, this was your decision. Have you really forgotten?” Mom’s confusion deepened. “My decision?” “Yes. You remember,” he said calmly. “You complained our daughter was crying too much, keeping you up all night. You told me to change her. So I did. I picked one that was quiet.” Mark swallowed hard. “Mom… you really said that?” My mother’s face went blank as she searched her memory. A moment later, a horrifying realization dawned, and she let out a wail. “I told you to change her diaper!” Well. The mystery was solved. It was now abundantly clear that I wasn’t their biological child. And as for the girl—who introduced herself as Leah—there was an eighty percent chance she was. That face, a perfect replica of my mom’s college photos, was hard to argue with. Once this new reality settled in, Leah began her encore performance. She dropped to her knees on the Persian rug, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine in a movie. “Dad, Mom, please, don’t blame Chloe,” she pleaded. “She’s been living my life, enjoying everything that should have been mine for twenty years, but none of it was her fault. Please, don’t throw her out.” She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t have to be your daughter. I don’t even have to live here. Just let me stay as a housekeeper. I’ll cook and clean for you every day, just so I can be near you. That’s all I want.” My dad, who has always taken things with a crippling literalness, nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, we have a storage room in the basement. It’s small, but it’s easy to clean. You could stay there. As for the housekeeper duties, I’ll text you our family’s schedule and a list of responsibilities.” Leah’s face went pale. She shot a desperate, help-me look at my mother. Mom jabbed my dad in the ribs. “David, shut up. I’ll deal with you later.” I started to head upstairs to pack a bag, but Mom stopped me, her own eyes now filled with genuine tears. “Where are you going? It’s not like our house isn’t big enough. You can’t leave. You don’t even know where your biological parents are.” “She’s right, Chloe, you can’t go back to them!” Leah exclaimed, grabbing my arm with theatrical desperation. “I can’t let you suffer the way I did. My adoptive parents… they’re monsters. Just pretend you’re not their child. Promise me you’ll never, ever contact them.” But later, when no one else was around, the mask dropped. Leah cornered me in the hallway, her eyes burning with a hatred that was anything but theatrical. “Why are you still here? Don’t you get it? This isn’t your home anymore.” Her voice was a low hiss. “You’ve been a parasite for twenty years, living a life that wasn’t yours. Isn’t that enough?” “I’ll leave after the DNA test results come back,” I said, trying to push past her. I didn’t want to engage, but she was relentless, a constant, buzzing presence at my side. She shadowed me around the house, poking and prodding with passive-aggressive comments, trying to needle me into leaving on my own accord. It was exhausting. Her little acts were endless. When a package from Net-a-Porter arrived for me, she would sigh dramatically. “Wow, Chloe, you have such amazing taste. That coat must have cost a fortune. I wouldn’t even know how to spend that much money. I haven’t bought new clothes in years.” My mother, her heartstrings thoroughly plucked, immediately took Leah on a shopping spree. Leah returned everything the next day without even trying it on. She presented the refunded money to my mother with teary eyes. “Mom, Dad, you work too hard for your money. I don’t need anything. Just being with you is all the happiness I need.” 3 To demonstrate her frugality, she insisted on saving the leftover chicken carcass from dinner to make soup for us the next morning. Then came the staircase incident. She cornered me on the landing, her voice a low taunt. The moment she heard my mother’s footsteps, she grabbed my hand, placed it on her own shoulder, and theatrically threw herself down the last few steps. “Chloe, why did you push me?” she shrieked, clutching her ankle. “I know you hate me for coming back and stealing Mom and Dad’s attention, but I’m innocent in all of this! I just wanted my family. Is that so wrong?” I was too tired to even argue. I just turned to go back to my room. “Stop right there!” my mother’s voice was sharp. “You come back here and apologize to Leah this instant.” I turned. Her face was flushed with anger. “I feed you, I clothe you, I have raised you for twenty years. Even after finding out you’re not my daughter, I didn’t throw you out. Don’t you have a single shred of gratitude?” she raged. “I did not let you stay here so you could bully Leah! This is unacceptable. You will give her a sincere apology right now, or I don’t care what your father says, I will kick you out of this house myself!” Leah, propped up on the bottom step, shot me a triumphant smirk over Mom’s shoulder. Her eyes danced with excitement. I sighed. It was beyond ridiculous. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “Leah is new here, so she might not know. But you live here. Are you forgetting the entire house is wired with security cameras?” I raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go review the footage?” Mom slapped her forehead. “Oh, right. I forgot.” She turned to the now-pale Leah and patted her arm consolingly. “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s okay. We’ll just try a different scene next time. And maybe a new character? This clumsy victim thing isn’t really working for me, to be honest.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I much preferred that fragile, broken-flower persona you had when you first arrived. That was much more my style.” Her stage-director tone seemed to horrify Leah more than anything. “Mom, what are you saying?” Leah stammered. “Are you suggesting I was faking it? That I was trying to frame Chloe?” “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” Mom backpedaled quickly. “Then why didn’t you stop me? You knew there were cameras, but you let me make a fool of myself! What am I to you people? A clown in your private circus?” Her righteous, screeching questions left my mother utterly baffled. “So… should I have meant it? Or not?” Mom asked cautiously, trying to read Leah’s expression for the correct answer. That was the final straw. Leah completely broke down, sobbing hysterically as she ran to her room. Mom watched her go, then turned to me with a frown. “This is exhausting. She’s no fun at all. Clumsy, terrible at acting… David should just forge the DNA results and we can send her back.” My thoughts exactly. You and Dad really were made for each other. And speak of the devil, my father walked in. “Family meeting! Everyone in the living room, now!” Mark clattered down the stairs. “Are the results in?” Leo sighed with the weariness of a jaded old man. “Great. As if this family wasn’t weird enough already. Now we’re adding another one. I’m going to lose my mind.” Leah eventually emerged, her eyes puffy and red. She crossed her arms, ready for battle. “Now that the results are in, what are your terms?” she demanded. “From what I understand, Chloe has quite a few properties and a significant amount of money in her name—all gifts from you. I can tolerate her continuing to live here, for now. But she needs to return what is rightfully mine.” She looked from my mother to my father. “And her engagement to Ethan Rhodes is obviously off the table. Have you spoken to the Rhodes family yet? Are they canceling the engagement, or will they transfer it to me?” “Hold on,” my dad said, cutting through her rapid-fire demands. He held up a large manila envelope. “You should probably look at this first.” She snatched the envelope from him, her hands trembling as she pulled out the report. Her face went from defiant to ashen in an instant. “This… this is impossible.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “How can I not be your daughter?”

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The tenth time I felt his gaze on me—that intense, brooding stare from across the lecture hall—a line of text flickered into my vision, translucent as a ghost. 【The male lead time-traveled ten years into the past, only to find his wife is still someone else’s girlfriend. His world just ended.】 【All those years of pining, finally winning her over, and now he has to start from scratch.】 【Maeve, his baby, has a boyfriend right now. All he can do is watch. And wait.】 【Somehow, I don’t think this older, world-weary version of him is going to be as patient as his nineteen-year-old self was.】 As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. 【Hi. Can you break up with him?】 A moment later, another one. 【Or, would you consider having a second boyfriend?】 And then, the final blow. 【I promise I’ll stay hidden until you’re single again.】 1 The bell shrieked, signaling the end of the elective lecture. As I was packing my books, a guy from the back row—one of my classmates—gently tapped my shoulder with the end of his pen. I turned around. He looked down, a nervous flush creeping up his neck. “Uh, Maeve? Could you… could you help me with this problem?” I nodded, taking his advanced calculus workbook and sketching out the solution on a blank page. “Does that make sense?” I asked, looking up at him when I was done. He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. The tips of his ears were bright red. “Yeah. Wow. You’re incredible, Maeve. Thanks.” I offered him a polite, practiced smile. “Don’t worry about it. If you have more questions, just ask.” The words had barely left my mouth when I felt it again. That unnerving, possessive stare. There it was. My head turned, my eyes landing on Caleb Chen in the row diagonally in front of me. He was the kind of handsome that was almost severe—a sharp jawline, a straight, noble nose, and pale skin that made his dark eyes look like pools of deep water. Right now, those eyes were fixed on the guy smiling at me, and they were filled with a profound, almost tragic sense of grievance. When he saw me looking, his expression shifted. The anger melted away, replaced by a flicker of sorrow, of deep, lonely ache. He looked like a loyal dog, abandoned by its owner in the rain. This was, by my count, the tenth time today. It had been happening since this morning. Any guy who spoke to me—whether it was a classmate trying to get my number on the quad or an upperclassman I was chatting with at a club fair—Caleb would materialize. He’d find a corner, a shadow, and just… watch. And every time I caught him, his eyelashes would flutter, his face settling into that same look of miserable, beautiful despair. It was beyond strange. We’d never even spoken. I knew of him, of course. Everyone at Northwood University did. Caleb Chen. The campus heartthrob, the cold genius who was at the top of the Computer Science department. But our paths had never crossed. I commuted to campus, I didn’t live in the dorms, and I kept to myself. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I could have possibly done to attract the attention of someone like him. Just as I was about to give up and actually go ask him, the ghost-like text scrolled across my vision again. 【A 29-year-old man would stare daggers at any man near his wife. A 19-year-old Caleb can only stand there, telling himself he has no right to be jealous.】 【LOL. The internal monologue of a desperate husband: Every single man approaching my wife is a goddamn predator!】 【He time-traveled from 29 back to 19. His wife is with someone else. His world already ended, and now these guys keep buzzing around her. He’s losing it.】 【Imagine pining for someone for years, finally having them, and then having to do it all over again. Who wouldn’t go insane?】 … 2 I blinked hard, confirming that I wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating. Caleb was in love with me? My future husband? So this wasn’t the nineteen-year-old Caleb I saw. This was my husband from the future, trapped in his younger body? My mind reeled, trying to process this impossible information. Another comment popped up. 【Tough luck. His baby Maeve is dating her childhood friend right now. All he can do is suffer.】 【Yeah, but I have a feeling this older version of him isn’t going to suffer in silence for long.】 … Dating? Right. I remembered now. Jackson, my childhood best friend, had been dating the most popular girl in his department and she’d dumped him. Then, to twist the knife, she’d invited him to her birthday party. He had offered me his entire month’s allowance to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, just to save face. I didn’t need the money, but Jackson could be relentlessly annoying. He whined and pleaded for days until I couldn’t take it anymore and finally agreed. Could Caleb have seen us that night? Just as I was mentally cursing out my ridiculous best friend, a text from him lit up my phone. 【Maeve, CODE RED! I need a favor!!!】 Before I could type a reply, the back door of the lecture hall flew open. Jackson, his features sharp and frantic, stormed in. He grabbed my backpack with one hand and yanked me out of my seat with the other, pulling me toward the exit. “Jackson! What the—” CRASH! The chair I’d just been sitting in snapped back against the desk, the sound echoing through the emptying room. It cut me off, freezing both me and Jackson in our tracks. I looked back. Caleb was standing there, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes were locked on the spot where Jackson’s hand gripped my arm, and his expression was a raw, unfiltered canvas of devastation, anguish, and a desperate, clawing hunger. His throat worked. When he spoke, his voice was a rough, strangled whisper. “Sorry. I stood up too fast. Hope I didn’t scare you.” Jackson, oblivious, just kept pulling me toward the door. “No worries, man,” he called back over his shoulder. “Eager to get out of class, I get it.” The silent commentary in my head went wild. 【Okay, he can’t take it anymore. Forget being the top student. Forget his moral compass. Forget a slow, patient plan. To hell with all of it. I. Want. My. Wife.】 【Don’t do it! Don’t provoke this desperate husband any further! He’s really going to lose his mind!】 【Maeve, don’t go! Maeve!】 I replayed the scene in my head—the shattered look on Caleb’s face. I had a sinking feeling I’d just made him feel like a man watching his wife abandon him for good. 3 “Maeve. My beautiful, kind, goddess-like Maeve. You don’t have any more classes today, right?” Outside, Jackson leaned against his flashy new sports car, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture. “Mandy’s going to be at this party later. And she’s bringing her new boyfriend. Please, just come with me.” “Jackson, you’re certifiably insane. No. I’m done. This whole fake-girlfriend charade is ruining my actual romantic prospects.” The image of Caleb’s face flashed in my mind. I shot Jackson a cool glare and refused flatly. He froze, his eyes widening. “Prospects? You’ve never cared about that stuff. What gives? You actually have your eye on someone?” “What’s it to you? You’re allowed to date, but I’m not?” I shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Tch. Fine, don’t help. I’ll just find a new girlfriend tomorrow. It’s not like it’s hard for a guy who looks like me,” he scoffed. “But you, you better be careful. Don’t get played. You want me to vet the guy for you? Out of the kindness of my heart?” He paused, his expression turning sly and vaguely threatening. “And hey, when we graduate and move abroad, don’t come crying to me when you need someone to look after you in a foreign country.” Jackson’s features were sharp, his words laced with a petty, passive-aggressive sting. I kicked the tire of his precious car. “Maybe you should cure your abysmal sense of direction first,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “We’ll see who’s looking after who.” As we bickered, the comments flickered back to life. 【Wait, so she’s NOT his girlfriend? It’s fake? An act?】 【Hahaha, Caleb’s world is crashing down all over again. In the last timeline, he crushed on her through high school, then through college. He didn’t dare approach her until she came back from overseas and they met at a gala. He used a business partnership as an excuse just to get close.】 【This is what happens when you don’t use your words, kids. If only he’d had the courage to just ask her back then.】 【Well, come on. Nineteen-year-old Caleb had nothing. Maeve and Jackson were childhood friends, from the same world. It was a perfect match on paper.】 【Looks like even after he became a tech mogul, he was still too scared to ask her about it.】 【Of course he was. When she proposed their marriage of convenience, she framed it as a ‘strategic alliance.’ He thought it was purely business the entire time. He quietly transferred most of his assets to her name later, just to be safe.】 … As I was engrossed in the scrolling text, my phone vibrated. A new message from the anonymous number. 【Hi. Can you break up with him?】 I blinked. Before I could process it, another came through. 【Or, would you consider having a second boyfriend?】 And a third. 【I promise I’ll stay hidden until you’re single again.】 My thumb hovered over the screen. I typed out a single name. 【Caleb?】 I hesitated, debating whether to hit send. Just then, Jackson leaned over my shoulder. “Who’s that? The new romantic prospect?” My hand flinched. The message sent. A muscle in my temple twitched. I locked my phone and turned to glare at Jackson. “What? So secretive now,” he sniffed, his face turning cold as he opened his car door. “Want a ride?” “No thanks. I’m meeting Sienna for some shopping. You go on ahead.” At the mention of Sienna’s name, Jackson got in his car without another word, peeling away with a roar of the engine. 4 “Where’s that idiot Jackson? I’ve been back in the country for a week and he hasn’t even come to pay his respects to her majesty?” Sienna tossed her thick, honey-blonde curls over her shoulder, her stunning face twisted in a look of annoyance. I lounged on a plush sofa in the designer boutique, half-watching a model strut down an in-store runway. “He said the last time you were back, you forced him to be your practice model for a photoshoot and spent the entire time yelling at him. He claims it left him with emotional scars.” I explained, referring to our other childhood friend. A cold smirk played on Sienna’s lips. “Don’t worry. I’m over him. I passed by this auto body shop a few days ago and saw an absolute specimen. Grade-A, top-tier material.” Her eyes lit up. “I’m taking you there later. I’m going to get him to be my next model.” A specimen? Caleb’s face materialized in my mind. I pulled out my phone, my thumb tapping the screen. No new messages. I arched an eyebrow. That evening, after Sienna had finally shopped to her heart’s content, she revved the engine of her new motorcycle and drove me to the auto shop she’d mentioned. The owner’s eyes lit up when he saw us. Before he could speak, Sienna pointed a manicured finger at a man working in the back. “I want him.” The man looked up, his expression bored and indifferent. But when his eyes landed on me, he froze for a fraction of a second. I watched him, a slow smile spreading across my face. It was Caleb, dressed in a black tank top that showcased his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The muscles in his arms were lean and powerful. “Well? A specimen, right?” Sienna whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “Perfect proportions. The golden ratio. He’d be magic on camera.” Her voice was filled with the feverish passion she reserved only for her art. “Yeah,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on Caleb as he started walking toward us. “A total specimen.” 5 Caleb’s hands, covered in work gloves, slid methodically over every inch of the motorcycle’s frame. He was meticulous. “Hey, handsome. What’s your name?” Sienna draped an arm around my shoulders, her approach as subtle as a pyramid scheme recruiter. “You work here? How much do they pay you? Ever thought about a side gig that pays better and is way easier?” Caleb didn’t even look up, but he answered politely, his words clipped. “Caleb.” “I help a friend out here sometimes.” “Not interested.” Sienna pouted. Her phone buzzed, and with a disinterested glance at the screen, she wandered off to take the call. My gaze settled on Caleb’s broad back, appraising him freely. He paused in his work, then straightened up, pulling off his gloves. “Your friend’s bike is fine. Nothing wrong with it.” I held his gaze. “Is that the only thing you wanted to say to me?” His eyes flickered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. I waited, patient. Just as the gloves in his hand looked like they were about to be twisted into shreds, he finally spoke. “Just now…” He only got out two words before stopping. I followed his gaze and saw Sienna walking back towards us, her face a mask of annoyance. She tossed a set of keys into my lap. “Maeve, my mom’s doing a surprise inspection at my apartment. You take the bike back for me, I’ll pick it up from your place later.” Sienna’s mother had expressly forbidden her from riding motorcycles, even cutting off her credit cards once to prove her point. I saw Caleb’s eyes fix on the keys in my hand, his brow furrowing slightly. After Sienna left, I dangled the keys. “What’s wrong? Want a ride?” I was just teasing him, but he placed a long-fingered hand on the bike’s frame, his dark eyes looking down. “Can I drive? I’ll take you home.” I raised an eyebrow, thinking he was just trying to show off. But then, the ghostly text appeared again. 【The second Maeve is near a motorcycle, Caleb’s hair stands on end.】 【He’ll probably never forget the time she crashed with friends after high school graduation and ended up in the hospital.】 【He went to the hospital every single day back then, just to catch a glimpse of her from down the hall.】 I thought back. He was right. That did happen. So the comments were telling the truth. I tossed the other helmet to him. He caught it against his chest. I winked. “Alright.” As he stood in front of me, adjusting his helmet, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. His hands froze. His entire body went rigid, every muscle pulled taut. It felt like a war was being waged inside him—a battle between extreme self-control and a secret, thrilling excitement. 6 Caleb drove smoothly, keeping the speed steady and safe. The ride wasn’t fast, so by the time we reached my apartment building, we were both a little damp from a sudden downpour. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for my floor. Caleb stood outside, his silhouette sharp and defined. Rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, giving his usually severe face a roguish, untamed look that didn’t quite belong to him. His damp tank top clung loosely to his torso, offering tantalizing hints of the defined abs beneath. As the elevator doors began to slide shut, our eyes met. “Caleb,” I said, my voice deliberately casual. “Want to come up and wait for the rain to stop?” Silence. No response. Suddenly— BANG! Just as the doors were about to close, a clean, strong hand shot out and stopped them, trembling slightly. Caleb’s dark eyes were burning with an overwhelming mix of emotions. But the tips of his ears were red. I smiled and stepped aside, making room for him. Once inside, I flicked on the lights. “Do you want to take a shower, or just use a towel?” I asked, glancing at the storm raging outside my window. It looked like it was settling in for a while. “A towel is fine,” he said. He remained in the entryway, refusing to step further into my space, as if he were restraining himself from crossing some invisible line. The perfect, polite gentleman. I looked at him and laughed. “Did you look this proper when you sent me those texts?” I teased. “Brave enough to come home with me, but too scared to take your clothes off?” His arm muscles tensed. The overhead light cast a shadow across his brow. I poured a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter, my eyes slowly trailing over him. “Caleb, you should know something about me. I’ve only ever been interested in the best of the best.” He looked up slightly, understanding my meaning. A clap of thunder shook the building. He walked toward me, each step deliberate. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled the clinging tank top over his head. A thin red cord was tied around his neck, disappearing below his collarbone. As he moved, I saw it held a small, smooth silver medallion. My eyes followed the line of that cord down, past his collarbone, over the hard planes of his abs, to the lean line of his waist. In a heartbeat, he was in front of me. He leaned in, planting his hands on the counter on either side of me, trapping me in his space. “Does this meet your standards, Miss Maeve?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, laced with a mix of anxiety and hope. I tilted my head, my gaze slowly, deliberately, dropping lower. And lower. Until— A hand clamped over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. I heard Caleb’s voice, rough and strained with effort. “I want to be your boyfriend. Not… not just for this.” Then, the sound of hurried, almost panicked footsteps retreating toward the bathroom.

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For five years, I belonged to Donovan Black. The pretty thing he kept in a gilded cage. In my first life, I made the mistake of listening to the whispers of other girls like me. I let myself believe that his affection was turning into love, and I did everything I could to make him propose. I became a nightmare when Camilla Rhodes, the one who always had a hold on him, came back to the States. I picked fights, I made scenes. In the end, I succeeded only in getting myself killed. Two bodies in one grave, me and our unborn child. Not long after I was gone, Donovan and Camilla had the wedding of the decade. I became a cautionary tale, a punchline about the girl who dreamed too big. When I woke up, I was back in the bed where I first asked Donovan if he loved me. The man beside me, his breathing still evening out from our lovemaking, turned his head on the pillow. “What did you say?” The first time around, I hadn’t noticed the frost in his tone. I’d just snuggled deeper into his arms and asked if he could spend more time with me. Hearing those words again, a flash of memory seared through my mind: Donovan’s face at my cremation, the look of a man relieved to finally be rid of a piece of trash. I slapped my own mouth twice, lightly, and manufactured a blush. “Oh my god, I’m so blissed out I’m not even making sense,” I murmured. “I meant to ask if you loved the soup I made tonight. If you did, I can make it again tomorrow.” 1. Shock flickered in Donovan’s eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting a post-coital performance review from me, the woman who usually went shy and silent in these moments. But it was that very boldness, those unexpected words, that made a man as meticulous as Donovan overlook the question I had actually asked. In my first life, when I’d asked him to spend more time with me, he’d mistaken it for the sweet nothings of a woman high on passion. So, he’d casually replied, “Alright. From now on, I’ll take you wherever I go.” That one simple sentence was all it took to fertilize the ambition in my heart. It made me believe, with every fiber of my being, that Donovan Black loved me too; he just hadn’t realized it yet. “The soup was good,” Donovan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “It settled my stomach.” As his words registered, I instinctively grabbed a silk robe, covering myself. I told him I was heading to the kitchen to prep for the next day’s breakfast. The moment I was out of his line of sight, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. While I busied myself in the vast, stainless-steel kitchen, I started to sort through the chaotic fragments in my mind. I couldn’t remember why I’d been given a second chance, only that it was a precious, fragile thing. And one thought was branded onto my soul, a mantra I couldn’t escape: Don’t be a fool for love. Don’t you ever fall for a man again. Aside from making myself beautiful and making good food, I didn’t have many talents. I wasn’t particularly sharp; I believed whatever anyone told me. That was my fatal flaw. It was because of that flaw that, in my past life, I let the goading from other women in my position make me forget my place. I became more and more demanding, more and more of a problem. Only after my death did I learn the truth about Tiffany, the so-called friend whose real name I never even knew. She had approached me with an agenda from the very beginning. Her benefactor, a man named Mr. Sterling, did business with Donovan. We met at a gallery opening, a brief, forgettable encounter for me. But Mr. Sterling remembered me. He mentioned to Tiffany, more than once, how striking I was. And for that, she hated me. Then there was Camilla Rhodes. The woman who had gone abroad to study long before I ever met Donovan. She heard about me from her friends back home. The idea of Donovan keeping me around for so many years infuriated her, but she considered it beneath herself to deal with me directly. So, after doing a little digging into my personality—my naivete, my insecurities—she found Tiffany. She paid Tiffany to “teach” me how to win more of Donovan’s affection. Every piece of advice Tiffany gave me was perfectly designed to make Donovan slowly, but surely, grow tired of me. And so, that winter, just a few months later—on my way to tell Donovan that I was pregnant and demand he make me his wife—I was hit by a speeding truck. I died on impact. After my death, Tiffany, who had already been cast aside by Mr. Sterling, took the massive “thank you” payment I’d given her and went back to her hometown to get married. Camilla, who had orchestrated everything from a distance, finally won Donovan’s heart for good. They had a son and a daughter. And me? I was the one who got greedy because I just wanted to be loved. In the end, I went to my grave without ever hearing Donovan Black say he even liked me. Playing the whole tragedy back in my mind, I took a deep, painful breath and resolved to do my job, serve my time, and wait for the day Donovan finally let me go. Afraid I might forget, that I might still harbor some foolish hope for him, I found the old notebook I used for recipes. I flipped to the last page and started to write. August 27th: Never forget the pain of your soul burning. It’s not shameful to be starved for love, but don’t lose your life over scraps from someone else’s table. … Despite going to bed late, I was up at 5:30 the next morning. I worked without a break, preparing a full breakfast spread. Just as Donovan came downstairs, showered and dressed, I was placing a pot of slow-simmered herbal broth on the table. He stared at the array of dishes covering half the dining table, a dozen small plates filled with everything from omelets to fresh pastries. He was silent for a few seconds before he asked, “Alright, what do you want?” Cooking was my primary tool for pleasing him, but in five years, I’d almost exclusively made him dinner. Never before had I sacrificed my beauty sleep just to ensure he had a good meal before leaving for the office. 2. Worried the smell of cooking oil clung to me, I stood a careful distance away from him. “You mentioned before that I should find something to do, to keep me from embarrassing you when I’m out, right?” I watched his expression for any change. Seeing none, I continued, “Since you think my cooking is decent, what if I opened a restaurant? It’s really the only skill I have that’s worth anything.” I didn’t want to waste this second chance. I wanted to build something for myself, to prepare for a life after Donovan. He began to eat his breakfast, quietly, not saying a word. I took the hint and didn’t press him. Donovan was a better man than the ones my peers were with, but he had the same flaw most of them did: a severe case of male chauvinism. Once, I was at a spa with another girl and missed his text. He froze my credit cards and confined me to the penthouse for three days as punishment for ignoring him. Knowing him as I did, I knew he wouldn’t accept me doing anything that wasn’t under his control. I couldn’t just start a business without his permission. That’s why I’d woken up at dawn, why I’d cooked this feast. It was all a calculated plea for his approval to go out and make my own money. Donovan was generous, and in this new life, I hadn’t asked him for anything yet. If he agreed to the restaurant, his support would come with funding and connections. That was my real goal. Even though I knew my death in the last life was my own doing, Donovan was the catalyst. He was the one who had warped me into someone I wasn’t. His pockets were deep. Making him shoulder some of the responsibility for my early demise didn’t seem unreasonable, did it? Fleecing him for a little startup capital while I was still under his roof… surely that was understandable. Donovan left for work without giving any opinion on my “sudden” ambition. I wasn’t worried. Camilla wasn’t due back for another month. If once didn’t work, I’d just have to try again. After he left, I went out too. First, I went to the bank to check the balance of the “salary” I’d accumulated from him over the years. Then I split the money, seventy-thirty. The larger portion went into a new, separate account. The rest I designated as my operating capital. I hadn’t gotten any smarter. But my past life had taught me one thing: trust no one. I was eighty percent sure Donovan would help me, but you can never account for that last twenty percent. From the bank, I went to a restaurant I used to frequent. In the past, I’d always gone to try their new dishes. Today, I studied the prices on the menu, the decor, the thousand little details most customers overlook. The owner recognized me. Seeing me sitting alone for so long, he came over to say hello. Thinking of all the mistakes I might make without Donovan’s help, I summoned my courage and started asking him for advice, to “learn from the master.” He was surprisingly kind, not at all bothered that I was trying to steal his secrets. He shared story after story of the pitfalls he’d encountered since opening his own place. I went home with a phone that had died from taking so many notes. When I plugged it in, a message popped up on the screen, identical to the one from my last life: Nancy, how did it go? Did you ask Mr. Black if he loves you like I told you to? Nancy. That was the name he’d given me. I didn’t reply. I just deleted Tiffany’s contact and blocked her number. Truthfully, I didn’t hate her that much. She was instrumental in my early death, yes, but ultimately, it was my own stupidity that sealed my fate. If I had been just a little bit smarter, a little less easily swayed by others, my life wouldn’t have ended that way. Besides, I vaguely remembered a voice, just before I came back, whispering to me: Everything has a cause and effect. Don’t seek revenge. Those who harmed you will face their own consequences. Don’t waste the precious chance you’ve been given on a moment’s satisfaction. Because of that, my heart had remained peaceful. I kept reminding myself: I came back to live a long, full life for myself. No one was going to derail that plan. 3. When Donovan came home that evening, he handed me a folder. I froze when I saw the title on the first page: Restaurant Development Proposal. “I spoke to a few friends in the restaurant business at lunch. This is a plan based on their collective experience,” he said. “It’s rare for you to want something like this. Study it. If you have any questions, you can come to me anytime.” I clutched the folder and nodded dumbly. Mumbling an excuse about wanting to read it right away, I hurried back to the bedroom. I found my recipe notebook hidden under the bed, flipped to the back, and wrote under yesterday’s entry: August 28th: So he’s shown you kindness. That means the person you once loved had some good in him. But that’s all. There are a million other sights to see, a million other meals to taste. Learn to love yourself. Put yourself first. Closing the notebook, I felt the frantic beating of my heart finally begin to slow. The reason I’d fallen for Tiffany’s lies so easily in my last life was simple: I had already fallen in love with Donovan long before. Falling for your benefactor is the cardinal sin in our line of work. But I couldn’t control it. To keep him from finding out and getting rid of me, I had to suppress it, to act indifferent. But emotions are like that; the more you push them down, the more powerfully they spring back. So when someone told me that Donovan treated me differently than other women, that he might actually have feelings for me, I gambled everything. I dropped the mask and never put it back on. By the time I opened the proposal, my heart was completely calm. Combining the advice from the restaurant owner with the detailed contents of Donovan’s plan, a clear vision for my restaurant began to form in my mind. After noting down a few points I didn’t understand, I went to find Donovan in his study to have them clarified. Seeing that I had genuine questions, he raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re serious about this? I’m impressed by the effort.” I just smiled and didn’t say anything, diligently taking notes as he explained the complexities of payroll and supply chains. “Do you have any thoughts on the location and concept for the restaurant?” he asked as I was about to leave. After a moment’s thought, I decided to share what I’d learned from the restaurant owner. “There’s a coffee shop on Waverly Place that’s up for sale, only been open for three months. It’s right near a major shopping street and two universities. The foot traffic is incredible. I was planning to go look at it tomorrow. If it checks out, I want to open my restaurant there.” Donovan looked at me, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “You seem to be in a hurry.” I was. The process from site selection to design and renovation was a long one. If I went through the entire process from scratch, my restaurant wouldn’t be open by the end of the year. I’d heard about this coffee shop. The decor was modern and appealed to a younger crowd, perfectly matching my target demographic. If the owner’s family hadn’t run into a sudden financial crisis, they wouldn’t be selling so quickly. If I could take over the lease, I would only need to change the layout, which would save an enormous amount of time. I needed to get as much done as possible before Camilla came back. That way, even if Donovan’s help disappeared, I’d be in a much better position. But obviously, I couldn’t tell him that. “It’s not easy to find a space that fits on every level,” I said. “When you find one, you have to act fast.” Hearing this, Donovan nodded in agreement. “I’ll have Arthur go with you tomorrow. If you like it, we’ll lock it down. Don’t worry about the price. It’s not often you ask for anything. Consider the shop a gift from me.” I certainly wasn’t going to refuse. Arthur was incredibly competent. With his help, everything from price negotiation to signing the contracts was done in half a day. From that moment on, I poured nearly every ounce of my energy into my restaurant. Though I was happy with the coffee shop’s existing design, some changes were necessary to meet the needs of a full-service restaurant. Arthur recommended a rising-star interior designer, and by the time she had the new blueprints ready, the construction crew Arthur had sourced was already on standby. I was leaving before dawn and coming home long after dark. For over two weeks, I barely exchanged more than a few words with Donovan. 4. One evening, I walked in to find Donovan, who usually sequestered himself in his study, sitting on the living room sofa watching television. He stood up, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, took my bag from my shoulder, and asked how the restaurant preparations were going. I was so exhausted I didn’t even register what he’d done. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that it hit me: the easy way he’d greeted me, the casual conversation… it was all eerily similar to how a normal husband and wife might interact. After my shower, while Donovan was on the phone on the terrace, I quickly found my recipe book. I’d been running on fumes for weeks, usually falling into bed the moment I got home. On the rare nights when a thought of Donovan stirred something in me, I’d immediately jot down a warning to myself in my phone’s notes app. I took a moment now to transcribe those frantic notes into the notebook. Then I added today’s entry: September 16th: Less than two weeks left until everything goes back to the way it was. Remember who you are. Stop dreaming. Work harder. Don’t let these small moments get to you. I shoved the notebook back into its hiding place and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the moon outside the window. I knew this was a foolish way to guard my heart. But it was the only way I could think of. A slow, painful desensitization until the day finally came. “Why aren’t you in bed? What’s on your mind?” Donovan’s voice startled me. I quickly pulled myself together. “Nothing. The renovations are moving fast. I was just thinking if there were any details I might have overlooked.” He nodded without comment. After he lay down, he spoke suddenly into the quiet room. “When I came home today, the housekeeper mentioned that Sterling’s girl has been coming by to see you. When did you two get so close?” Hearing his dismissive name for Tiffany, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I subtly rubbed the spot over my heart. “We’re not close,” I said, feigning indifference. “She started saying all this weird stuff, so I blocked her. I have no idea why she keeps showing up.” Donovan made a soft “hmm” sound. “She’s probably trying to get close to you on Sterling’s orders. Ignoring her is the right move. Stay away from people like that.” He rolled over and went to sleep. But I lay awake for a long time, the words “people like that” echoing in my head. For the next week or so, I made a point to leave earlier than Donovan and come home later, minimizing our contact. During that time, I heard from Arthur that Donovan had unilaterally terminated his partnership with Mr. Sterling. A few days later, I saw chatter in a group chat with some of the other girls. Tiffany had been confronted by Mr. Sterling’s wife. She was beaten, stripped naked, and thrown into the park across from her apartment. They said she’d lost her mind by the time someone found her. Seeing her fate, so drastically different from the last time, made my chest feel tight. A chill ran down my spine. The day Camilla Rhodes flew back into the country, one of the girls tagged me in the group chat: Nancy, the real one’s back. You better watch your step. Don’t end up like Tiffany. I didn’t reply. I just left the group. On this day in my last life, Donovan went to the airport to pick Camilla up and didn’t come home all night. So I wasn’t in any hurry to get back. I ordered takeout, sat in my nearly finished restaurant, and drank until I was pleasantly drunk. It was just before midnight when I finally stood outside the penthouse door. The moment I stepped inside, the alcohol buzz vanished. There, on the sofa, was the man who was supposed to be with Camilla. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, and in his hand was my recipe notebook. After a long, heavy silence, Donovan opened his eyes. His gaze was dark and intense as he stared at me. He held up the notebook. “Come here,” he said, his face a mask of neutrality. “We need to talk.”

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I received Liam Cole’s divorce papers when I was twenty-eight. When I was eighteen, he’d proposed to me with a ring made from a chocolate wrapper. Ten years. That’s all it took. The day we were supposed to sign the papers, he got into a car accident. His memory reset to eighteen. Back to the year he loved me most. 1 I was at LAX, waiting to board a flight to Paris, when the email with Liam Cole’s divorce petition arrived. As I opened the file, a single thought surfaced, clean and sharp as glass: So, we’re finally here. At that point, Liam and I had already been separated for two full years. But his lawyer had been insistent. I had to return to New York to handle this in person. I canceled my flight. The Parisian dream dissolved and was replaced by a cross-country flight back to the life I’d left behind. On the plane, I twisted the wedding band on my finger. Ten years ago, he’d cried like a little boy when he asked me to marry him. He would love me forever, he’d said. And I, in all my eighteen-year-old innocence, had actually believed him. But people change, don’t they? I knew it was over two years ago. The last time he looked at me, I saw it in his eyes. The love was gone. There was no point in dwelling on it. I closed my eyes and let the darkness swallow my thoughts. It wasn’t until I was standing on the curb at JFK, the familiar New York air thick with exhaust and urgency, that I understood what it meant to feel like a stranger in your own home. Two years isn’t a lifetime, but it’s long enough for everything to feel foreign. “Nora! Over here!” A familiar voice sliced through the chaos. It was Sasha. My best friend since we were teenagers. She was the first person I’d told when I agreed to the divorce. She looked incredible—a sharp beige suit, a slash of red lipstick, and huge, audacious gold hoops that framed her face. A portrait of effortless command. “Nora, baby, give me a kiss!” She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug and planting a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek. I couldn’t help but laugh, a little breathlessly. As I turned to tease her, she cupped my face in her hands, gently but firmly turning my head away from the terminal. “Don’t look, baby. Visual pollution.” A small smile touched my lips, and I shook my head gently. How could I not see him? Liam Cole was everywhere. His face stared down from a dozen different ad campaigns, his eyes following me from billboards and digital screens. Yes. My husband. The superstar. 2 “Hmph. You just wait, Nora. I’m going to be your divorce lawyer. That dog Liam Cole has been hiding this marriage for years while messing around with that—that Vance woman. Just based on the paparazzi photos alone, I can take him to the cleaners.” Sasha was a partner at one of the top law firms in the city now. Watching her seethe on my behalf, I had the sudden, bittersweet thought that she had been Liam’s friend first. Even if I was losing him, at least I still had her. “My dear, powerful attorney,” I said softly. “Let’s not trouble you with this little thing.” I just wanted it to be over. Quick and clean. “You’re not planning on asking for nothing, are you?” My silence was her answer. “You… I’ve never met anyone so foolish. It’s just like when you were eighteen, giving up Paris for…” Eighteen. Such a distant past. A past I never wanted to remember. “Sasha, I don’t want to get dragged into a fight with him.” “The last ten years with him have already taken everything I have.” Sasha didn’t say another word. She just drove me to her apartment. “Get some rest. I have to go back to the office to handle a few things.” And then I was alone again in the sprawling, silent apartment. It was just like all those years in our house on the North Shore, where it was always, always just me. I turned on the TV, and it was immediately there: a segment on an entertainment news channel. “Big news from Hollywood! Is superstar actress Olivia Vance finally tying the knot? Rumors have swirled for years about her romance with Liam Cole, and now, with these new photos of the couple vacationing in Hawaii—allegedly scouting wedding venues—it looks like wedding bells are imminent. When questioned by reporters, Vance remained coy, but her radiant smile said it all. She’s currently preparing for the Cannes Film Festival, so we’ll have to wait for her return for official confirmation!” Listening to it, I felt… nothing. A complete, hollow calm. Two years ago, just seeing her name—Olivia Vance—on the screen would have made me want to scream, to hurl something at the television. I was impressed with my own self-control now. A text from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. 【Civil Affairs Bureau. 9 AM tomorrow.】 Efficient. So this was why he was in such a hurry to divorce me. To marry her. Perhaps I should thank her. The next day, at nine in the morning, I was standing outside the Bureau as promised. I waited for nearly two hours. No one came. Steeling myself, I was just about to dial the number when my phone rang. It was Sasha. “Nora, you need to get to Mount Sinai Hospital, now. Liam’s been in a car accident.” 3 “We’re… married?” After two years apart, the first thing Liam Cole said to me was that. Everyone in the hospital room turned to look at me. Some with suspicion, others with concern. He glanced at the ring on my hand and then scratched his head, a look of pure, boyish confusion on his face. What is going on? I shot a questioning look at Sasha. She pulled me into the hallway. “His memory has reverted to when he was eighteen.” “He suffered a severe blow to the head,” she explained. “The doctors say he has memory loss. He only remembers things from before he was eighteen.” “Eighteen?” I whispered the word. Why? Why that year? Because that was the year I gave up my spot at the Paris Opera Ballet School. Because that was the year I broke with my parents for Liam. Because that was the year that marked the beginning of my ten-year descent into hell. I didn’t want to remember it. I stormed back into the room. “I’ve already divorced you!” “I would never divorce her! My dream is to marry her!” Our voices collided in the sterile air. I froze. Liam froze. Only his agent, standing in the corner, had a smug, ‘I told you so’ look on his face that made me want to slap him. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” Liam’s voice was thin, incredulous. “There’s no amnesia. This is some kind of prank, right?” “This isn’t funny. I have to get to practice.” He tried to get out of bed, but his agent quickly stopped him. “No one is lying to you, Liam.” “You want proof? Here!” I pulled our marriage certificate from my bag and threw it onto the bed in front of him. I enunciated every word, my voice trembling with rage. “I don’t care if you have amnesia or not. Today was the day we were supposed to get divorced. And no matter what, I am divorcing you!” Liam looked at the certificate I’d thrown down. At first, a small, disbelieving smile played on his lips. But as my words sank in, his face went completely white. “Nora… you… I…” “Yeah, that’s right, Liam,” his agent chimed in eagerly. “Weren’t you just in Hawaii with Ms. Vance a few days ago, looking at wedding venues?” “Shut up!” Liam roared. A sudden, inexplicable fire surged through me. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. We’re going to the Bureau to get divorced, right now!” He resisted, but I pulled him forcefully, ignoring how his face was growing paler by the second. “My head… it hurts so much!” He suddenly clutched his head, his face contorted in agony, and then he collapsed. After the doctors finished their examination, they gathered us together and gave us a harsh lecture. “The patient has severe depression and has just been in a major accident. And you’re agitating him like this? Are you trying to trigger a complete mental breakdown?” Depression? Since when did Liam have depression? “Don’t mention the divorce to him again. At least not while his memory is like this.” “This is likely temporary amnesia. When his condition stabilizes, his memories should return. Until then, whatever you all are planning, please be patient and wait for the patient to recover.” The doctor’s final gaze landed on me. “Especially you, Mrs. Cole. The patient needs you right now.” The implication was clear. But that meant I had to stay by his side. I didn’t want to. I looked at Liam, lying unconscious in the bed, and a profound sadness washed over me. Why did you have to go back to being eighteen? Eighteen… that was when you loved me most.

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My boyfriend was the most devoted man in the world. He always said he wouldn’t marry anyone but me. Right before our wedding, I found an anonymous post he’d written online, answering a question: “What’s it like to be deeply in love with someone you can’t be with?” 1 I always believed Liam was the best boyfriend in the world. Until the Fourth of July. I’d gone to find him at his grandmother’s apartment, and from a distance, I saw him shielding another girl behind his back. Across from them, Liam’s grandmother was pointing a trembling finger at the girl, her body shaking with rage. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you people done enough to ruin our family? Get out! Get the hell out of here and don’t you ever come back!” The girl hid behind Liam, clutching the hem of his shirt. Her delicate, fragile frame looked utterly pitiful. “Grandma, it’s the holiday… I just wanted to bring you a little something…” On the ground, a box of artisanal pastries had been overturned, its contents scattered across the concrete. Liam’s grandmother was sputtering with fury. “Like I’d ever take anything from you!” She snatched one of the pastries from the ground and hurled it at the girl. The hard edge of the almond biscotti cut her skin, leaving a thin red line. “Grandma!” Liam threw himself in front of the girl, just as another pastry struck him square in the chest. “Liam…” the girl cried out. He let out a sharp grunt of pain, clenched his jaw, and shot a cold look over his shoulder at her. “What are you waiting for? Get lost.” Tears welled in her eyes. She sobbed, “Liam, I… I just wanted to see you.” In the dim evening light, I saw it clearly: Liam’s eyes were red. But his voice was still ice. “Sophia, I’m telling you to leave. No one here wants to see you.” Sophia turned, weeping. Her vision must have been blurred by tears, because after a few steps, her foot slipped on the edge of the staircase. She was about to tumble down the stairs when, in a flash, Liam lunged forward without a second thought. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her and using his own body to break her fall. 2 That night, Liam didn’t come home until after midnight, his torso wrapped in bandages. He told me there had been an accident on a construction site. A couple of workers got into a fight, and he’d been caught in the middle. I sat on the sofa, just looking at him as tears streamed down my face. Panic flashed in his eyes. He fumbled for the tissue box and came over, clumsily dabbing at my cheeks. “Hey, you’re worried about me? Don’t cry, don’t cry. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” He pulled faces, doing anything he could to make me laugh until a small smile finally broke through. Only then did he seem to relax. “Look at you,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “When I’m not here, you forget to eat. You’re going to give yourself another stomachache.” He rinsed a bowl of strawberries for me before heading into the kitchen to cook. I watched him, a six-foot-two man wearing my Cinnamoroll apron, moving around the kitchen with familiar ease. The spicy, smoky scent of Cajun chicken soon filled the air—Liam could never handle spicy food, but because I loved it, he’d taught himself how to cook it perfectly. Everyone said I had the best fiancé in the world. And in that moment, in the warmth of our apartment, I felt it too. But I couldn’t lie to myself. I had seen it. A few hours earlier, hidden behind a row of hedges near his grandmother’s building, I had seen her—Sophia—dabbing ointment on his cuts. She tended to his wounds, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Why can’t we be together?” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. Liam’s jaw was tight, his face a mask. She began to tremble uncontrollably. “What did I do wrong? Why is fate so cruel to us? “Liam, I just need to ask you one thing. I’ve loved you for eleven years. I’ve never stopped. “What about you? Do you still love me?” For a long, long time, there was only silence. Finally, he turned his face away from her. And for the first time, I saw the man everyone called cool and composed break down completely. He said, “I do.” 3 Liam and I had been together for a long time. I’m a doctor at Metro General. His grandmother was a patient on my floor after her surgery. She would always hold my hand and refuse to let go. “Such a good girl! You should be my granddaughter-in-law!” I’d glance over at Liam, who would blush and quickly look away. His grandma would complain to me in a stage whisper, “Honestly, that silly boy is crazy about you, but he’s too shy to say anything. If he doesn’t make a move soon, I’m done helping him!” From that day on, Liam started pursuing me. He’d show up with flowers and my favorite cheesecake. He, a six-foot-two man at the height of his career, would kneel on a busy sidewalk to tie my shoe, as earnest and devoted as a golden retriever. My hours were grueling, and sometimes he’d wait downstairs for three or four hours just to see me for a few minutes, never once complaining. Even then, Liam was a rising star in his field—young, handsome, and successful, with no shortage of women interested in him. No one could believe he pursued me with the bashful uncertainty of a teenager experiencing his first crush. My colleagues were envious. “Claire,” they’d say, “a man like that is one in a million.” That New Year’s Eve, he made it official. He took me to watch the fireworks over the city skyline. As the sky exploded in a riot of color, he turned to me, his eyes shining. “Claire, be my girlfriend. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” I closed my eyes, tears of joy slipping down my cheeks, and said yes. In that moment, I thought, I have the best boyfriend in the world. 4 And he was. His social media profile picture was a photo of me. A snapshot of us was clipped to his car’s visor. He’d video call me whenever he traveled for work and came straight home to me the second he was done for the day. I never once felt the need to check his phone. It seemed pointless. If I couldn’t trust Liam, who could I trust? … It was 1:30 a.m. Liam was fast asleep beside me. I took his phone and slipped into the bathroom. I needed to know who Sophia was. … As dawn broke, Liam stirred. I had already placed his phone back on the nightstand. He didn’t notice a thing. He just leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Morning, honey. I’m heading to work.” After he left, I opened my eyes. Silent tears soaked my pillow. 5 Liam and Sophia were childhood sweethearts. Liam’s father was a construction worker; Sophia’s was the boss. But the class difference never mattered to them. They were inseparable growing up. Until their junior year of high school, when Liam’s father died. Sophia’s father had embezzled company funds, cutting corners on a major project. A half-finished building collapsed, and Liam’s father was buried in the rubble. Liam’s mother had passed away years earlier, so he was raised by his dad and grandmother. With the family’s pillar gone, his grandmother suffered a heart attack and barely survived. Under a Reddit thread titled, “What’s it like to be deeply in love with someone you can’t be with?” I found Liam’s anonymous post. He had documented that dark time, date by date. [June 5th: She came to our door today, crying, trying to apologize. Grandma hit her with her cane and drove her away. It hurt to watch. I want to hate her. But the moment I see her, I can’t. She’s suffering too. June 21st: She came back. The stress made Grandma sick again, her condition got worse. I had to be cruel. I told her to never come back. She cried. Seeing her cry broke my heart. So this is what love feels like.] After that, there was a gap of many years. Then, a few winters later, I saw a new entry. [December 6th: It’s been years since I last saw her. Grandma and I have a normal life now. I’ve fallen for someone. A girl at the hospital. She’s so good, so gentle and kind. It’s the first time I understood what people meant by an angel in scrubs. I haven’t even won her over yet, but I can already picture our life together, and the thought of it fills me with a quiet happiness. It feels so good. I’m finally moving on.] For a long, long time, there was nothing else. Until a few days ago, when he edited the post one last time. He added two lines: [She’s back. And I realized I still love her.]

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After I Woke Up in a Novel, I Discovered I Had the Same Name as the Heroine It was a safe assumption, I thought, that I was the heroine. So, leaning on the impenetrable shield of plot armor, I found the male lead back when he was still broke and living in a shithole apartment, and I completely forced myself on him. Even when he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me, I thought it was just part of the game. It wasn’t until the real heroine showed up that I realized he wasn’t playing. He really, truly hated me. Heartbroken, I packed my bags to run for my life. The next second, he had me pinned against the wall. “Running so soon?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?” 1 The bed in the cramped studio apartment was never meant for two people. It forced me to sleep pressed right up against Caleb, which, secretly, I loved. It was the perfect excuse to feel the hard lines of his muscles under my hands, to tuck myself into the curve of his body. There was, however, one drawback. The cheap wooden frame was old, and any significant movement would make it groan and squeak in protest. Like right now. My vision was blurred with tears as he held me tight against him, the sound of the squeaking bed and his ragged breaths filling my ears. Sweat plastered the dark hair to his forehead, and his black, fathomless eyes were locked on mine. With the slightest shift, a drop of sweat would fall from his temple to my neck, and he would follow it with his lips, kissing it away. It should have been a tender gesture. But right now, I was so exhausted I just wanted to curse him out. Wasn’t the male lead in the book supposed to be gentle?! Where the hell did Caleb get this kind of raw, relentless strength? It’s been two years since I woke up in this romance novel, a story about a beloved small-town girl and the man who builds an empire for her. The good news was, my name was the same as the heroine’s. According to the unwritten laws of transmigrating into novels, that had to mean I was her. In the book, the male lead starts from nothing, creates a business empire, and falls for the heroine at first sight. When I arrived, they weren’t supposed to have met yet. This version of Caleb was still just a broke kid working construction. But I didn’t want to wait. It was supposed to be love at first sight anyway, right? So I found Caleb’s rundown apartment and launched a full-blown, relentless campaign of seduction. Bolstered by my supposed status as the cherished female lead, I was demanding and difficult, making him cater to my every whim. I even convinced myself that when I’d first pushed him down onto this very bed and he’d looked at me, eyes red with something I couldn’t decipher, and told me he hated me… it was just foreplay. And now, two years later, I had successfully worn him down. We were living together. My mind was drifting when a sharp sting on my lip pulled me back. Caleb was watching me, his expression laced with displeasure. “What are you thinking about?” Before I could answer, a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face, followed by a cold sneer. “Oh, right. The milk. That explains why you’re burning up. You put something in it again, didn’t you?” “Ava,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s been two years. Is this still the only trick you know?” I couldn’t argue. He was right. Back when he didn’t fall for me at first sight—when he was, in fact, cold to the point of cruelty—I had resorted to desperation. I’d slipped something into his drink. It was the only way I finally got him into my bed. But arguing about it now was pointless. I gave his calf a weak kick. “How much longer? I’m so tired.” I don’t know how much time passed, but through a drowsy haze, I felt myself being lifted, carried to the tiny bathroom, washed gently, and then placed softly back in bed. Yawning, I mumbled an explanation. “I didn’t put anything in the milk.” Caleb’s movements stilled. He raised an eyebrow. “Then why do I feel so hot?” I thought about it for a second. “Well… it was hot milk.” Caleb just stared at me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, calling his bluff without a shred of mercy. “Just admit you like me in this silk slip.” “But you ripped it the very first time I wore it,” I pouted. “That was real silk, you know. It’s totally in style right now.” He turned his head away, avoiding my gaze, but not before I saw the tips of his ears turn a suspicious shade of red. “Who… who said I liked you in a slip?” Too tired to argue, I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me under. After a long moment, I felt him shift, adjusting his body so I could rest more comfortably in his arms. “Fine,” he whispered into the darkness. “I’ll buy you a new one.” 2 Caleb worked construction during the day, which left me with nothing to do. I eventually found a boring bookkeeping job in a warehouse office to kill time. The pay was terrible, but it wasn’t demanding, and I could chat with the other girls. During a lull, one of them, Sarah, leaned over her desk. “Ava, you’re still with your boyfriend?” I nodded. “Yep.” Her face scrunched up in pity. “A girl as pretty as you… why are you wasting your time on a construction worker? You could find someone with so much more money.” I just shook my head. “He’s a good person. We’re happy.” Aside from Caleb’s infuriating habit of saying the opposite of what he meant, everything really was good. The day dragged on until evening. I was buried in a mountain of ledgers, pretending to work while waiting for the clock to hit five, when our manager walked in with a new girl. “Everyone,” he announced with a wide grin, “I’d like you to meet our new colleague, Eva. She’ll be starting with us tomorrow.” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. “…What’s her name?” “Eva,” the girl said, her voice bright. “E-V-A.” Her eyes sparkled, and she had this magnetic warmth that made you want to be near her. She instantly charmed everyone, blending in with the group as if she’d always been there. The rest of the office staff crowded around her, welcoming her enthusiastically. Watching my usually grumpy manager and my cynical colleagues suddenly turn so warm and friendly, a cold, dawning horror crept over me. This was the “beloved” female lead. Eva looked over at me, her smile genuine and kind. “Hi there! What’s your name?” I forced a laugh that sounded like a strangled cough. “Ha, Ava. A-V-A.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, our names sound so much alike! What a coincidence.” Yeah. A real coincidence. Especially since, up until thirty seconds ago, I thought I was you. 3 I was screwed. It was all over. I stumbled home from work in a daze, my mind a chaotic mess. Once inside the apartment, I started pacing, waiting anxiously for Caleb to get back. I’d listened to the book on audio, so I never knew how the heroine’s name was spelled. I’d just heard the sound and assumed. Who could have imagined my name was just a homophone of the real heroine’s? I thought I’d finally gotten to be the main character, only to find out I was just some random, insignificant side character. And what had I done for the past two years? Wielding my nonexistent plot armor, I’d made the male lead serve me hand and foot. I’d created a list of ridiculous rules for him: a good morning kiss was required upon waking, a goodbye kiss before he left for work. I’d forced him to call me all sorts of embarrassing pet names—baby, darling, sweetheart. I wasn’t just a side character. I had actively written myself into the role of the villain. So when Caleb had looked at me with those red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me… …it was because he really, truly hated me. And what happens to the villain in these stories? I didn’t dare to think about it. All I knew was that when the male lead finally rose to power, the first person he would crush would be me. 4 Click. The lock on the door turned. Caleb walked in, shrugging off his dusty work jacket. He was wearing a plain black tank top underneath. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a strong, solid back. The muscles in his arms were lean and powerful. He caught me staring, and his dark eyes met mine. I looked at the coiled strength in his body and had a terrifying thought: I probably didn’t have to wait for him to get rich to get his revenge. With his physique, he could probably take out ten of me with a single punch. The next second, the fresh scent of soap mixed with something purely masculine washed over me. Caleb stopped right in front of me, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he leaned down to kiss me. It was too deep, too hard. I was too stunned to react. His other hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, and just as he tried to deepen the kiss, my brain finally rebooted. I shoved him away, scrambling back to put some distance between us. The charged atmosphere evaporated instantly. Caleb slowly lifted his head, his voice still rough with desire. “What are you hiding for? You’re the one who told me we have to kiss the second I get home.” His tone shifted, becoming a low, coaxing murmur. “Come here. We’re not finished.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “Let’s… let’s not kiss today,” I stammered. He noticed my resistance, and his voice went cold. “Not kiss?” He let out a harsh laugh. “So you get to kiss me whenever you want, and push me away when you don’t? Am I a dog you’re training, Ava?” I scrambled for an excuse. “I have a canker sore, so we shouldn’t—” Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his fingers gripping my chin. His thumb pressed against my lips, forcing my mouth open. “Where? Let me see.” I never expected him to call my bluff like that. I jerked my head away. His hand froze in mid-air. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by an icy fury. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. You’ve learned how to lie to me now, too. Good for you, Ava. That’s just great.” The book described him as a gentle, devoted husband. But looking into his eyes, simmering with rage, I finally understood. His gentleness was always reserved for the real heroine. And I was just an imposter who had stolen her place. 5 I’ve always been two things: selfish and a coward. From the moment I was inexplicably dropped into this book, my only goal has been survival. So, when I realized the male lead would probably want to destroy me, my first instinct was to run. If I could run fast enough, hide somewhere he could never find me, maybe he’d forget all about revenge once he finally met the real heroine. I immediately started planning my escape. “What are you spacing out for? Come and eat.” Caleb’s anger hadn’t subsided. His face was a thundercloud as he served a simple dinner of three dishes and a soup. Say what you will about him, but the man could cook. My stomach rumbled traitorously. I swallowed and crept over to the table. Normally, I would have directed him to pick out the best pieces of food for me, to blow on my rice until it was cool enough to eat. But tonight, I didn’t dare act up. I just meekly picked up my chopsticks and started eating, silently cursing my past self for being such a brat. As we ate, I could feel the atmospheric pressure in the room dropping even lower. Huh? Why did he seem even angrier now? I thought about it for a frantic second and decided to try and leave a good impression before I disappeared forever. I sidled up next to him and poked his arm. Poke, poke. “Dinner was delicious! Thank you for making it.” He ignored me. I kept poking. “I shouldn’t have lied to you earlier. Please don’t be mad, okay?” God, how the tables have turned. He used to be the one coaxing me. I’d never been this subservient in my life. The icy tension in the room finally thawed a little. The hard line of his jaw relaxed, and he glanced down at me. “Why are you being so obedient all of a sudden?” he asked, his voice suspicious. “Alright, what is it you want to buy this time?” What?! Was that really how he saw me? As some materialistic leech? I thought, defeated: Forget trying to redeem myself. Just run. 6 Caleb eventually calmed down. His good mood made him much more agreeable. He even consented when I told him I just wanted to sleep, no funny business. The next morning, he gave me my mandatory good morning kiss and made breakfast, just like always. The second the door closed behind him, I leaped out of bed and started putting my escape plan into action. Even though I’d been in this world for two years, I had never really left Caleb’s side. I didn’t know anywhere else. I had to call a friend I trusted for advice. The cell phone from this era was clunky, with limited functions, and incredibly expensive. Caleb had saved for a long time to buy it for me. With my friend’s suggestions, I quickly picked a destination and started packing. There wasn’t much to take—just a few changes of clothes and enough cash for a bus ticket. The most valuable thing I owned was the phone. I could probably get a good amount of money if I sold it. I thought about it, then placed it on the most conspicuous spot on the table, with a short goodbye note tucked underneath. And just like that, I said farewell to the apartment I’d lived in for two years. It all happened so fast; it wasn’t even noon yet. Our building opened onto a dilapidated back alley. To avoid being seen, I decided to leave through the rear exit instead of the main street. The alley twisted and turned. I walked faster and faster, trying to catch the earliest bus out of the city. The doors of the houses were all shut tight. The lane was silent and desolate. The thought of my successful escape, of saving my own skin, put a spring in my step. I rounded another corner. And then I looked up, my cheerful mood evaporating. Leaning casually against the wall was Caleb, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He was tall and imposing, even when he was just standing there. He looked up calmly, smoke blurring the sharp lines of his face, and his cold gaze landed on me. I had no idea how long he’d been waiting. 7 Before I could even process what was happening, a figure darted out from behind Caleb. “See, Caleb? I told you! She was just going to take your money and run!” I looked closer. It was the “friend” I had called for advice just this morning. My vision went black for a second. “That’s not true! I didn’t!” I tried to defend myself. She wasn’t listening, just piling on the accusations. “I warned you, Caleb! Ava just uses her pretty face. Did you really think she would settle down and build a life with you?” “She’s the type to just take your money and leave!” she spat, reaching out to grab my bag. Even though I was running away, I hadn’t stolen any money! My guilt warred with my indignation as I clutched the bag to my chest. “I didn’t take any money! You have no proof, you’re just slandering me!” “Then open your bag and let us check!” “Shut up,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously low. My heart sank. He wasn’t even going to let me explain. My friend looked at me triumphantly. “You heard him. Open the bag.” “I was talking to you,” Caleb clarified, his voice dropping another ten degrees. “Caleb?” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze, sharp and dismissive, fell on my so-called friend. “You can go now.” She was furious. “Caleb, I’m trying to help you! Don’t be an ungrateful idiot!” She wanted to say more, but one look at the thunderous expression on Caleb’s face sent her scurrying away. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the alley. My mind was still reeling from the accusation. I had to clear my name. “Caleb, I swear I didn’t steal your money. You know me better than that, right? You can check if you don’t believe me—” “Why were you running?” he cut me off, his voice like ice. “…What?” He didn’t even glance at my bag. He just backed me up against the grimy brick wall, his presence overwhelming, and asked again. “Why were you running?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with something I couldn’t identify. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?”

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Ten years of marriage ended with a divorce agreement sliding across a polished mahogany desk. “You’ve been a homemaker for a decade, Grace. You’ve contributed nothing to the company.” My husband, Ethan, tapped a manicured finger next to the signature line. “According to the prenup, you leave with nothing.” He paused, letting the weight of the word settle in the cavernous office. “Out of respect for what we had, I’m giving you this.” He pushed a check toward me. “One hundred thousand dollars. Consider it ten grand for each year of your youth you wasted.” His eyes, the same ones that used to look at me with something like love, were now cold, flat stones. “Don’t even think about coming after the company. Not a single penny.” I, a woman who had already lived and died once, simply smiled and signed my name. It wasn’t until the next day, with that check in my hand, that I made my move. I took the hundred thousand dollars and walked into the headquarters of his greatest rival. The man across from me, Cade Ryder, watched me with an almost predatory amusement. “And why should I help you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. I leaned forward, my voice barely a whisper. “Because I know every major decision his company will make for the next decade. And because I know about the son he’s been hiding overseas.” 1 “Sign it, Grace.” Ethan’s fingers drummed a bored rhythm on the tabletop. The divorce papers sat between us, a stark white tombstone for our marriage. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, the lights of the New York skyline glittered like a cold, distant galaxy. My own world had shrunk to a single point of light: the unnervingly bare skin on his ring finger. He’d taken off his wedding band long before he’d decided to tell me. “A hundred thousand dollars,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I met his gaze. “That’s all ten years are worth to you?” A humorless smirk twisted his lips. He loosened the top button of his custom-tailored suit, a gesture of casual, arrogant dismissal. “What, you think you’re worth more? A woman who can’t even boil water without setting off the smoke alarm?” The contempt in his voice was a perfect echo of the one I’d heard in my past life. In that life, I had begged. I had cried. He’d had security drag me from the building. I ended up in a cheap rental, where a faulty gas heater ended my story quietly, pathetically, in my sleep. This time, I just wanted to watch him burn. I picked up the pen and signed my name with a flourish. “Grace.” Ethan’s brow furrowed as he looked at my signature. My compliance seemed to unnerve him more than any fight would have. I ignored him. I folded the check, slipped it into my purse, and turned to leave. “Remember this, Ethan,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “You’re the one who threw me away.” The door clicked shut behind me, followed by the satisfying shatter of a glass hitting the wall. Do you really think I’m the same fool I was before, Ethan? I thought, the sound of my heels sharp and decisive on the marble floor. Your surveillance, your little tests… I’m ready for all of it. The next day, I was on the top floor of Ryder Capital. This was the den of Ethan’s biggest rival, Cade Ryder. The receptionist looked at me like I was a lunatic who had wandered in off the street. I didn’t waste time. I gave her Cade’s name directly. “Tell him Ethan Sterling’s ex-wife is here,” I said. “And I’ve brought him a gift.” Five minutes later, I was looking at the man himself. He was lounging on a leather sofa, legs crossed, his eyes sharp as he assessed me, as if trying to calculate my market value. “Ethan Sterling’s ex-wife?” he said, his voice deep and resonant. I placed the hundred-thousand-dollar check on the coffee table between us. “My opening bid,” I said. His eyes glinted with amusement, like a cat toying with its prey. “And why should I help you?” I leaned forward, closing the distance between us, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “Because I know every major corporate decision he’ll make for the next ten years. And because I know about the illegitimate son he has stashed away overseas.” Cade’s pupils contracted. He sat up straight, the lazy posture vanishing, replaced by the coiled energy of a predator. “Go on.” I didn’t answer right away. For a second, the memory of my last life threatened to overwhelm me. After I died, my soul had lingered, weightless and invisible. I watched Ethan throw a lavish birthday party for his secret son. I watched him wrap his arm around another woman and call me the biggest mistake of his life. I watched him use the last of my family’s connections to absorb my parents’ company, bankrupting my brother and driving him to jump from his office building. The all-consuming hatred was a fire in my veins. It was the only thing keeping me going. Cade narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “Talk is cheap.” “Next week,” I said, giving him the first taste, “Ethan has a secret meeting with the CEO of Innovatech to discuss an acquisition. The deal will fall apart at the last minute over a data patent dispute.” I leaned back. “Is that enough to verify my value?” Cade’s fingertips tapped a silent rhythm on the arm of the sofa. He was thinking. Three days later, one of his people called me. “Ms. Sterling. You were right.” When we met again, his demeanor was entirely different. “Now,” he said, all business. “Let’s talk about the Southbridge property.” I laid out the entire plan for him. 2 “Ethan’s going to bid on the Southbridge property next week,” I explained. “His ceiling is three hundred million.” Cade raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?” “He’ll win the bid,” I continued. “But three months from now, a Native American burial ground will be discovered on the site. The project will be shut down indefinitely, and his three hundred million will be locked up.” I let that sink in. “And while his capital is tied up, you’ll execute a hostile takeover of his weakest asset: Horizon Logistics.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Interesting.” He opened a drawer and slid a debit card across the desk. “There’s half a million on this. Consider it your startup capital.” His eyes hardened. “But don’t think you can just take the money and run. Your life is my collateral now.” This was my chance, but it was also a test. I took the card and stood up. “A pleasure doing business with you.” Walking out of the Ryder Capital building, I felt the sun on my skin but no warmth. The road to revenge was just beginning. With Cade’s money, I rented a small apartment. I bought a brand-new laptop and deliberately used it to leak false information, feeding the digital breadcrumbs I knew Ethan would be following. I knew that in one week, Horizon Logistics would be hit with a scandal involving the transport of illegal materials, causing the stock to plummet. This knowledge, this information arbitrage from my past life, was the second part of my gift to Cade. Everything was going according to plan. I was practically counting down the seconds on a stopwatch. The minute before the scandal was set to break, I poured all my capital into shorting the stock. But the stock didn’t crash. Instead, a mysterious influx of cash forced it upward, turning my sure bet into a devastating loss. I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. Of course. You’re even more cunning than I remembered, Ethan. My phone rang. His name flashed on the screen. I took a deep breath and answered. “Grace,” he began, his voice dripping with condescending amusement. “Did you really think you could make a new life for yourself without me?” The line was quiet for a beat. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little schemes?” he purred. “I knew something was off with you the week before the divorce. Did you really think that new laptop of yours could hide from the monitoring software I had installed?” Every keystroke, every stock you researched, every search history item was sent directly to my email in real-time. That ‘scandal’ was bait I laid out just for you. And you took it.” A chill washed over me, but I kept my voice even. “I see.” The burning desire for revenge had made me careless, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. “And Cade Ryder,” Ethan continued, “you think he’s some knight in shining armor? He’s just using you, Grace. You’re a dog he’s siccing on me. When he gets bored, what do you think will happen to you?” I didn’t say a word. I just ended the call. The apartment was deathly quiet. I looked at the crimson numbers on my screen, a testament to my failure, yet my mind was clearer than ever. You think you’re in control, Ethan. But you don’t realize this is exactly what I wanted to happen. Just then, my phone rang again. It was the landlord, his voice sharp and angry. “Ms. Sterling, I’m afraid I can’t rent this apartment to you anymore. I need you to be out by the end of the day.” “What? Why? I signed a year-long lease.” “Mr. Sterling just purchased the entire building. He said he doesn’t want to see you here.” Ice spread through my veins. He was backing me into a corner, cutting off every possible escape. No money, no home. An outcast. My hand shaking, I made the one call I never wanted to make. “Ethan. My things are still at the house. I need to come get them.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Of course,” he said lightly. “Come back and beg me.” Half an hour later, I was standing at the front door of the house that was once my home. 3 The door was opened by Ethan’s new girl, a college student with a face as fresh as it was smug. She was wearing my silk robe. Her eyes raked over me with a mixture of pity and triumph. Ethan was on the sofa, sipping coffee as if it were any other morning. “You’re back,” he said, glancing up. “Came to your senses?” “Where are my things?” “Oh, that junk,” he said, gesturing with his coffee cup toward a few black trash bags piled by the door. “It’s all right there. Pick it up and get out.” I looked at the bags, filled with the discarded artifacts of my ten-year life, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The college girl giggled, draping herself over Ethan’s shoulders. “Oh, Ethan, she’s so pathetic. Like a little stray dog you kicked out.” Ethan squeezed her cheek, his eyes full of doting affection. “You’re right, baby.” He stood up and walked over to me, looking down his nose. “Grace, get on your knees and beg me right now. If I’m in a good mood, maybe I’ll give you another chance.” The household staff stood with their heads bowed, but I could hear their suppressed snickers, each one a needle prick against my skin. My dignity was being ground into dust under his expensive shoes. I didn’t kneel. I just looked at him, my expression unreadable, and said each word slowly. “Ethan, you are going to regret this.” He laughed as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “I’m waiting.” I bent down and began silently gathering the trash bags. Inside was the scarf I had knitted for him, the shattered frame from our first photo together. I packed them all, my movements methodical, and dragged them out of that house, a place that now felt toxic. Their mocking laughter followed me out the door. I dragged the heavy bags down the street with no destination in mind. Dusk was falling, city lights blinking on one by one, but none of them were for me. My phone buzzed. A text from Cade Ryder. Get to my office. Now. I took a cab to Ryder Capital. The lights in Cade’s office were still on. He tossed a file onto the desk in front of me. “Explain this.” It was the trade record from my failed attempt to short the stock. A loss of over three hundred thousand dollars. “Ethan knew beforehand,” I said, my voice low. “And this is your ‘value’?” Cade’s tone was glacial. “Your information was wrong. Your execution failed. My patience is limited, Grace.” The emotions I’d been suppressing all day threatened to erupt. But I held them back. I lifted my chin and met his gaze directly. “Give me one more chance.” “Why should I?” “Because I want to see Ethan Sterling destroyed even more than you do.” The look in my eyes must have been terrifying, because he stared at me for a long moment. “The Southbridge auction is in three days,” he said finally. “This is your last shot.” His voice dropped, lethal and low. “If you fail again, you know the consequences.” I walked out of Ryder Capital drenched in a cold sweat. I had no way out. I had to win. For the next two days, I locked myself in a cheap motel room, obsessively replaying every detail I could remember about the Southbridge project from my past life. How did Ethan know what I was going to do? Where was the leak? I went over everything, again and again, searching for any inconsistency. Then, the night before the auction, I remembered someone. Ethan’s executive assistant, Linda. In my previous life, after Ethan’s empire fell, Linda was imprisoned for embezzlement. It was she who told the police about many of Ethan’s darkest secrets. Including the fact that she had been the one helping him monitor all of my communications from the very beginning. Of course. My phone. My computer. They had always been under his watch. 4 He was playing God, watching from on high as I, his little clown, performed my clumsy tricks for his amusement. A deep, visceral chill started in my feet and spread through my entire body. He didn’t just want to humiliate me; he wanted to control me completely. He wanted me to understand that I could never, ever escape his grasp. I threw away my phone and laptop. I went to a payphone and called Cade. “The plan is the same,” I told him. “Just have your people there on time.” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” I hung up and stared out at the dark city. The game of cat and mouse is over, Ethan. Now, the real hunt begins.

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The bonus announcement. The guy at the desk next to me was about to have a coronary. “A quarter-million!” What I got was a single, gleaming number: Zero. I didn’t scream. I didn’t rage. I just quietly packed up my desk. I went home, locked the door, and tossed my phone in a drawer. I slept like the dead. The next morning, I turned it on. The sound was a physical assault. 129 missed calls. 289 text messages. The one pinned to the top was from HR. It read: The entire company is looking for you. 1 The number that broke the office was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Greg Peterson’s shriek of joy was sharp enough to shatter glass. “Two-fifty! A cool quarter-mil!” He held the thin paper check above his head like an Olympic medal, his face a mess of triumphant wrinkles. The rest of the office swarmed him instantly, a cloud of flies drawn to the scent of money. The air thickened with a cloying web of envy and praise. “Greg, you’re the man!” “That’s a new Porsche right there.” “Drinks are on you tonight, buddy!” My cubicle, just a few feet away, was an island of silence, forgotten by the tidal wave of noise. The air around me felt cold enough to crystallize. In my hand, I held a check cut from the same stock, addressed to me, Ava Mitchell. But in the amount line, printed in stark, round, mocking figures, was a single number: 0. Next to it, a single word: None. I was the lead on Project Horizon, an initiative that had single-handedly secured the company’s strategic dominance for the next three years. Its projected profits ran into nine figures. And my reward, my year-end bonus, was nothing. The gazes that drifted my way were a toxic cocktail of pity, morbid curiosity, and thinly veiled glee. They were waiting for the show. They wanted tears, or screams, or a furious, desk-clearing rampage. They got none of it. I didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Expressionless, I folded the light, impossibly heavy piece of paper in half, then in half again, and slid it into the deepest recess of my handbag. Then, I picked up my water glass and walked toward the break room. My spine was straight. The sound of my heels on the polished concrete floor was a steady, deliberate rhythm. Not a tremor. The break room door muffled the celebration, but snippets of conversation still bled through. I heard Chloe’s voice, low and tight with a fury that was close to tears. “It’s obscene! Everyone knows Ava’s Project Horizon was the biggest win of the year! Greg Peterson is a bootlicking moron, how does he get a quarter-million? Is there any justice in this place?” Chloe. The only real friend I had here. A fresh-faced graduate who still believed hard work was its own reward. Another voice hushed her. “Keep it down! Are you trying to get fired? This came from Marcus, obviously. Ava must have pissed him off.” I filled my glass and walked out, my eyes meeting Chloe’s. They were red and swollen. She looked away, guilty, like a child caught doing something wrong. Her lips parted, but no words came out. I walked over and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up, surprised to see the ghost of a smile on my face. It was a smile that never reached my eyes, a thin, cold line drawn across my lips. My gaze told her everything she needed to know: Don’t worry. I know. This is just the beginning. Back at my desk, I began to pack. My movements were calm and methodical, like a ritual. Files were archived, data encrypted, personal items placed one by one into a cardboard box. The office had grown quiet. The only sound was the soft rustle of my packing. Greg, apparently annoyed that my silent dignity was dampening his moment, sauntered over, his face a smug mask of counterfeit sympathy. “Hey, Ava,” he sighed, the glee barely concealed in his eyes. “Tough break, huh? Look, the market’s tight, company’s under pressure… someone had to take one for the team. Don’t take it personally. Just work harder next year.” I paused. Slowly, I lifted my head and met his gaze. My eyes were still. Still as a deep, frozen lake. There was no anger, no sorrow. Just a pure, unvarnished coldness that seemed to suck the air out of the space between us. He flinched. The fake smile on his face froze and then crumbled. I said nothing. I just held his gaze until he squirmed, muttered something, and shuffled away. I packed the last file and shut down my computer. The screen went dark, reflecting my own placid, unreadable face. Carrying my box, I was the last to leave the main floor. Behind me, I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes, could hear the first whispers bloom in the silence. I didn’t look back. I was walking out of this office and into a storm. But first, I needed to sleep. 2 I didn’t turn on the lights when I got home. The apartment was a patchwork of shadow and neon glow from the city outside, so quiet I could hear the dust settle. I left the cardboard box—the container of my professional dignity—by the door and took out my phone. Without hesitating, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk, the one that was stiff with disuse, and tossed the phone inside. I shut it with a definitive click, sealing away a world of noise and poison. A scalding hot shower steamed up the bathroom until my reflection in the mirror was a blurry ghost. I let the water cascade over me, as if it could wash away the grime of the corporate world, the stain of public humiliation, the sting of being betrayed by the director I’d trusted. Emotion is the most useless currency in the world, especially when you’re already at the poker table. I dried off, went to the kitchen, and made myself a simple bowl of broth with a handful of noodles. No meat, no eggs, just a few greens and a pinch of salt. I sat in the dark living room and ate every last bite in silence. The warmth settled in my stomach, and the fog in my mind began to clear. I felt no anger. Only a crystalline, ice-cold clarity. A zero-dollar bonus wasn’t an oversight. It was a declaration of war from Marcus Cole, my smiling viper of a boss. It was a calculated act of humiliation, designed to drive me out. Why? Project Horizon. The project I had built from scratch. It had an immense technological barrier to entry and a limitless market, making it the company’s lifeblood for the foreseeable future. Whose slice of the pie had it threatened? Or rather, who had decided to claim it as their own? Marcus was a corporate parasite who had climbed the ladder on nepotism and back-room deals. He didn’t have the technical skill to touch my work, but he had the greed. Greg Peterson, the fool who got the quarter-million, was just a pawn. A loud, obnoxious piece of bait meant to make me angry, to make me lash out and give them a reason to fire me for cause. There was a bigger game being played. And I, Ava Mitchell, was the obstacle that had to be removed. They wanted me gone because I knew Horizon too well. I knew every line of code, every hidden backdoor. They were afraid of me. So, the plan was simple: humiliate me with the zero-dollar bonus. Provoke me. Hope I’d cause a scene, allowing them to fire me for “disrupting the workplace.” If I didn’t, they still won—an employee they’d labeled as worthless could be discarded at any time. It was a brilliant plan. Except they made one critical miscalculation. I, Ava Mitchell, have never been one for shouting matches. I believe that actions are the only language that matters. And results are the only form of justice. Before bed, I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the sprawling galaxy of lights below. Every light was a story, perhaps a soul like mine, fighting to survive in the corporate jungle. But tonight, I wouldn’t be one of them. I would be the storm. I slipped into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. My body and mind needed a complete reset, a full charge for the battle that was coming. In my subconscious, lines of code, encrypted files, and the two-faced smiles of my colleagues flashed and sorted themselves, analyzed and filed away. The next morning, the first ray of sunlight cut through a gap in the curtains and landed precisely on my face. I opened my eyes, stretched, and felt a surge of power course through me. It was the exhilarating calm of a soldier heading into a war she knew she was going to win. I got up and pulled open the dusty drawer. The moment I picked up my phone and pressed the power button, I knew. The show was about to begin. 3 The moment the screen lit up, the world came rushing in. BZZZZZZZZT. The vibration was a physical assault, a relentless, high-pitched scream that threatened to deafen me. On the screen, the red notification badges for missed calls and messages climbed at a dizzying speed. They finally stopped at a breathtaking combination: 129 missed calls. 289 text messages. I narrowed my eyes and swiped to unlock. The message pinned to the top was from the Head of HR, a woman whose communication was usually limited to corporate platitudes and layoff announcements. Her text was a thinly veiled command: [Ava, call me immediately. The entire company is looking for you.] The entire company? A cold smile touched my lips. Yesterday, I was the invisible woman, the disposable employee they could humiliate and discard. Overnight, I’d become the most wanted person at OmniCorp? Their reaction was faster, more explosive than I could have hoped. I scrolled through the messages. A third of them were from Chloe. [Ava, are you okay? Just text me back!] [Please don’t do anything crazy! That place isn’t worth it!] [SOMETHING IS WRONG! It’s Project Horizon! CALL ME! NOW!!] Her panic escalated with every message. Greg Peterson’s texts were an interesting progression as well. [Ava, don’t take the bonus thing to heart. Marcus had his reasons.] [Where are you? Get back to the office ASAP! It’s an emergency!] [Ava, where the HELL are you?! Get your ass back here!] From phony sympathy to frantic anxiety, and finally, to pure, unfiltered rage. He seemed terrified that I had vanished. But the most telling communications were from Marcus Cole himself. He had called over twenty times from his personal cell. His texts were a masterclass in manipulation. [Ava, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the time for drama. The company needs you.] [Return to the office immediately. That’s an order.] [If you do not show up, there will be consequences.] Threats, bribes, empty promises—he was running through his entire playbook. Too bad for him, I was no longer a piece on his board. I rose from the desk, ignoring the urge to call anyone back. I walked to the bathroom, went through my morning routine, and even put on a hydrating face mask. Then, I opened my closet to select my armor for the day. I chose a tailored black suit, a silk shell, and a pair of four-inch stiletto heels. I didn’t look like a disgraced employee. I looked like a queen about to stage a corporate takeover. I brewed the strongest black coffee I could, no cream, no sugar. The bitter liquid sharpened my focus. I opened my laptop, connected to my private network, and began scanning OmniCorp’s internal servers and the latest industry news. I knew that every minute I delayed, their panic would multiply tenfold. The power had shifted. The moment I’d turned off my phone, the roles in their little hunting game had been reversed. I, Ava Mitchell, was no longer the prey. I was the hunter. 4 Halfway through my coffee, I called Chloe. She answered on the first ring. “Ava! Oh my god, you finally answered!” Her voice was thick with tears, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You scared me to death! I thought you…” “I’m fine,” I cut her off, my voice perfectly level. “Tell me what’s happening. The facts.” My calmness seemed to ground her. She took a shaky breath. “It’s Horizon… the source code for Project Horizon. It’s been stolen.” My pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. There it is. Just as I predicted. Project Horizon. My masterpiece, the pinnacle of my career, and the most powerful landmine I’d ever planted. Chloe’s voice was breaking as she continued. “Last night… right after the bonus meeting, security detected a remote breach. All of Horizon’s core code was copied and extracted. And the backups… they were all wiped out by some kind of custom virus. There’s nothing left, Ava!” “The whole company is in chaos. The tech department is losing its mind. I heard our stock is already plummeting in pre-market trading!” She choked back a sob. “And Marcus… in the emergency meeting, he said your name. He said you did it out of revenge. He’s already called the police. He’s naming you as the prime suspect in a major corporate espionage case.” Listening to her, I felt a cold, sharp laugh rise in my chest. What a beautifully vicious move. Frame me for revenge by withholding my bonus, creating the perfect motive. Then, when the code goes missing, I, the one person with both motive and means, become the perfect scapegoat. He wasn’t just trying to fire me. He was trying to bury me. “Don’t panic,” I told Chloe, my voice steady. “Give me more details. What was the exact time of the breach? What did security’s initial report say? What’s the executive response?” “The breach was around 10 p.m. last night. Security said it was a top-tier hacker, clean work, almost no trace. The board is furious. Mr. Sterling flew back from Europe overnight. He’s in the emergency meeting right now.” Mr. Sterling? Arthur Sterling, one of the company’s founders. A brilliant, old-school engineer with actual vision. His presence changed the equation. Chloe added one more thing. “And Ava… last night… I saw Greg Peterson. He was still at his desk when I left, acting really weird. This morning he looks like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, the whole nine yards.” I hung up, my fingers already flying across the keyboard. I bypassed the standard network protocols and used a private security tunnel I’d built years ago, slipping into the company’s backend server logs undetected. The records here were far more complete than anything the security team could see. And there it was. Buried deep in the log files were several entries that had been deliberately overwritten and deleted. I spent a few minutes reconstructing the fragmented data. An unfamiliar IP address had logged in for a brief period at 10:07 p.m. last night. But the pattern of the IP… I knew it instantly. It wasn’t an external hacker. It was an internal, temporary network port, one set up to facilitate data transfers with specific third-party vendors. Fewer than five people had access to that port. And one of them was Marcus Cole. The final pieces clicked into place. This wasn’t a hack. It was an inside job, a carefully staged heist. And I was the sacrifice they planned to offer up. I shut my laptop and stood, looking at my reflection in the dark screen. Sharp eyes, immaculate makeup, a warrior’s calm. It was time. Time to go meet my executioners.

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My online relationship crashed and burned the second we met in real life. I completely lost it, screaming at him on the university athletic fields: “You look nothing like your picture! How could you use it? Huh?!” “I’m going to report you for fraud! I’m going to the dean, to your parents!” He was panicking, pleading with me. “Look, I’m sorry, I messed up! What if I get you a boyfriend to make up for it? Okay?” With that, he made a frantic, begging phone call, and managed to summon an incredibly handsome guy to the field. “That’s him,” the catfish said. “I used his picture to talk to you.” “He’s my uncle. You can hold him responsible!” “And don’t let the ‘uncle’ title fool you. He’s… well, he’s big in other ways, too.” Me: Do you even hear yourself right now? 1 Nine o’clock at night. The university athletic fields. My online relationship had just imploded, and I was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, screaming at the guy who’d caused it. In a corner of the massive field, a crowd was starting to gather. Frisbees stopped flying. Joggers slowed to a walk. Couples paused their dates. They were all just spectators now, their eyes gleaming with the hungry, excited curiosity that only other people’s drama can inspire. I pointed at the guy in front of me—tall, built, with a sun-tanned complexion—my eyes practically shooting flames. “Do you look anything like your picture? Huh?!!” “Do you have any shame? How could you just use it?” “You tricked me into buying you in-game currency, getting you those special edition skins! Have you even calculated how much of my money you’ve spent?” “That money wasn’t for you! It was for the person in the photo! You’re going to give every last cent back to me!” “You’re catfishing me online while you have a real-life girlfriend on the side!” “Holding hands, going for a romantic little walk! Real sweet! Were you using my money to pay for your dates with her?” “If I hadn’t discovered your true colors tonight, how much longer were you planning on lying to me?” I was spitting fire. A long, vicious tirade that was somehow more scathing than any string of curse words I could have used. The guy I was verbally tearing to shreds turned pale. Facing the growing audience, he was clearly humiliated. He tried to reason with me, his voice low and placating. “Can we please go somewhere quiet to talk about this?” he pleaded. “Come on, I’m begging you.” I refused flatly. “No. We’re talking about it right here!” The girl standing next to him, who had been silent until now, finally snapped. She swung her hand and slapped him hard across the face, the sound sharp and clear. Tears of anger streamed down her cheeks. “Ethan, you’re a scumbag!” she cried. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you!” Ethan scrambled to explain, “No, wait, just listen to me—” She cut him off with a swift kick to his shin before turning and shoving her way through the crowd of onlookers, disappearing into the night. He instinctively moved to chase after her. I immediately grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him back. “Don’t even think about running,” I snarled. “You and I aren’t done here.” “I’m telling you,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “I don’t care if you have to get plastic surgery to do it, you are going to look exactly like that picture. You are going to give me my boyfriend back.” 2 It started two months ago, in a fantasy RPG. I saw a post from a guy looking for a partner to run a couples-only raid. I wasn’t interested—until he updated his profile picture. The guy in the photo was… breathtaking. Suddenly, I was very interested. So were half a dozen other girls. He had this sharp jawline, thoughtful eyes, and a mess of dark hair that fell perfectly over his forehead. He looked like the sensitive, artistic type who’d write poetry about you. I did what any sane, rational woman would do: I immediately outbid everyone else, showering his character with rare gifts and gear. I secured my spot. Then came the cautious DMs. “Is that picture really you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “No offense, but it seems a little too good to be true.” “Promise,” he wrote back instantly. “One hundred percent me.” “Prove it,” I challenged. A minute later, a short video clip appeared. It was him, the guy from the photo, wearing a tank top and laughing as he wrestled with a golden retriever puppy in what looked like a sunny living room. It was shaky, candid, and utterly convincing. I was completely sold. As we played and chatted more, a story emerged. He was a struggling student, his parents weren’t supportive, and his monthly budget was a meager two hundred dollars. My heart ached for him. With a generous allowance, I felt a wave of protective pity. His in-game gear was basic, so I upgraded it. I sent him gift cards for game currency. He started calling me “babe,” and each time, a stupid, giddy blush would creep up my neck. The truth was, I’d had a massive crush on the guy in the picture back in high school. We were never friends, barely even acquaintances, but I’d watched him from afar for years. Finding him here, in this digital world, felt like fate. After a few weeks of this intense online connection, I tentatively typed out the words: “Would you… ever consider being my boyfriend? For real?” There was a long pause on his end. Then, a reply. “Uh, I mean… a virtual one could work.” It was enough for me. We were officially an item. But a month into our “relationship,” I wanted more. I wanted to meet him, to see if the spark was real. Every time I brought it up, he’d dodge. He was busy with a project. He had a family thing. He wasn’t feeling well. Then came Valentine’s Day. I decided to force the issue. “I bought you a gift,” I texted. “It needs to be signed for in person. Where are you?” He sent me a pin to the university’s main quad. I drove over, gift box on the passenger seat, my heart doing a drum solo against my ribs. I parked and called him, pretending to be a delivery driver. “Hi, I’ve got a package for ‘LoneWolf.’ Can you tell me where you are and what you’re wearing?” “Gray t-shirt,” his voice said through the phone. “I’m by the main stage.” And then I saw him. Ethan. He was walking hand-in-hand with that cute brunette, phone pressed to his ear. He looked right past me and spoke into the receiver, “Hello? Yeah, I’m at the stage. Where are you?” His voice. The one from my phone was the same one coming from his mouth. My world tilted. The shock was a physical blow, a punch to the gut that left me breathless. For a few seconds, my brain was just white noise. When I finally came back to myself, I walked straight up to him. My own voice was low, laced with fury. “LoneWolf?” Hearing his gamer tag, Ethan froze. His eyes widened as they landed on me, a flicker of horrified recognition dawning on his face. “You’re… you’re Luna? Ava?!” I didn’t answer. I just took the beautifully wrapped box—a limited edition watch I’d spent a week picking out—and threw it at his chest. The box burst open, and the watch clattered to the pavement. A perfect metaphor for my shattered fantasy. “YOU!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “YOU LOOK NOTHING LIKE YOUR PICTURE!” 3 “Scumbag!” Chants of it started rippling through the crowd. Cornered, with my hand still fisted in his shirt, Ethan was sweating bullets. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I messed up,” he stammered, his eyes darting around at the faces watching us. “It was a stupid joke that went way too far. I never meant to hurt you. Can you just please, calm down?” He gestured helplessly. “There’s no way I can look like him. It’s impossible.” “Then give me my money back,” I retorted, but the anger was starting to curdle into something else. The thought of all those late-night conversations, all those shared secrets, all of them with him… it made me want to cry. “I’m calling the campus police,” I declared, my voice trembling. “I’m reporting you for fraud. I’ll go to the dean. I’ll call your parents!” The threat was hollow, but my vision was blurring with hot, frustrated tears. “You have to give him back. You have to give me the boy from the picture.” Seeing my eyes well up, Ethan panicked. “Whoa, hey, don’t cry! Please don’t cry! I’ll do anything!” He fumbled for his wallet. “Here, I’ll pay you back.” “I don’t want your money!” I wailed. “I want him!” A desperate kind of genius lit up his face. “Okay, okay! I’ll get him for you! I’ll trade you a boyfriend for your silence, I swear.” He whipped out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he made a call. His voice was a pathetic whine. “Please, you have to come to the athletic fields right now. It’s an emergency. A life-or-death situation. I’m begging you.” The crowd, sensing a new chapter was about to begin, leaned in collectively. No one was leaving now. Fifteen minutes later, a figure emerged from the darkness at the edge of the field, walking toward us. Even from a distance, there was something about his posture, his long-legged stride, that commanded attention. He wore a simple white hoodie and dark joggers, but he moved with an easy grace that made him stand out. Ethan, who had been wilting under my glare, suddenly inflated with renewed hope. “Over here! Here!” he yelled, waving his arms frantically. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. And then everyone saw him. One word: gorgeous. Two words: out of this world. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just come from the gym, and his facial structure was even more defined, more devastatingly handsome in person than in the photo. He swept a cool, appraising glance over Ethan, then me. I just stared, my hand slowly unclenching from Ethan’s shirt. Ethan scrambled over to him, dropping into a dramatic slide and hugging his legs. “Caleb! My dear, darling uncle, you came! You have to save me!” Uncle? A collective gasp went through the crowd. They looked about the same age. And the genetic lottery had clearly picked a favorite. Caleb kicked him off with an annoyed flick of his ankle. “What did you do now?” he asked, his tone flat. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact. Ethan scrambled to his feet, gesturing wildly. “For your own good! To help your love life! I used your picture to find you a girlfriend online. And look!” He pointed at me. “There she is! Isn’t she pretty? Aren’t you happy? You’re welcome!” He dragged Caleb the last few feet until he was standing directly in front of me. “This is him,” Ethan announced proudly. “The guy from the pictures. Better in person, right? See? Happy ending!” Then, sensing his window, he started backing away. Caleb shot him a look that could freeze fire. “He’s my uncle,” Ethan said quickly, his voice a stage whisper. “You can hold him responsible! And don’t let the ‘uncle’ thing fool you, he’s not old. I mean—” he stammered, “he’s got a big… heart. Yeah. A big heart! I’ll call you Auntie Ava from now on!” And with that, he turned and bolted, sprinting through the crowd like his life depended on it. Leaving me and Caleb standing there, face to face, in a circle of stunned silence. Caleb’s gaze was intense. He stared at me for a few seconds, a small frown line appearing between his perfect eyebrows. “So,” he said, his voice a low, calm rumble. “How long have we been ‘dating’?”

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Ten years ago, my twin sister, Lily, helped me get a date with the boy I was in love with. Then she started dating him herself. Later, when she was dying of acute leukemia, I was her only perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. The day the final test results came in, I calmly signed the official form to decline the donation. My mother collapsed on the spot. She slapped me so hard the world spun. “Chloe! Are you insane? That’s your sister!” My father pointed a shaking finger in my face, his whole body trembling with rage. “How did we raise a monster like you?” And Ethan Archer, the man whose name filled every page of my high school diaries, asked me in anguish, “Chloe, why won’t you save her?” Ten years later, on the Fourth of July, with the sky over the Washington Monument about to burst into a sea of fireworks, Ethan came back. At the pinnacle of that national celebration, he held out a diamond ring. “Chloe,” he said. “Marry me.” 1 The tips of my fingers were ice-cold. Ethan was on one knee, surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the flash of a hundred cell phone cameras. He wore a tailored black coat that made him look solid and dependable, his features sharp and deep-set. A decade in the service had carved the boyishness from his face, leaving behind a man who was more handsome than I remembered. But the eyes looking up at me held none of the love I had once dreamed of seeing there. There was only the silent, deep water of a calm ocean. Isn’t it ironic? Ten years ago, my twin sister, Lily, had squeezed my hand, her own eyes shining as she described this exact scene. “Chloe, when Ethan gets back from his deployment, he’s going to propose to me right on the National Mall! Everyone will be there to celebrate with us!” “You have to be my maid of honor, promise?” Now, she was in the ground, and I was standing here, the reluctant star of her favorite fantasy. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the hospital’s surgical unit. Urgent. I steadied myself, pushing aside the hand that held the ring. “I have an emergency surgery tonight.” Ethan’s posture stiffened for a fraction of a second before he smoothed it over. He stood, taking my hand and forcing the ring into my palm. The metal, warm from his skin, dug painfully into my flesh. “Chloe, don’t do this.” His tone was flat. Not a request, but a statement. An order. “We’re getting married. It was Lily’s last wish.” There it was again. Lily. It was always, always about Lily. I looked down at the diamond in my hand and let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Fine.” “I’ll marry you, Ethan.” With that, I turned and pushed my way out of the crowd, leaving the sudden eruption of cheers and astonished murmurs behind me. But the voices followed me, little ghosts nipping at my heels. “Oh my God, isn’t that Major Ethan Archer? The war hero? He’s even hotter in person!” “Wait, didn’t his fiancée die years ago? Who is that?” “I think that’s her sister… Wow. Swooping in on your dead sister’s fiancé. Classy.” It was three in the morning when I finally got home. The surgery was a success, but I felt no joy, only a weariness that had settled deep into my bones. I pulled off my scrubs and stared at my pale reflection in the bathroom mirror before dialing my parents’ number. “Mom, Dad.” “Ethan and I are getting married.” A long, dead silence stretched across the line. Then, my mother’s hysterical scream. “Chloe! Have you no soul? How dare you!” 2 When I arrived at my parents’ house, the living room was in shambles. A collection of aunts and cousins were gathered, pointing at me the moment I walked in. Ethan followed close behind me. My mother’s red-rimmed eyes locked onto him. “Ethan! How could you do this to Lily’s memory? You promised you would take care of her for the rest of your life!” My aunt immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Lily’s not even cold in her grave, and you two are getting married? What will people say? Think of this family’s reputation!” Ethan looked at the floor, his voice steady. “Ma’am, Mr. Hale… marrying Chloe is what Lily wanted. It was her last wish.” “Before she passed, she said she hoped I could take her place, and take care of her sister for the rest of my life.” And with that single sentence, he nailed me to the cross of selfishness all over again. See? It wasn’t him who had a change of heart, nor was it me who stole him away. It was me, the charity case, the broken thing that needed to be “taken care of,” stepping into the spot that rightfully belonged to my sister. Everyone looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, as if I were some parasite, shamelessly living off the scraps of a dead girl’s legacy. Crack. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean. My mother, trembling from head to toe, pointed at me. “Chloe! Your sister was thinking of you even as she was dying, and what about you? Do you deserve it? You’re a murderer!” My cheek burned. I licked the coppery taste of blood from the corner of my mouth and finally lifted my head, my gaze calm as I looked at the twisted faces of my “family.” “She was a thief,” I said, my voice even and clear. The room fell instantly silent. My father shot to his feet, staring at me in disbelief. “What… what did you just say?” “I said, Lily was a thief.” I repeated the words, a smile spreading across my lips. “She stole my diary, found out I was in love with Ethan, and then she put on the dress I bought, used the lines I practiced in the mirror, and went to tell him she was in love with him.” “She stole the award certificate that should have been mine—first place in the National Science Scholar competition—and used my name and my work to get into the early admissions program at Johns Hopkins.” “She stole my life. She stole everything from me. Did you know that?” I turned to my parents. “Did you know that the research paper she submitted—every data point, every single equation—was the result of dozens of sleepless nights I spent in the lab?” “All you knew was how proud you were when she won, how you could boast about her to all our relatives.” “Did you know I was dragged into the dean’s office and accused of plagiarism? That I was nearly expelled?” “You didn’t know.” I looked at their stunned, speechless faces, and I laughed until tears streamed down my cheeks. “All you ever knew was your precious younger daughter. So innocent, so kind, so fragile. A perfect little angel.” “And me? I was born healthier, stronger. So I deserved to be ignored. I deserved to be her stepping stone. I deserved to give up everything for her. Even… my life.” Ten years. This was the first time I had ever said the words out loud. Everyone was frozen, including Ethan. His brow was furrowed, and for the first time, a flicker of confusion crossed his face. My mother, after the initial shock, turned deathly pale. She looked like she was remembering something, her lips trembling as she failed to form a single word. I took a deep breath and looked directly at Ethan. “Why do you think, even on her deathbed, she was so obsessed with you ‘taking care’ of me?” “Because she was guilty.” “She was afraid I would tell you the truth. She was terrified that after she was gone, you would find out from someone, anyone, what kind of person the girl you loved for all those years truly was.” In the silent living room, only my cold voice remained. That, and the sound of my mother’s choked, breaking sobs. I suddenly remembered that last afternoon in the hospital, just before Lily died. Everyone else was gone. It was just the two of us in the sterile room. She had gripped my hand, her voice as thin as thread. “Chloe, don’t save me.” “I’m begging you. Don’t donate your marrow.” Ethan was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his voice raspy. “Lily… she wouldn’t lie to me.” The answer I expected. “The wedding is in three days,” I announced to the room. “Come or don’t. I don’t care.” I turned and walked out, not sparing any of them a final glance.

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