Author: Momo Chan

The summer I bombed the exams that were supposed to define my future, I ran away to a small coastal town and fell in love with my landlord. At the peak of it, I wanted to run away with him for good. It didn’t happen. My fault. I found the secret he kept locked in his room. Turns out, I was just a stand-in. A ghost. We shattered like glass. Years later, I’m back in that same town, knocking on his door again. I watch the color drain from his face, watch his eyes start to burn, and I state my purpose. “I’m planning a wedding,” I say. “And I’m here to buy something from you.” 1 The silence stretched for two seconds, thick and heavy. He wrestled his emotions back into their cage, but when he spoke, his voice was a raw, terrible rasp. “Buy what?” Under his searing gaze, I managed to remain calm. “An engagement ring.” “I was told you were the designer.” I held up my phone, showing him the picture. A natural red crystal and a shimmering opal, clustered together on the band to form a half-wilted poppy. Under the gallery lights, it was hauntingly beautiful. The piece was titled Addiction. Bloom. The moment Chloe saw it, she knew it had to be her wedding ring. But the gallery’s response was firm: Private collection. For exhibition only. Chloe, however, has a peculiar talent for obsession. It was an entry from a design competition years ago. The designer had licensed it for shows, but never for sale. After pulling a dozen threads, I found my way here. Returning to this place… it was impossible not to think of him. The designer’s name was Rhys Atherton. Funny thing is, I don’t know any Rhys Atherton. But I know a man named Rhys. 2 The summer I met Rhys was the worst summer of my eighteen years. I’d failed the exams that were supposed to be my ticket to a good university. The Grant family decided to ship me off to a program in Europe. My family—the family that had taken me in—had arranged a marriage between their son, Caleb, and Chloe. My long-simmering, secret love for him died a quiet, unremarkable death. And Caleb, bless his heart, played the part of the warm, supportive older brother, telling me to just go along with the plan. He had no idea I was in love with him. He had no idea that I’d nearly killed myself studying, all for the chance to stay in the country, to stay near him. He knew nothing. Every step I took toward him, he took one back, gently pushing me away. So I told them I wanted a graduation trip first. A final summer to myself before I disappeared. It was a useless rebellion against his gentle suffocation, a desperate attempt to create some distance. And the first step was physical. Rhys was the owner of the guesthouse I rented in Port Blossom. My first impression of him: he looked like trouble. Shaggy, dark hair that fell into his eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a smile that flashed impossibly white. When I first arrived, I couldn’t sleep. A lingering side effect of my academic flameout. I’d find myself down on the beach at three or four in the morning, just letting the cold salt spray hit my face. He didn’t seem to sleep either. He’d be out there on the sand, collecting shells, and would always materialize beside me out of the darkness, striking up a conversation. We’d talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up, and then he’d drag me into town for breakfast before letting me go back to my room to finally crash. On the fifth night, he finally broke. “Kid, you’re killing me. I can’t keep pulling these all-nighters with you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “How about this? You go back right now, get some real sleep. Meet me here tomorrow at ten, and I’ll show you a good time.” I was skeptical, but I did it. Just then, the wind blew his bangs from his face, and I saw him clearly for the first time. He was actually incredibly handsome. The next day, true to his word, he took me fishing, surfing, kayaking. That night, I was exhausted and asleep by nine. The four-a.m. beach walks became a thing of the past. This became our new routine. I found out later he thought I was suicidal. It was funny, in a bleak sort of way. He, who seemed to have given up on living, was worried someone else wanted to die. I discovered his own tendencies one night when the water heater in my bathroom broke. I knocked on his door, but there was no answer for a long time. When he finally opened it, the smell of blood hit me. I caught a glimpse of bloody tissues in his trash can, and a jolt of shock, then panic, went through me. Later, as he was fixing the valve, his shirt got soaked. Through the thin, wet cotton, I saw them: a crosshatch of scars, old and new, running up his arms. I froze. He didn’t seem like the type… Or maybe, he just seemed too normal all the time… I remember my brain short-circuiting. The first words out of my mouth were painfully direct. “Are you on medication?” “What?” He frowned, as if he’d misheard me. I reached out, my hand closing around his wrist. “We’re going to the hospital,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. And he went. He actually went with me, saw a doctor, got a prescription, and even started therapy. That’s when we started dating. Was it pity? Of course not. Until that moment, he had been the one taking care of me. His concern for me went far beyond any landlord-tenant relationship. I think my heart had already started to lean toward him during those sleepless nights. But it wasn’t until I saw the full scope of his pain, etched into his skin, that the feeling became so strong I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Just like now. 3 Rhys fell silent, then stepped aside, letting me into the house. The layout was almost exactly as I remembered it from three years ago—impersonal, monochrome, relentlessly dull. Back then, I had been endlessly curious about him. Why was he sick? Why did he have no friends or family to speak of? What did he do all day? What was his life before this? His house felt like an extension of that mystery, a place full of secrets. But whenever I asked, he would just brush it off with a few words. Ordinary. Nothing special. Boring. I was so desperate for answers I’d bring him every ridiculous rumor I heard in town. “They say you killed someone. That you did time. Is it true?” I knew he wouldn’t get angry with me. And he didn’t. He just glanced at me, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “It’s true. I was married, too. Had a wife. She ran off with another guy while I was in the joint.” He let out a deep, theatrical sigh, as if recalling a great tragedy. I was stunned. I hadn’t expected such a harsh history and immediately felt clumsy and tactless for bringing it up. Then I heard a choked laugh. I turned, and he was clutching his stomach, his laughter now open and unrestrained. I stared, completely bewildered. When he finally caught his breath, he reached out and flicked my forehead. His voice was low and smooth, impossibly alluring. “You’re so easy to fool, kid.” The way he looked at me then… it was against the rules. I must have been under his spell, because the words just tumbled out of my mouth. “Rhys, I don’t care about your past.” “Why don’t you… take me with you? Let’s run away.” For one, I hated the way the townspeople whispered about him. For another, I wanted to escape the Grants. I’d thought it all through. Rhys was a good person, he was good to me, he was handsome—he was perfect. Going with him was a winning bet. He stared at me for a long time after I said it. “You can’t just say things like that.” “I’m not. I’m serious.” He ignored me. I pestered him about it for a month, the argument finally ending in his bed. “Are you just playing with me? Is this not serious to you at all?” He propped himself up on an elbow. “Kid, I treat you like you’re royalty. How much more serious do you want me to get?” “Then run away with me.” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “What was the first thing you said?” Confused, I repeated myself. “Are you just…” “Yes,” he said, cutting me off. Without another word, he hauled me out of the bed, pushed me out of his room, and locked the door. “…” It was humiliating. The first time in my life I had ever offered myself to someone, and he’d literally thrown me out. I’d been in Port Blossom for nearly three months. Every message from Caleb had gone unanswered. On his way to come find me, he got into a car accident. I was with Rhys when Caleb’s mother called. There were no flights back, so Rhys drove me the six hours to the hospital himself. The sun was blinding that day. I felt like I was moving through a dream. When I finally stumbled into the hospital, the first thing I received was a sharp slap across the face from Mrs. Grant. Caleb was in surgery. I knelt on the cold floor outside the operating room. I knelt until a doctor came out and announced the surgery was a success. As Mrs. Grant rushed past me, I tried to stand and follow her into the room. My legs were completely numb. I staggered, falling straight into a familiar pair of arms. I realized then that Rhys hadn’t left. “Why are you still here?” Rhys steadied me, a faint smile on his lips. “You asked me to run away with you, didn’t you? I couldn’t just leave you here.” He helped me toward the hospital room, but we were stopped by Mrs. Grant’s icy glare. He was pushed out. And so was I. Shut out of the room, I forced a bitter smile and looked at Rhys, who seemed at a loss for words. “No need to ask,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’m not her real son.” I was adopted from an orphanage by the Grant family. This kind of treatment was nothing new. After Rhys took me back to Port Blossom, we didn’t speak about that day. By some unspoken agreement, we buried it. He even started packing his bags, seriously talking about “running away” with me. If I hadn’t accidentally seen the photograph in his desk drawer, I probably would have followed him like a fool. And maybe being a fool would have been better. But in that moment, standing in front of Rhys, I suddenly found my pride. The photo showed a younger Rhys, his arm slung around another young man’s shoulders, both of them beaming at the camera. Staring at that face—a face that looked so much like mine—my mind went blank. I finally understood. My own words from before were complete bullshit. I don’t care about your past. I cared so damn much it was killing me. We had the biggest fight of our lives. Well, it was mostly me. I threw the picture at him, demanding an explanation, over and over. He just stood there, silent as a stone. Finally, my heart turned to ice. I delivered the verdict on our ridiculous, short-lived romance with a cold laugh. “He’s dead, isn’t he? So I’m his replacement?” More silence. “Is that why you were so good to me? Or was it pity? I must seem pretty pathetic to you, huh? Pretty pitiable.” Still silence. I kicked the coffee table, sending it crashing into the wall. “Rhys, you asshole. I’m done. I’m not playing this game anymore.” And just like that, we were over.

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I returned to the family estate in a faded t-shirt and worn-out jeans. Inside the grand foyer, my long-lost biological parents, the Ashfords, stood waiting. Beside them was Chloe, the daughter they had raised, the girl who had lived my life. And I could hear the thought in her head, as clear as a whisper in my ear. She knows Mom and Dad’s foundation donates millions to rural poverty programs. And yet she shows up dressed like that to squeeze out every last drop of sympathy. Should I say something? The reunion, which should have been a scene of tearful redemption, curdled. The air grew thick with a strange tension. My mother, who had been clutching my hand, let it go. Her touch had been warm, but now her fingers felt like ice. I was carsick from the long drive, and a wave of nausea forced me to bend over, dry-heaving. Chloe shook her head, a mask of gentle concern on her face. Her thoughts, however, were venomous. Oh god, she’s pregnant. Total train wreck. Probably knocked up by some townie back wherever she came from. My parents’ gazes snapped to me, instantly transformed. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, appraising disgust, as if I were something unclean they’d accidentally tracked into their pristine home. Though they allowed me to stay, it wasn’t in one of the sun-drenched guest suites. I was given a room in the staff quarters, next to the housekeeper. My meals were leftovers from the kitchen, eaten alone. But I refused to be broken. I threw myself into my studies with a ferocity I hadn’t known I possessed, clinging to the hope that my achievements might chip away at their stone-cold disapproval. I excelled, consistently scoring at the top of my class in every practice exam. Then, Chloe’s thoughts sliced through the quiet of an otherwise peaceful evening. Wow, she’s actually smart. I’ll give her that. But she’s ruthless. The moment she gets a foothold in the company, she’ll sell our trade secrets to the competition. Dad’s entire empire will crumble. We’ll lose everything, end up on the street. That was the final blow. My parents threw me out. The next day, I was killed in a hit-and-run, my body broken on the pavement. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back on the day I first returned to the Ashford estate. And this time, I could hear her thoughts, too. 1 The sedan glided up the long, winding driveway toward the sprawling mansion. My biological parents, the Ashfords, were already waiting by the grand entrance. Chloe stood beside them, perched on the balls of her feet, peering into the distance. The moment the car stopped, my mother rushed forward and pulled me into a hug, her voice thick with emotion. “Our daughter. We finally found you. You must have had such a hard life.” My father stood by, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. It was in that exact moment that Chloe’s voice echoed in my mind. Her foster family isn’t even poor. I checked. But she shows up in rags to play the victim. God, it’s so manipulative. Should I tell them? My mother’s embrace stiffened. She pulled back slightly, her eyes scanning my outfit. A washed-out t-shirt and the plainest pair of jeans imaginable. My father’s brow furrowed. He asked, his voice laced with suspicion, “Your foster mother… she didn’t buy you any new clothes for this?” I met their probing, condescending gazes without flinching. “This is the newest outfit I own.” It was the truth. It was the most presentable thing I had. My foster mother was a farmer, scraping by on exhausted land. Sixteen years ago, she’d found me abandoned by the side of a road. Her own health was poor, and our life had always been a tightrope walk over a chasm of debt. But the Ashfords, in their magnificent wealth, were arrogant. They couldn’t be bothered to investigate the reality of the life I’d been forced to live. Returning to this family, in this life as in the last, was never about finding love. To be blunt, I was here for the money. For a better education. For the funds to save the woman who had actually raised me, the only mother I had ever known… My father was still processing my answer when Chloe’s inner monologue started up again. Ugh, I did a full background check. Her foster parents were skilled laborers with a steady income, a house, a car. They supposedly doted on her. But people from that background have no class, no vision. She’s their real daughter; they would have given her everything anyway. This whole poverty act is just so… extra. I looked up just in time to see the displeasure hardening in my parents’ eyes. A chill crept over me. Of course. This is how it happened before. In my last life, I couldn’t hear Chloe’s thoughts. I had no idea why the parents who had been weeping for their lost child one second could turn on me the next. I lowered my gaze, hiding the hatred that burned there. My mother looked me up and down, her nose wrinkling slightly. “That’s enough. We don’t have room for manipulative people in this house.” “Dressing like that,” my father added with a cold scoff, “are you trying to embarrass us?” He turned to walk away, dismissing me completely. My hands clenched into fists. “Mom, Dad, I don’t know what you think you know, but I swear I’m not…” Chloe immediately cut me off, her voice a syrupy performance of kindness. She took my hand. “Claire, let’s get you inside. It’s windy out here, and Mother’s health is so delicate.” My parents beamed at Chloe, their faces softening with pride for their thoughtful, caring daughter. I followed them into the cavernous great hall, dragging a single duffel bag behind me. It was a hand-me-down, and the zipper had broken on the way here, so I’d pinned it shut. I could hear the maids whispering behind their hands, stifling their laughter. “So pathetic. Who doesn’t own a real suitcase in this day and age? She has to be faking it.” “Obviously. It’s all an act to make Mr. and Mrs. Ashford feel guiltier.” I said nothing. Just as my father turned, his mouth open to deliver another reprimand, I let my knees buckle and pitched forward. I have hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar. In my past life, I was always prepared, a few pieces of hard candy tucked in my pocket for emergencies. This time, I had deliberately skipped breakfast. I had no candy. The mansion erupted into chaos. “Oh my god, she fainted!” My father stood back, his arms crossed, convinced it was another performance. My mother, however, strode over and nudged me with the toe of her expensive shoe. “Get up. Stop this ridiculous act right now, or I’ll—” Her words died in her throat. When I fell, my forehead had struck the corner of the marble entryway table. Blood was now trickling down my temple. A thin line of white foam appeared at the corner of my mouth. This was no act. This was real. As my consciousness faded to black, the last thing I saw was the look of pure panic on my parents’ faces as they finally rushed toward me. 2 The family doctor was summoned. After a brief examination, he delivered his verdict. “She’s suffering from chronic malnutrition and exhaustion. Her body is completely depleted. It’s resulted in a severe case of hypoglycemia.” The doctor’s gaze was heavy with pity as he looked at me, then back at my parents. “Her physical condition is… alarming. It’s as if she hasn’t had a proper, full meal in a very long time.” The raw, undeniable truth of my physical state was the best evidence I could have offered. The color drained from my parents’ faces. They instinctively glanced at Chloe, a silent plea for an explanation, for the real story they’d been fed. Chloe’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. Then, her thoughts rang out again. Are you kidding me? Her foster mom loved her, gave her everything she ever asked for. How could she have possibly starved? Oh. I get it. She was dieting. Probably has an eating disorder. My parents’ brows furrowed again, a new suspicion taking root. But the doctor’s words had planted a seed of doubt. The foundation of Chloe’s narrative was cracking. I pushed myself up, letting a tear slip down my cheek as I spoke, my voice trembling. “Mom… Dad… We’re a family now. I want you to know the real me.” With that, I pulled up a news story on my phone. It was a national news feature from several years ago about poverty in rural Appalachia. And there, on the screen, was my foster mother, clutching a younger version of me to her chest, her face etched with worry and hardship. What more needed to be said? They finally understood. My life had been hard. Chloe shot me a look of pure hatred. My father’s tightly clenched jaw finally relaxed, his eyes filling with a shame that was almost painful to watch. “Claire… I’m so sorry. I misjudged you.” My mother’s eyes welled with tears. She reached for my hand, then hesitated and pulled back, not out of disgust this time, but as if she feared I would reject her touch. Chloe was panicking. Her face, however, was a perfect portrait of concern. “Claire, I’m so glad you’re okay. You’re home now. No one can ever hurt you again.” But her inner voice, sharp and clear, betrayed her. Damn it! She’s so calculating. Of all the thousands of news reports out there, she just happened to have that one ready? This had to be planned! My mother’s eyelashes fluttered. This time, she didn’t lash out. She was caught, suspended between her faith in the daughter she raised and the evidence before her eyes. My father, his face a mask of composure, began discussing a nutrition plan with the doctor. I kept my eyes downcast, hiding the icy satisfaction that was blooming in my chest. It was just as I’d predicted. I couldn’t dismantle sixteen years of affection for Chloe in a single day. But trust is a fragile thing. And the first crack had appeared. Your payback, Chloe, I thought, has just begun. After lunch, my parents decided to take me shopping. It was clear my current wardrobe was an embarrassment to the Ashford name. Just as before, the four of us climbed into the spacious luxury SUV. We had barely pulled out of the driveway when a cold sweat broke out across my skin and my stomach began to churn violently. My motion sickness was severe. And right on cue, Chloe’s thoughts began to broadcast. Oh god, here we go again. She’s pregnant. It’s morning sickness. That family doctor is a quack. He didn’t use any real equipment. She’s probably not far enough along for it to show up on a simple test. My parents’ heads whipped around to stare at me. Here it is, I thought, a tremor of adrenaline shooting through me. This was the accusation that had sealed my fate last time, the one that had convinced the Ashfords I was damaged goods. I steadied my breathing, forcing the words out. “Is there any Dramamine? My motion sickness is really bad.” My father’s eyes narrowed. “Motion sickness? Does it usually make you this ill?” My mother’s gaze was fixed on my pale, sweating face, and I could see the conclusion forming in her mind. Pregnant. She imagined me, her biological daughter, sleeping around with delinquents, bringing shame and disease into her perfect life. The thought was so repulsive to her that she physically recoiled. Whatever guilt she’d felt earlier vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated disgust. I had no chance to explain. The moment the car pulled over, I scrambled out and retched into a trash can on the sidewalk. From the corner of my eye, I could see my parents’ grim, stony faces. And Chloe, looking on with feigned worry. Her real thoughts were a different story. She is so pathetic. But what if she brings some disgusting disease back to the house? Mom’s immune system is so weak. She could never handle something like that.

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Because of a single contaminated test tube, the new supervising professor of my lab, Dr. Marcus Cole, announced he was kicking me off the NSF grant project. He did it during our weekly group meeting, in front of everyone. “Evelyn,” he boomed, his voice echoing slightly off the sterile whiteboards. “Don’t think for a second that because you’ve published a few papers, you’re untouchable.” I stood silently beside my chair as my lab mates stared at their notebooks, the floor, anywhere but at me. “The lab protocols are posted on every door! All glassware must be sterilized by the end of the day. You knew the rule, you ignored it, and that makes your negligence doubly worse.” He paced in front of the projector screen, a shark in a lab coat. “As for the NSF grant… you can forget about it. You won’t touch another piece of data associated with it.” I didn’t say a word. I just picked up my laptop and turned to leave. Fire me from my own project? Fine. This whole lab was about to come to a grinding halt. 1 Dr. Cole’s face purpled with rage at my silent departure. “Evelyn Reed, where do you think you’re going? Get back here!” he yelled at my back. “You will write a formal apology, and you will read it aloud to this entire group as a testament to your profound lack of professionalism!” I paused at the door and looked back at his face, twisted with a furious need for control. “No problem,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. A heavy silence fell over the room. I could feel the shocked stares of my friends and colleagues. Dr. Cole let out a short, triumphant huff and stormed out of the conference room. A moment later, a notification pinged on everyone’s phone. A message in the lab’s general Slack channel. From: Dr. Marcus Cole To: @channel Subject: Upholding Lab Standards PhD candidate Evelyn Reed has demonstrated a lax attitude and a severe violation of laboratory protocols. She will conduct a public self-criticism today at 3:00 PM in Conference Room A301 to rectify this behavior and reinforce the importance of our collective standards. The air in the room felt thick enough to suffocate on. My friend Maya, sitting next to me, nudged my phone under the table. A private message popped up. Maya: Evie, don’t be stubborn. Just apologize. It’s an NSF grant! This could affect your graduation! I shook my head slightly. It won’t matter, I typed back. He was the new guy, brought in to co-supervise while the department head, Professor Miller, was on sabbatical. Cole needed to assert his dominance, to make his mark. And he needed to make room for his own people. It was no secret he wanted to give my doctoral project to the new postdoc he’d brought with him from Stanford. The problem for him was that I had already completed the most difficult, groundbreaking phase of the grant’s research. The preliminary data was more than good; it was perfect. I was in his way, a living testament to work he couldn’t claim as his own. This test tube was just the excuse he’d been waiting for. I sent Maya a quick “Don’t worry ” emoji, then switched apps. I began methodically backing up every file on my laptop: years of experimental data, raw records, analysis pipelines. I encrypted the archive, uploaded it to my private cloud server, and then permanently deleted every local copy. Only when that was done did I open a new document and begin to write my “apology.” Halfway through, Dr. Cole made a point of strolling past my workstation. He saw the document open on my screen and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smug, self-satisfied smirk. At 3:00 PM, Conference Room A301 was packed. Dr. Cole stood at the front, his expression a mask of stern, official righteousness. “I want to reiterate,” he began, his voice dripping with condescension, “that a laboratory is not a dorm room. The rules are not suggestions.” He glared in my direction. “The regulations are posted and emphasized for a reason, yet some people treat them as background noise.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And don’t think that just because Professor Miller personally recruited you that you are entitled to special treatment. What good is producing data if you can’t even master basic discipline?” “Evelyn. Up here. Time for your apology. Let’s make this a teachable moment for everyone.” I stood and walked to the front, pulling out the single sheet of paper I had prepared. “I, Evelyn Reed, have made a grave and unforgivable error,” I began, my voice clear and steady. “I should not have, under any circumstances, neglected that single test tube. From this day forward, I vow to adhere strictly to every single rule of this lab, without exception.” I paused, making eye contact with him. “I am, after all, just a student. And any project Dr. Cole deems me unfit for, I will absolutely not touch.” “As long as you understand,” he cut in, clearly pleased with my performance. He then turned to the room, puffing out his chest. “Given Ms. Reed’s history of non-compliance and her negative attitude, the core project committee has decided to officially remove her from the NSF grant, effective immediately. Her previous responsibilities and all associated data will be transferred to our new postdoctoral fellow, Dr. Ethan Hayes.” The room was utterly silent. Beside Dr. Cole, the man with the gold-rimmed glasses and the perpetual smirk, Ethan Hayes, gave a small, self-important nod to the group. I glanced at Maya; her expression was a mixture of helplessness and shock. Dr. Cole added one final twist of the knife. “Evelyn, after this meeting, I expect you to immediately compile all your project-related lab notebooks and raw data files and hand them over to Dr. Hayes. Do not delay.” I agreed with an unnerving cheerfulness and slid a USB drive into the conference room’s computer. A folder containing hundreds of neatly organized files popped up on the projector screen. “It’s all right here, Dr. Cole,” I said. Good luck making sense of any of it. My cheerful compliance seemed to catch him off guard; a flicker of suspicion crossed his face. But after a quick scan of the massive, meticulously labeled file list, he relaxed. Dr. Hayes looked like he’d just won the lottery. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, he sauntered over to my lab bench. “Ms. Reed,” he began, his tone dripping with condescension. “If you could please clear out your personal effects from this station and your locker, I’d appreciate it. I’ll also need you to walk me through the inventory of reagents and equipment in the common area. We can’t have you delaying the important work Dr. Cole and I are about to begin.” 2 I knew exactly what Dr. Hayes was after. It wasn’t my bench space he coveted; it was the state-of-the-art equipment sitting on it. “Evelyn, hurry it up,” Dr. Cole chimed in from across the lab, arms crossed like a general surveying his new territory. “Lab space is at a premium, and Dr. Hayes is eager to get his new research underway.” I slowly, deliberately, closed the lid on a small equipment case without looking up. “Dr. Cole, Dr. Hayes, this is a lot of stuff to pack up. It’s going to take me some time.” I finally met their impatient gazes. “How about tomorrow? I promise I’ll have everything cleared out by then. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of progress.” Ethan pushed his glasses up his nose. My promise to be gone by the next day seemed to satisfy him. He gave another one of his prim little nods and followed Dr. Cole out of the lab. Without the crushing weight of the NSF grant on my shoulders, I felt an unfamiliar lightness. The core data for my dissertation was already complete; all that remained was the writing and some minor revisions. Now, thanks to them, I had all the time in the world. The next afternoon, after neatly packing the last of my personal items into a box, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I pulled out my phone and bought a ticket to the aquarium to see the dolphin show, something I’d always wanted to do but never had the time for. Sitting in the stands, surrounded by the delighted squeals of children as the dolphins leaped and twisted in perfect sync with their trainers, I felt a pure, uncomplicated sense of peace wash over me. The lab’s Slack channel, however, was anything but peaceful. That evening, my phone started buzzing incessantly. It was the new, grant-specific channel that Dr. Hayes had created. He was already laying down the law. From: Dr. Ethan Hayes To: @grant-team Subject: New Daily Protocols 1. Effective immediately, all team members will submit a daily progress report detailing experimental procedures, reagents used, and preliminary results. Reports are due in my inbox by 10 PM sharp. 2. Each team member is expected to complete a minimum of three full experimental cycles per week. Compiled data is to be submitted to me for review by Sunday evening. 3. Use of all major laboratory equipment must be requested and approved by me at least 24 hours in advance. Unauthorized use is strictly forbidden. A private message from Maya immediately followed. Maya: [Screenshot] Evie, are you seeing this?! He’s acting like he’s king of the world! He’s delegating every single task while he just wanders around the lab making useless suggestions. He hasn’t offered a single piece of actual help! A second message bubble appeared. Maya: Today he told me to wash a sink full of HIS beakers that had been sitting there for days! Who does he think he is?! I could practically feel her frustration radiating through the screen. Me: Deep breaths, Maya. Just say no to anything that isn’t your responsibility. You have your own work to do. She was typing for a long time before her next message came through. Maya: I just feel so angry for you, Evie. Dr. Cole is so blatantly targeting you, stealing your work. Are you really not going to do anything? Should we tell Professor Miller? I stared at her words, then slowly typed my reply. Me: Not yet. Professor Miller is at a major conference in Geneva. There’s no need to bother him with this… yet. 3 I woke up to sunlight streaming through a gap in my curtains. For the first time in years, I hadn’t bolted awake at 6 AM in a panic to get to the lab. I was pouring myself a glass of milk when my phone lit up with a text from Maya. Maya: Morning. Cole was on a rampage first thing. Ranting about how some people show their true colors once they’re kicked off a project. Lazy, no dedication, no respect for the scientific process… He basically read out your student ID number. I took a sip of milk. Let him talk, I texted back. Ignore it. I turned my phone off and was about to crawl back into bed when a shrill, insistent ringing shattered the morning quiet. I fumbled for the phone, my heart pounding. It was Dr. Cole. “Evelyn! Where is the equipment from your bench?!” he screamed without a hello. “The centrifuge, the PCR machine, and the micromanipulator rig! Where are they? I’ve torn this entire lab apart and they’re gone!” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Dr. Cole, if some equipment is missing, why is your first call to me?” There was a choked silence on the other end, followed by an explosion of renewed fury. “Who else could it be?! You were the last one to leave last night! Did the equipment just grow legs and walk away?!” “Dr. Cole,” I said, my voice slow and deliberate as I sat up in bed. “If things are missing, shouldn’t you be checking the lab’s official checkout logs and procurement records? Or perhaps asking the other students if they borrowed something?” I let a beat of silence hang in the air. “Calling a student who was, as you so publicly announced, ‘kicked off the project’ to hurl accusations first thing in the morning seems… a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” My calm, almost innocent tone was like gasoline on his fire. “Don’t you play games with me, Evelyn! I strongly suspect that you, angry about being removed from the grant, have intentionally sabotaged this lab! That you’ve stolen university property!” “I am telling you right now, you get down to this lab and explain yourself!” I let out a soft laugh. “That’s a very serious accusation, Dr. Cole. To make a claim like that without any proof… that’s not a good look, is it?” “My proof is that you’re the number one suspect!” “You have ten minutes to show up here. If you don’t, I’m taking this to the next level. I’m calling the police! You just wait!” He roared the last words and slammed the phone down, leaving me with a dial tone buzzing in my ear. I put the phone down, yawned, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Not fifteen minutes later, Maya called, her voice a panicked whisper. “Evie! Oh my god, this is bad! He—he actually did it! He called the campus police! They’re here, in the lab! You need to get here, now!” 4 I took my time. I went out, got a proper breakfast, and enjoyed a leisurely walk to the science building. My phone vibrated nonstop in my pocket. Dr. Cole, no doubt. When I got to my floor, Maya was pacing frantically by the stairwell. “Evie, you’re finally here!” she hissed, rushing toward me. “Cole is losing his mind in there, the cops are still with him. Please… whatever you do, be careful. Don’t provoke him.” I gave her a reassuring “OK” sign and walked calmly up the last flight of stairs. The moment I stepped into the lab, the tense atmosphere was palpable. Dr. Cole was pacing like a caged animal while two uniformed campus police officers stood by, looking bored. The other students were glued to their workstations, pretending to be absorbed in their tasks, barely breathing. The second Cole saw me, his eyes went wild. He lunged toward me. “Evelyn Reed! Look! Look at your bench! It’s empty!” He jabbed a trembling finger in its direction. “The equipment! What did you do with the equipment?!” He spun around to face the officers, his voice shrill. “Officers, it was her! She’s the one who came in last night when no one was around and stole the lab’s most valuable instruments! I have the security footage! It clearly shows her leaving with several large cases! The evidence is undeniable!” One of the officers turned to me, his expression serious. “Ma’am, is what this professor is saying true? Did you remove equipment from this lab?” I nodded calmly. “Yes, I did.” A gasp went through the room. Dr. Cole looked as if he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. His voice trembled with vindictive glee. “You heard that, officers! She admitted it! It’s theft! Grand larceny! Arrest her!”

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Every year on our anniversary, Ethan sent a gift. Something extravagant, six figures, a Tiffany key for a car I didn’t need or a watch that told time I no longer felt was mine. It was his penance for working late, for breaking another promise to be home. This year, our fifth, was no different. Only this time, I decided to surprise him. I showed up at his downtown office, a bottle of the twenty-year-old scotch he loved tucked in my bag, ready to toast to the man I still believed in. But his assistant, a polished young woman I didn’t recognize, blocked the doorway to his corner suite. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she said, her voice smooth as glass. “But today is Mr. Hayes’s anniversary with his wife. It’s also his son’s fourth birthday.” She gave me a tight, dismissive smile. “He’s instructed me that he’s not to be disturbed. No clients tonight.” I stood frozen, the words refusing to arrange themselves into any logical order in my mind. His wife? His son? Before I could ask what she meant, the office door swung open and a little boy burst out. He was wearing an adorable birthday hat and waving a bright green water pistol. He had Ethan’s eyes—the same deep-set, serious gaze, now narrowed at me with suspicion. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice high and clear. “Are you the bad lady trying to steal my daddy from my mommy?” And just like that, a stream of cold water hit me square in the face. Droplets trickled down from the ends of my hair, but I barely felt them. My entire world had narrowed to the face of that child. Before we got married, Ethan had been clear. He wanted to be child-free. He didn’t like kids. So we were always careful. Sometimes, when we forgot in the heat of the moment, he would watch me take the pill the next morning, his gaze intense. He’d pull me into his arms after, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “A kid would just be a rival for your affection,” he’d murmur. “And I don’t share you, Chloe. Not with anyone.” But here was the truth. Not long after we were married, he had started a family with someone else. 1 The door opened again. The little boy scrambled back inside, launching himself into my husband’s arms. He pointed a small, triumphant finger at my dripping face. “Daddy, was I brave?” Ethan’s gaze met mine, and for a second, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Standing beside him, a woman with sleek, dark hair looped her arm through his, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, right in front of me. “Happy anniversary, honey,” she purred. He finally snapped out of it, setting the boy down and gently disentangling himself from the woman’s arm. A smudge of what looked like buttercream was dotted on the tip of his nose. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I knew the woman beside him. Isabelle. His first assistant. She had quit right after the company finally found its footing. I never thought I’d see her again. My brain started to function again, slow and grinding like rusty gears. My eyes were locked on Ethan, a tremor starting deep in my bones and spreading outwards. Isabelle stepped forward, a triumphant little smile playing on her lips. “Chloe, isn’t it? Is there something you needed this late?” she asked, her eyes flicking over my damp clothes. “Ethan is with his family tonight. He’s not available.” If they were his family, then what was I? His legal, lawfully wedded wife? A bitter, acidic taste rose in my throat. Isabelle stood there in her designer dress, her makeup flawless, a smug little smirk on her face. “Maybe you should just go home, Chloe,” she suggested sweetly. The little boy at her feet chimed in, his voice shrill. “Go home! Go home! Stop trying to steal my daddy!” he chanted. “Bad lady! You’re the bad lady who wants my daddy!” “You’re ugly!” Compared to the perfectly put-together Isabelle, he was right. I was a wreck. And through it all, Ethan said nothing. My heart felt like it was being physically torn in two. I stared at him, my look a silent plea for an explanation, for anything. He finally looked away. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold. The new assistant saw her opening. She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and hustled me toward the elevators. Her eyes were full of contempt. “So you’re the mistress, huh?” she sneered, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You know, you’re supposed to stay hidden. Showing up at the main event? God, have some self-respect.” She shoved me out into the hallway. The elevator doors slid shut, leaving me with my reflection. The gift for my husband was still in my hand. The scene in the office, the assistant’s sneering words—mistress, mistress, mistress—played on a loop in my head. I stumbled out onto the street, the city lights blurring through the tears I refused to let fall. I pulled out my phone. One call to Ethan. Voicemail. A second. A third. Ten in a row, each one a bleating cry into the void before being cut off. Declined. I let out a hollow laugh that sounded like a sob. Looking up at the single bright rectangle of his office window against the dark skyscraper, I walked to the nearest trash can and dropped the bottle of twenty-year-old scotch inside. It landed with a dull, final thud. 2 I spent the night on the couch, a ghost in my own home, until the sun came up. My phone finally rang. It was Ethan. His voice was strained, urgent. “Chloe, listen. About last night, I can explain. It was a mistake.” “It wasn’t what it looked like.” My own voice came out as a dry rasp. “A mistake? When did we get divorced, Ethan? When did you become Isabelle’s husband? And when did you have a son who’s old enough to be in preschool?” A beat of silence on his end. “I’ll explain everything later,” he finally said. “Just… don’t go after Isabelle. It has nothing to do with her.” I laughed. It was a brittle, broken sound. Tears started to stream down my face, hot and silent. Even now, his first instinct was to protect her. He still wouldn’t give me a straight answer. In everyone else’s eyes, she was the one who had stood by him, who had helped him build his empire from the ground up. I was just… the other woman. Our anniversary, a day meant for us, had become their anniversary. The irony was crushing. In the story of my own marriage, I had somehow become the villain. The mistress. Ethan never came home. Instead, Isabelle showed up at my door. She sauntered in, a victorious smile on her face, and sat across from me as if she owned the place. My hands clenched into fists in my lap. “What do you want?” Isabelle simply arched an eyebrow. She held up her left hand, flashing the diamond on her ring finger. “This? This is the ring Ethan proposed to me with.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Chloe, if I were you, I’d just leave gracefully. There’s no need to make this any uglier than it has to be.” I stared at her, my blood turning to ice. She smiled again. “And we have an adorable son together. You? What do you have? Every time he told you he was working late on a holiday, where was he really? He was with me. Celebrating our anniversary. Celebrating our son’s birthday. Every single year.” No matter how hard I tried to stay composed, her words were like daggers. My face contorted in a mask of pain I couldn’t hide. My heart, already fractured, splintered into a thousand more pieces. All those anniversaries, those holidays I’d spent alone. He’d always claim it was a last-minute business trip, an unavoidable crisis at work. I was disappointed, of course, but I told him I understood. I told him work was important. I’d prepare elaborate dinners that would end up in the trash can, untouched. The next day, a lavish gift would arrive—his apology, his penance. Only now did I understand. It wasn’t an apology. It was hush money for his conscience. I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing myself to regain some semblance of control. I looked her dead in the eye. And then, I smiled. “Ethan and I are married, Isabelle. We have a marriage license. We have legal protections. As long as I am his wife, you and that little boy of yours are nothing but a mistress and an illegitimate child.” “Doesn’t sound quite so glamorous when you put it that way, does it?” I watched with grim satisfaction as the color drained from her smug face. But she recovered quickly. She leaned back, a flicker of something new in her eyes. She laughed. “He doesn’t love you,” she said simply. “You know, when we’re together, he’s always telling me how much he regrets marrying you.” “He says you don’t know how to be affectionate, how to be soft. That in bed, you’re like a cold, dead fish. A total turn-off.” “He told me that sleeping with you feels like a chore. That it’s utterly boring.” Her words sent a dizzying shockwave through me. I had always thought… I had thought we were good. That our intimacy was real. After we made love, he would always hold me close, kissing me softly for minutes on end. I guess he was just a better actor than I ever knew. Seeing my stunned silence, Isabelle’s smile widened. “So since we’re all clear on the situation, why not just sign the divorce papers? It would be better for everyone, don’t you think?” She was right. A divorce would be better for everyone. But I just looked at her, my own smile fixed in place. “A divorce? You can tell Ethan to ask me for one himself.” “Even if I wanted one,” I added, leaning in, “do you really think he has the guts to agree to it?” The triumphant look on her face vanished completely. 3 That evening, Ethan came home. He stormed through the door, his face a mask of fury. He saw the dinner I had just finished making, set on the table, and with a sweep of his arm, he sent it all crashing to the floor. Porcelain shattered, scattering across the hardwood. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. “Chloe, I told you I would explain! Why did you have to go and bother Isabelle?” I stared at the mess on the floor, my voice dangerously quiet. “So you’re here to settle the score on her behalf?” Ethan stared at me for a long, tense moment. Finally, he spoke. “She’s innocent in all of this.” “It’s not her fault.” “Chloe, you have no reason to go after her. She’s been through enough.” “Your life is so much better than hers.” I just looked at him, the man I thought I knew. I fell for him our sophomore year of college. I was the one who pursued him, shamelessly and relentlessly, making a fool of myself until he finally gave in. We got married the year after we graduated. Back then, he was just starting his company. We lived in a tiny, rented apartment. I saved every penny. If he wasn’t coming home for dinner, I’d eat leftovers, which once landed me in the hospital with food poisoning. When it rained, I’d take three different buses to get home instead of splurging on a cab, showing up at our door soaked to the bone, which inevitably led to me getting sick. The very first time he made a real profit, he bought me a ring. He said he wanted me to have a proper wedding ring, to feel like we were truly married. I cried, not from joy, but from guilt. I yelled at him for wasting money we didn’t have. He had forgotten. He had forgotten how I suffered alongside him, how I supported him when he had nothing. I lifted my hand and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room. “I have better things to do than go out of my way to make myself sick. Now, don’t you think you owe me an explanation, Ethan? When did you start sleeping with Isabelle? And when, exactly, did you have a son with her?” “It was an accident,” he said, his voice laced with exasperation. I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. An accident that he slept with her. An accident that she got pregnant and had his child. Looking at his face, all I felt was a profound sense of revulsion. “We are married. You cheated. That makes Isabelle a mistress and your son a bastard. They will always be looked down on.” His face darkened. “Chloe, you don’t have to use such ugly words. I can explain everything.” “When the time is right, we can have the boy’s records transferred over to us. At least that way, you won’t have to suffer the ordeal of childbirth.” I was so stunned by his audacity that for a moment, I couldn’t even speak. He actually wanted me to legally adopt his illegitimate son. To raise him as my own. “So you see,” he continued, as if he were granting me some great favor, “you have no reason to be upset with Isabelle.” I smiled. “No, thank you. The thought of raising that child disgusts me.” Ethan’s face hardened into a cold mask. I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked back to our bedroom, closing the door behind me. A few minutes later, after a brief call with my lawyer, my mother-in-law’s number flashed on the screen. Her voice was as warm and friendly as ever. “Chloe, sweetie, have you eaten? When do you have time to come visit? I bought you something nice.” Her cheerful tone made my heart ache. After Ethan and I got married, his mother had always been kind to me. She often sent me money, telling me to buy myself nice things, treating me like the daughter she never had. How could I tell her that her son was a cheat, that he had a whole other family? I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I forced a smile into my voice. “Hi, Mom. Yes, I just finished dinner.” “I’ve been really busy lately, so I’m not sure when I can make it out. You and Dad please take care of yourselves.” She laughed on the other end. “How are things with you and Ethan? That brat hasn’t been giving you a hard time, has he?” Before I could answer, she continued, “I know he’s busy and can’t always be there for you, but you have to be understanding. There’s nothing a husband and wife can’t work through. If he does something wrong, you have to learn to be forgiving.” “He called me last night, said you two had a little disagreement. It’s nothing serious, I’m sure. But I was worried you might be upset, so I wanted to check in.” Hearing Ethan’s name made my forced cheerfulness falter. We chatted for a few more minutes before she hung up. But as I put the phone down, a strange feeling crept over me. Something about that conversation felt… off. 4 The next day, when I came home from work, I found Isabelle and her son sitting on my couch. My voice was ice. “Who let you in here? Get out.” Before Isabelle could respond, Ethan emerged from the kitchen holding a bowl of soup. He glanced at me, his expression flat. “Isabelle wasn’t feeling well. I told her she could rest here for a bit.” I shot a cold look at Isabelle’s perfectly healthy, rosy-cheeked face. It was obvious she wasn’t sick. She was here to assert her dominance. Ever since our fight, Ethan had been spending every night at her place. She thought she had won. She had come with her son to rub it in my face. I wasn’t about to play her game. “If she’s not feeling well, she should go die. Why is she still breathing?” Ethan’s face darkened. “Chloe! Don’t go too far.” Isabelle’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. She tugged gently on Ethan’s sleeve. “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s normal for Chloe to be upset with me.” “She must have misunderstood what happened at the office. And now you’re being so nice to me, she must be feeling…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. Her son, seeing his mother’s tears, grabbed a toy car from the floor and hurled it at me. “Bad woman! You’re a bad woman trying to steal my daddy!” “Get out, get out!” “Don’t bully my mommy, and don’t try to take my daddy!” With every shout, he threw another toy. Isabelle’s lips curved into a subtle, satisfied smile as she leaned into Ethan’s embrace. Ethan put down the soup and frowned at me. “Chloe, what you said was completely out of line. Isabelle is just feeling a little under the weather. I’ll take her home in a bit.” He paused, then said in a low, firm voice, “Apologize to her.” I laughed as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Show me the law that says a wife has to apologize to a mistress, and maybe I’ll consider it.” Ignoring the furious look on Ethan’s face, I bent down, picked up one of the toys from the floor, and threw it right back at the little boy, with just as much force. He immediately burst into tears and ran into Isabelle’s arms. “Mommy, it hurts,” he wailed. Isabelle hugged him tightly, her eyes, red and tearful, fixed on Ethan. “Ethan… maybe we should just go. I don’t mind what Chloe says about me, but Liam is only four. He only acted out because he thought I was being bullied…” “I just can’t believe she would throw something at him.” Ethan’s gaze was hard as steel. “Chloe. Apologize.” How utterly ridiculous. I was his wife, yet he was demanding I apologize to his mistress and their son. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime.” Isabelle picked up her son and hurried towards the door. As she passed me, she stumbled and fell dramatically to the floor. Fat tears splashed onto the polished wood. Ethan rushed over and helped her up. Isabelle kept her head down, refusing to look at me. “Ethan, I want to go home,” she whispered. The boy in her arms echoed, sobbing, “Daddy, I want to go home too.” Without another word, Ethan led them out the door. The house was suddenly silent again, so quiet it felt like the whole ugly scene had just been a bad dream. A moment later, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. [I won.]

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The third year of my mission to win over Caleb Sterling, the city’s most untouchable heir, and I lost my memory. My mind reset to three years ago, stuck in the middle of the silent treatment with my ex-boyfriend. So, with Caleb watching my every move, I dialed my ex’s number. “Baby, don’t be mad anymore,” I cooed into the phone. “I’ll wear that new dress for you, okay?” The next second, the ever-arrogant Caleb Sterling crushed his glass in his bare hand. “Chloe,” he snarled through gritted teeth, “I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” 1 “Chloe, how long are you going to keep this up?” “I already told you, there’s nothing between us.” “We grew up together. We haven’t seen each other in years. What’s the big deal about a little kiss?” I woke up in a hospital bed to the sight of a stranger in a tailored suit raking a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He was handsome, but his frustration was a storm cloud in the sterile room. When I didn’t respond, he pulled a watch from his wrist—a heavy, platinum thing glittering with diamonds—and tossed it onto the bedside table. “Take this. And I’ll throw in a condo downtown. Is that enough for you?” My head throbbed. I picked up the watch, the weight of it cool and solid in my palm, and struggled to focus on the ridiculously ornate face. He let out a short, humorless laugh, sinking into the chair beside my bed. He reached out and stroked my hair like I was a stray cat he’d decided to humor. “That’s more like it,” he murmured. “Running out into traffic, getting yourself hurt… was it really worth all this drama?” He tilted his head. “Pack your things. I’ll take you home.” I’ll admit, with his sharp jawline and intense, dark eyes, he was movie-star handsome in a reckless, arrogant way. Unfortunately for him, he was also an asshole, which was a total deal-breaker. I pulled away from his touch and held the watch out to him. “It’s five-thirty,” I said, my voice raspy. “My boyfriend gets off work soon. Thanks, but I don’t need a ride.” I thought I’d made myself clear, but the man’s face instantly darkened. He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in their depths. “Chloe. What the hell did you just say?” His voice was low, menacing. “Which boyfriend gets off work soon?” Which boyfriend? I’d been with Leo for three years. There was no one else. Before I could form a response, the man shoved a phone into my hand, his grip tight. “Call him,” he seethed. “Call him right now. I want to see exactly who’s coming to pick you up.” Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. A car accident and a concussion were bad enough without having to deal with a certified lunatic. He sprawled on the sofa opposite me, legs spread, watching my every move. Under his burning gaze, I found Leo’s name in my contacts and took a deep breath, moving him out of my blocked list. Thinking back, Leo and I rarely fought. He could be a little old-fashioned, that was all. The last time we’d been on the outs was because he thought the dress I’d bought was a little too short, and he’d lectured me about it for days. It was silly, but it was our brand of silly. The phone rang twice in the quiet room before he picked up. His voice, warm and familiar, was laced with hesitation. “Chloe? Is that you?” “Yeah,” I breathed out. It was all I could manage. On the other end, it was like a dam had broken. “They said you were in an accident. Are you okay? Is it serious?” he asked in a rush. “Which hospital are you at? I’m on my way.” With every frantic question he asked, the man across from me grew visibly angrier, his jaw clenching. I quickly gave Leo the address, my voice softening as I added, “Baby, I’ll wear that new dress for you tomorrow, okay? The one you like.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a violent crash echoed through the room. I whipped my head around. The stranger had crushed the water glass he was holding in his bare hand. Blood mingled with shards of glass, dripping onto the pristine floor at his feet. He didn’t seem to feel it. His teeth were gritted, his voice a guttural growl. “Chloe, I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” A nurse, drawn by the noise, burst in and froze, her eyes wide with shock. “Mr. Sterling, please! The patient needs to rest.” His hand was a mess. It took the nurse a while to get him settled on the sofa and bandage the wound. In the middle of it, his phone rang. He took a deep breath, his eyelids twitching with suppressed rage. His tone was clipped. “I told you, I’m busy.” A lazy, carefree voice drifted from the speakerphone. “Isabelle is waiting for you, man. What could possibly be more important?” Caleb Sterling’s eyes were locked on me, cold and unblinking. “I’m dealing with a cheater,” he said slowly, enunciating every word. “You tell me. Is that important?” 2 The nurse’s ears practically perked up like an antenna; she wanted to listen but was too scared to be obvious. I felt pinned by his stare and let my gaze wander up to the ceiling. You know, for a hospital, this ceiling was really top-notch. A solid ten out of ten. “Don’t get the wound wet,” the nurse instructed, finishing the bandage. “Come back in three days to have it changed.” The man—Caleb—waved a dismissive hand, clearly not listening. Before the nurse could even shut the door behind her, a figure rushed into the room. He was still shrugging on his coat, the belt of his black trench coat hanging askew at his waist. Leo. Leo was five years older than me, with a quiet, steady presence that had always been my anchor. When we lived together, I’d wake up every morning to find toothpaste already squeezed onto my toothbrush and a hand towel folded neatly by the sink, right where I’d reach for it. I had never seen him look so disheveled, so undone. I looked up at him, my heart aching, and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his coat. “Take me home, Leo. They said I can go.” He froze for a second. I saw his throat work as he swallowed, and his cool hand hovered over my head, not quite touching me. “Chloe, I…” Before he could finish, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from across the room. Caleb was leaning forward, his face half-shrouded in shadow, his eyes burning with contempt. “How touching. Truly a scene for the ages.” He sneered. “After three years of following me around like a goddamn puppy, this is the guy you call your boyfriend?” The words were so bizarre, so completely nonsensical, that I didn’t even know how to react. But before I could stand up, Leo disentangled himself from my arms and strode across the room. He swung, and his fist connected with Caleb’s jaw with a sickening crack. “Caleb Sterling,” Leo snarled, his voice dangerously low. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut.” I was stunned. So was Caleb. Leo, my gentle, bookish Leo who never even raised his voice, had just thrown a punch. I scrambled off the bed and threw my arms around Leo’s waist, pulling him back before Caleb could retaliate. I dragged him out of the room, ignoring the furious roar that erupted behind us. Caleb kicked the heavy metal door, the sound booming down the hallway. “Chloe! You’re choosing him?” “Goddammit, Chloe, you get your ass back here!” His voice faded as we reached the elevator. In the passenger seat of Leo’s car, I gently took his hand, turning it over in my own. “Does it hurt? Why were you so impulsive? What if you’d broken it?” In the dim light of the car, Leo didn’t answer. He just looked at me for a long moment before leaning in and crushing his lips to mine. It wasn’t like his usual kisses. This was urgent, almost frantic. And underneath it all, there was a profound, aching vulnerability. It was less like a welcome and more like a claim. I was breathless when he finally pulled back, my face flushed. He looked just as wrecked as I felt. He gently cradled the back of my neck, shifting me into a more comfortable position against the seat. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We’re almost home.” I was exhausted. The chaos of the hospital, the fight, the raw emotion of seeing Leo again… it had all taken its toll. I didn’t even have the energy to question his uncharacteristic behavior. I leaned my head back and let the motion of the car lull me into a daze. My thoughts felt like scrambled eggs. Just as we were pulling into our neighborhood, a strange sound echoed in my mind—a cascade of chimes, like a slot machine paying out. 【Host! Host! You’re finally awake!】 【Progress on the Caleb Sterling objective is at 60%!】 【Victory is within your grasp!】

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The day my father died, my seven uncles died with him. Every last one of them, violently, on the same day. Cole Matthews paid with his legs to make it happen. He waged a one-man war on the syndicate, bled them dry, and put me on the throne. “It’s okay, Sloane,” he’d whispered, his body broken but his eyes fierce. “The monsters are gone. You’re free now.” For years, while he was confined to a wheelchair, I searched for a cure. I chased down a thousand experimental drugs, knelt in the cold marble of a thousand chapels, praying for a miracle. I would have traded anything, done anything, to see him walk again. When Cole found out the lengths I was going to, he swallowed a bottle of pills one night. After they pumped his stomach and the crisis passed, he just smiled weakly, wiping the tears from my face. “Sloane,” he’d said, his voice raspy. “I don’t want to be your anchor. You deserve a better life.” We held each other and cried that night, swearing that nothing, not even death, would ever make us leave the other’s side. That was seven years ago. Today, a girl who looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly showed up at my door with a stack of a thousand private photos. “Every month, when you were off chasing some miracle cure, groveling for God to fix him,” she said, her voice dripping with venom, “Cole and I were finding new ways to sin.” She leaned in, her sweet face twisted into a sneer. “Didn’t you know, Ms. Blackwood? Damaged goods hold no appeal for a man like him. No wonder he’d rather pretend to be a cripple than lay a hand on you.” I looked through every single photograph, one by one. Then I had my people deliver them to the black-market auction house. 1 When Cole arrived, the bidding for picture #999 was in full swing. “Damn, she looks so innocent,” a gruff voice boomed from the crowd. “But look at this last one… the things she’s doing are enough to make a dead man’s blood boil.” Hearing the filthy whispers, Cole’s face went dark. And I watched him walk. He wasn’t limping. He wasn’t stumbling. His stride was powerful, fast, and flawless. The stem of the wine glass in my hand snapped. He stopped in front of me, his tall frame casting a long, oppressive shadow. Seeing the look on my face, the raw violence in his posture softened, and his voice dropped to the low timber I knew so well. “Sloane. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just call it off.” I stared at him, saying nothing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Finally, he bent his knees and knelt before me, his handsome face lowered. “If you let her go, I swear she will never cross your path again.” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “Sloane, I’m begging you. Call off the auction.” The last time they’d tried to break him, when my uncles’ men shattered his legs, he hadn’t uttered a single plea. Now, he was begging me. For another woman. The sight of his desperation was unbearable. I hurled my glass to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces, and slapped him across the face, the sound cracking through the room. He didn’t even flinch. He just took it, letting me unleash my fury. When I was done, he gently took my stinging hand and blew softly on the reddened skin. “Sloane, you can hit me, you can scream at me, whatever you want. But Lana… she’s not like us. She can’t handle this kind of punishment. It will destroy her.” I pulled my hand back, a humorless smile playing on my lips. “Fine.” The moment the photos were withdrawn, a visible wave of relief washed over Cole. But before he could speak, a new, more ferocious roar erupted from the crowd below. The main event of the evening was unveiled. Lana, the innocent little rabbit, was curled up inside a massive glass display case, wearing the same uniform from the final, most explicit photograph. The men in the audience, who had been left wanting more, now stared with the eyes of starving wolves. The sound of winner-takes-all private bids echoed through the hall, one after another. I watched Cole’s eyes, saw the red creep into them, inch by inch. But I felt nothing. No satisfaction. Nothing at all. “Sloane, make them stop!” “Mr. Matthews,” my butler, Arthur, said from behind me, his voice firm. “It was this woman who chose to provoke the lady of the house. She knew the risks of challenging you. This punishment is merciful, all things considered.” Cole’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenched into fists so tight they trembled. The gavel fell. A portly, red-faced executive eagerly claimed his prize, carrying Lana into a private room. I held Cole’s gaze. “Cole, if we leave right now, I can pretend none of this ever happened.” “Cole, save me—” Lana’s fragmented sobs echoed from the room. Before I could finish my sentence, he was gone, moving like a lightning strike. A gunshot rang out, and the chaotic auction floor fell silent. The disheveled executive was kicked out of the room, his lower body a mess of blood. Cole, seemingly possessed, threw himself on the man, his fists meeting flesh with sickening thuds. He beat the man until he was an unconscious, bloody heap on the floor. After the body was dragged away, Cole emerged, carrying a tear-streaked Lana in his arms. His gaze met mine. The cold, familiar malice in his eyes sent a tremor through my soul. It was the same look from the darkest moment of my life, a memory I fought every day to forget. Cole had been my father’s most brilliant protégé. During the syndicate’s last internal war, my father had sent him overseas on a critical mission. My seven uncles—none of them my blood, all of them hungry for power—seized the opportunity. They drugged me. For forty hours, I was their plaything. By the time Cole got back, I was in a hospital bed. To maintain stability within the family, my father chose to sacrifice me. From that day on, I was diagnosed with severe PTSD. Suicide became a familiar thought, a constant temptation. The last time I tried, Cole held me close. He took a knife and carved seven lines over his own heart, deep enough to leave permanent scars. His eyes then were just as they were now: terrifyingly calm. “Sloane,” he had vowed, his blood dripping onto my hands. “One day, I swear, I will make those animals pay in blood.” 2 The shadow of that memory washed over me again, cold and suffocating. Before I could steady myself, Lana, still crying, shielded Cole with her body. “Sloane! You think you can control everything, don’t you? You’re nothing but a broken toy, something everyone’s already played with! What right does trash like you have to run the Blackwood family?” The auction house was now dead silent. I could hear the sharp intake of breaths from every corner. Even Cole’s face turned white with shock. This was a Blackwood operation. Everyone here knew what my trigger was. And this idiot, this girl, had just dared to pull it in front of everyone. “Cole, I’m not afraid to die. If she has the guts, let her kill—” Before she could finish the word, I put a bullet through her thigh. If Cole hadn’t moved at the last second, it would have been her head. Lana nearly fainted from the pain, but she bit her lip, forcing herself to speak. “Cole, don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid to die for you, it’s just…” She whispered something in his ear. Cole’s breath hitched. Without another glance at me, he lifted her into his arms and started for the exit. The auction house security moved to block his path. Cole had once been my father’s greatest weapon; his skills were legendary. But holding Lana, he was outnumbered. It wasn’t long before he was bruised and bleeding. “Ma’am, that woman will be a plague upon you!” Arthur urged, his voice tight with concern. I watched Cole, his eyes feral, a man transformed by rage. And in his arms, the girl whose dress didn’t even have a speck of dirt on it. I blinked, my eyes dry and aching. A few tears escaped, tasting like bitter laughter. Whatever last shred of hope I held for him vanished. “Let them go.” My voice was flat. “And Arthur? Get me Kian Donovan on the phone. Tell him I accept his offer.” … Cole didn’t come back for three days. During his absence, news trickled in from Northgate. Every man who had placed a bid on those photos at the auction had met with a… misfortune. Cole was always unhinged. This didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that Lana still had the nerve to provoke me. She sent a package to the Blackwood estate. Inside was a positive pregnancy test and photos of the bidders, beaten to a bloody pulp. A handwritten note oozed with triumph. “Well, Sloane, what good is all your power now? You’re just the woman who had her womb scraped out. You can never have children.” “The baby in my belly is Cole’s only heir. Something you can’t get no matter how many gods you beg.” A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. I burned the package to ashes. The next day, Cole stormed into the estate. He kicked Arthur into the koi pond, his face contorted with a rage so pure it was murderous. I waved a hand, and my men pulled Arthur out of the water. “What’s wrong? Tired of playing attack dog out on the streets?” Cole’s face was a thundercloud. He threw a medical report onto the floor. It was a notice of miscarriage. “Sloane, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” I just scoffed. My dismissal seemed to shatter his restraint. He grabbed my arm, dragged me to his car, and drove like a madman to the hospital. Lana was in a private room, weeping as she clutched a pair of baby dolls. “Because of you, Lana has fallen into a severe depression,” Cole said, his voice dangerously low. “The doctors say if she can’t get past this, she’ll never recover.” “You are going to apologize to her.” 3 I looked at him, at the utter conviction on his face. I laughed coldly. Me, apologize to Lana? She didn’t have the right to hear my apology in her next life, let alone this one. I turned to leave, but a sound from his phone stopped me dead. My blood ran cold. Cole was holding his phone up, a vicious, feral look in his eyes. “Sloane. Don’t make me do this.” It was the video. The one he swore he had destroyed after he’d killed my seven uncles. The recording of my forty hours of humiliation. Hearing my own screams from that time, a reflexive wave of nausea hit me, and I stumbled to the side, gagging violently. A flicker of pity crossed Cole’s face. He started to move toward me, but just then, Lana burst out of her room. The sight of me sent her into a frenzy. “You bitch! You took my baby!” she shrieked. “Cole, our baby is gone! The doctor said I can never have children again!” Her sobs were theatrical, heart-wrenching. “I want her on her knees! I want her to beg for our child’s forgiveness!” Cole pulled her into a tight embrace, and any hesitation in his eyes hardened into resolve. “Sloane, you can have the Blackwood empire, I don’t care. But Lana and the baby were innocent. You shouldn’t have touched them.” He looked at his watch. “You have five minutes. After that, this video goes public.”

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The third year I was home, I jumped from the roof. My soul lingered in the air, a ghost expecting a spectacle. I wanted to see the parents and the brother who had despised me finally break down, sobbing with a regret that had come three years too late. But my father just shook his head, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he looked down at my broken body. “So dramatic,” he muttered. My mother pressed her lips into a thin line, and a long, slow breath escaped her. It was a sigh of relief. My brother, Caleb, stepped in front of the girl who had taken my place, shielding her from the gruesome sight of my end. But she saw enough to start crying, and in an instant, the entire family was a fortress of arms around her, cooing and comforting. I floated there for a long time, a hollow ache where my heart used to be. Then, a bitter laugh escaped my spectral form. Of course. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they first brought me home. 1 It took me a long time, sitting in stunned silence on the plush velvet sofa, to accept that I was alive again. Across from me, the people who were supposed to be my parents dabbed at their red-rimmed eyes, their voices thick as they spoke of a decade of longing, of the guilt that had eaten at them. They had missed me for ten years, they said. The first time I lived this, their words had been a dam breaking inside me. I’d collapsed into their arms, sobbing with the sheer, naive belief that I had found it. A home. That I was loved. But that belief ended three years later, with my hands tangled in my own hair, my screams echoing as I threw myself from their roof, hoping my death could finally buy me an ounce of their affection. It couldn’t. No one had ever loved me. So this time, I felt nothing. I sat there, as still and silent as a piece of wood. “Oh, honey, you must still be overwhelmed. It’s okay.” My mother’s voice was syrupy sweet. She took my hand, her skin soft against my calloused one. “Let’s go pick out your room. Whichever one you want!” My father followed, smiling, pulling out his phone to call my brother, Caleb. He was telling him to hurry home. From the speaker, Caleb’s voice was flat. A single word. “Busy.” My father’s smile tightened. My mother’s was strained. She turned to me, offering a quick explanation. “Your brother’s a very important man at the company. He’s basically running things now. We probably won’t see him until the weekend.” Last time, I believed her. This time, it didn’t matter. I’d just pretend to believe her again. The third floor was a gallery of perfect girlhood bedrooms, each one bright, airy, and decorated in soft pastels. “Take your pick, Mia,” my father said, his voice beaming with false generosity. “Any one of them can be yours.” My eyes landed on the room closest to the stairs. On the queen-sized bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, sat a giant, fluffy teddy bear. Last time, that bear had been a siren’s call. Believing I was the cherished, long-lost daughter, I had chosen that room without a second thought. I loved that bear. Just like last time, my parents’ faces flickered. They exchanged a look, a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening around their eyes, before the smiles returned. “Oh, Mia, honey, we forgot to mention. That’s your sister Chloe’s room.” “She’s such a thoughtful girl,” my mother rushed to add. “She insisted on clearing it out, said you should have your pick. You deserve the biggest one, of course…” I remember blinking at them then, my heart swelling with gratitude. “She’s letting me have her room? That’s so nice of her.” I still wanted the bear. I still wanted that room. My parents exchanged another look. They were hesitating, words caught in their throats. But the first me, giddy with a joy I’d never known, had already run inside and thrown my arms around that bear. And right on cue, Chloe walked in, her prep school backpack slung over one shoulder. 2 Chloe and I were the same age, fifteen. But she was a woman of the world, and I was a girl who knew only dirt and chores. She was polished; I was raw. Seeing me in her room, her lips tightened for a fraction of a second before a perfect, dimpled smile appeared. “I heard my sister was home, so I got out of class early. You like this room? It’s yours, then.” She bit her lip and turned away, a perfect portrait of reluctant sacrifice. My parents saw it all. Every flicker, every gesture. My mother hurried in, trying to guide me away. “Mia, let’s look at the others. This one is… well, it’s a bit too big, don’t you think?” “Why?” I asked, genuinely confused. The atmosphere had shifted, grown heavy and tight, and a knot of anxiety was forming in my stomach. But I couldn’t understand it. Weren’t these the people who had cried for me, who loved me? Wasn’t Chloe the sister who had generously offered me her own space? I was their daughter. Why was it wrong to want a room I liked? My questions hung in the air. My mother’s expression flickered again. My father stood stiffly in the doorway, his jaw set. Then Chloe, the peacemaker, stepped forward. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll help my sister make the bed. This is her home now. She should have whatever she wants.” 3 So, I stayed. On the farm, my world had been pots, pans, and fields. In the city, I was lost. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know what was wrong. I hadn’t even been in Chloe’s room for a full day when Caleb came home. He found me sitting on the bed, reading a book. He stormed in, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the hallway, his face a mask of cold fury. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “This is Chloe’s room. Have you no decency? You think you can just show up and take over?”

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I was on a reality show with my A-list brother, and the director told us to name one thing we’d done that no one else in the group had. When it was my turn, I smiled sweetly and said, “I’ve made my brother cry. By punching him.” The live chat exploded. [LMAO, the tabloids call him a violent monster. You mean the kind that gets beaten to tears by his little sister?] [Isn’t he famous for having the worst temper in the industry?] But then he saw one comment that scrolled by: [His sister is so cute! I want to take her home!] That’s when my brother finally lost it. “Back off!” he snarled at the screen. “Don’t you people have your own sisters?!” 1 I was home for the summer, sprawled on our living room couch, half-watching TV while scrolling through my phone. On screen, my brother’s concert was being broadcast live from a sold-out stadium. The music was electric, a pulsing beat that vibrated through the floor. He moved with a slick, practiced ease, hitting every mark with predatory grace. Below him, a sea of fans screamed his name. “LEO! I LOVE YOU!” “OH MY GOD, HE’S UNREAL!” “LEO ROTH! THE KING!” The music crashed to a halt, and the camera zoomed in for a tight close-up. On the massive screen, Leo Roth, my brother, wore an expression of sublime, untouchable arrogance. The impeccable rock god persona. He held the pose, cool and detached, a king surveying his domain. The next second, the real Leo pushed open the living room door. He stood there, looking at me with the pleading eyes of a kicked puppy, dressed in a fluffy, bright pink Peppa Pig onesie. “Maya, please,” he whined. “Just come with me. It’s only for three days.” “No,” I said, not looking up from my phone. “Every other guest has their sister with them. Even my nemesis, Asher Kane, dug up some long-lost cousin to bring along.” He’d been begging me for days to join him on this reality show. “Absolutely not,” I said firmly. It’s not that I’m heartless. It’s that I’ve seen the headlines. Trending #1: #LeoRothAngerIssues Trending #2: #LeoRothThreatensPaparazzi Trending #3: #LeoRothNewSingleSlaps Two out of three were PR nightmares. I had no desire to get caught in the crossfire of his public persona. Instead of a windfall of fame by association, I’d just get a shitstorm of drama dumped on my head. Seeing that his puppy-dog act wasn’t working, my brother played his trump card. “If you come, I’ll give you three pieces of fresh Hollywood gossip. 100% verified.” My head snapped up. Gossip? The good kind? “Deal,” I said. To hesitate for even a second would be a profound disrespect to the art of the spill. 2 Sibling Rivalry was a reality show filmed at a rustic, luxury farmhouse, with every moment of the three-day shoot live-streamed. To boost engagement, a live comment feed scrolled constantly across the screen. The moment my brother and I stepped out of the black SUV, the feed blew up. LeoIsMyHusband: LEO’S HERE! AHHHHH! MusicMaven22: He’s hot, but the permanent scowl is a turn-off. I heard he’s got a temper. RothArmy4Ever: That’s just a rumor Asher Kane’s fans started. Get a life. CutiePie: Is that his sister? She’s so adorable! I saw that one pair of siblings had already arrived and were sitting on a plush sofa in the waiting area. When I recognized the guy’s all-too-familiar face, my smile twitched. Of course. You have got to be kidding me. Caleb Hayes. My childhood friend. Nicknamed the “Crown Prince of the Hamptons,” he’d stumbled into acting to kill time before he had to take over his father’s empire. He’d since become famous for playing handsome, charismatic assholes in a few hit streaming shows—a role that required very little acting on his part. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Maya!” He strode over, his hand instinctively rising to ruffle my hair like he used to when we were kids. The comment feed immediately went into detective mode. GossipGirlXOXO: Caleb Hayes knows Leo Roth’s sister?! NYCNightlife: Isn’t he like, East Coast royalty? Total player. They probably met at some club. JustSaying: She looks so innocent, but I guess she’s a party girl… I had no intention of getting tangled in manufactured drama before the cameras were even properly rolling. I took a quick step back, creating a clear distance between us. Caleb noticed my deliberate retreat and let his hand fall, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He coolly slid back onto the sofa, trying to look like he hadn’t just been subtly rebuffed. The girl beside him offered us a warm smile. “Hi, you must be Maya. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Chloe, Caleb’s cousin.” Wow. The little kid who used to follow Caleb around with a perpetually runny nose had grown up into a legitimately beautiful young woman. She greeted me warmly but gave my brother a look that was decidedly frosty. Leo leaned over and whispered, “Does she have a problem with me? What did I ever do to her?” You seriously don’t remember? I decided to jog his memory. “You grilled the two pet chicks she was raising in her backyard when you were twelve.” Comprehension dawned on his face. He rubbed his nose, managing a sheepish, awkward laugh. Before we could even sit down, another SUV pulled up. A man and a woman stepped out, scanning the area. The guy in the crisp white blazer was Asher Kane, a rising pop star and Leo’s designated industry rival. He’d built his entire career on being a budget version of my brother. The woman with him was Seraphina Belle, a new actress whose entire brand was built around being a sweet, sophisticated heiress. Her fans called her the “Princess of Bel Air.” Seraphina was dressed in a pale pink, silk cheongsam-style dress, her heels adorned with delicate pearls. She looked like a fragile, perfect little flower. SeraBelleFan: SERAPHINA IS HERE! All together now: The Princess has arrived! PrincessProtectionSquad: The Princess has arrived!!! AsherIsKing: Asher looks amazing! He could totally pass for a younger Leo Roth! LeoFan1: Don’t even compare that clone to the original. So annoying. AsherStan: Says the Leo Roth fan. Like idol, like fan. Both toxic. WaitAMinute: Am I crazy or does Seraphina look kinda… plain next to Maya? Sera4eva: Are you blind?! Seraphina is a goddess and you’re trash! Seraphina definitely saw that last comment comparing us. A shadow of hostility flickered in her eyes as she looked at me. 3 Asher Kane approached my brother with a cloying, deferential smile, extending his hand. “Leo, it’s been a while. Great to be working with you.” Before Leo could even react, the comments were already crucifying him. See_The_Truth: See? Asher is so polite! RumorMill: The rumors must be true. Leo Roth is an arrogant jerk who thinks he’s above everyone. Justice4Asher: Look at our poor Asher, he looks so scared. Leo must have bullied him before! I saw a flash of triumph in Asher’s eyes. Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing. I stepped in front of my brother, moving close to Asher. I pitched my voice to a soft, innocent whisper. “Hey, can I ask you something? How do you get the bridge of your nose to catch the light like that?” Asher instinctively clapped a hand over his nose, his face flooding with panic. “What… What are you talking about?” Leo had told me all about it. To become “the next Leo Roth,” Asher had spent a small fortune on plastic surgery to mimic my brother’s features. Asher shot me a furious glare before storming off to the sofa. Seraphina, meanwhile, completely ignored us and made a point of sitting right next to Caleb, acting as if they were old friends. The comments immediately ran with the narrative she was pushing. CelebCouples: The Princess of Bel Air and the Prince of the Hamptons! They look so good together! User987: Some random girl who just showed up isn’t even in the same league. Facts: Exactly. Seraphina is actual old money. They move in different circles. She started fussing with a teacup, making little clinking noises, clearly trying to get Caleb’s attention. It was a wasted effort. Caleb picked up a magazine and became utterly engrossed in it. Thwarted, Seraphina turned her attention to Chloe. But just as she was about to speak, Chloe hopped up, ran over to me, and grabbed my hand, pulling me down to sit beside her. My brother followed, taking the last empty spot. “Maya, I heard you just got back from studying abroad! Was it amazing?” Chloe began, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about applying to Parsons, could you tell me about it? Oh, and can I please come hang out after the show is done?” Chloe was a whirlwind of excited energy, and I found myself smiling as I answered her questions. Across from us, Seraphina sat awkwardly, her polite smile plastered on, the odd one out. Watcher123: Wait, are Seraphina and the Hayes cousins not actually friends? Cringe: This is weird. She’s supposed to be this big socialite, but she looks totally out of her depth. GirlPower: Chloe and Maya seem so genuine together! SoCute: Two adorable girls, my screen has been blessed!!! Seraphina watched the comments, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze, filled with resentment, landed on my neck. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice suddenly loud and performative. “You have that necklace too?” Her outburst drew the director’s attention, and a camera zoomed in on the delicate chain around my neck. She stepped closer, peering at it with fake curiosity. “That’s a Dubois, isn’t it? From her limited collection? There are only five in the entire world. I can’t believe you have one too! But… yours looks a little different from the one I have…” She let the accusation hang in the air. Then, as if realizing her “mistake,” she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to imply it’s a fake or anything! It’s just, Madame Dubois is a designer I deeply admire, so I get a little carried away. Please forgive me.” The comment section immediately turned on me. LOL: Someone wore a knock-off to a live-streamed show? That’s embarrassing. SeraBelleFan: Our princess is so classy. Not like some people. TeamAsher: Her brother’s a bully and she wears fake jewelry. What a lovely family. A fake? I blinked, genuinely confused. The production team, clearly smelling blood in the water, did nothing, waiting for me to apologize and create a dramatic scene. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone, opened my messaging app, and tapped on a pinned contact. I sent a quick message. Five minutes later, a new post appeared on Madame Dubois’s official, verified Instagram account, written in perfect English. “A joy to see my brilliant student, Maya Roth, wearing the piece I gifted her. A symbol of our shared passion for design! ” The internet exploded. #MayaRothDuboisStudent #MayaRothParsons #SiblingRivalryStyle Seraphina’s face went from flushed red to a sickly pale. I casually closed the app, but not before noticing another trending topic just below the ones about me. #SeraphinaBelleMansion Was this girl really buying her own trending topics? Curious, I clicked on it. The post featured a picture of Seraphina in a ballet tutu, striking a contrived pose in a large, opulent living room. But it wasn’t her that caught my eye. The sofa. The coffee table. And on the wall behind her, a framed, childish doodle of a My Little Pony. My heart skipped a beat. What the hell? That’s our empty villa in Malibu.

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The System said I was a crybaby, so it gave me the villain’s script. Wiping away my tears, I looked up at my six-foot-three brother and stammered, “I’m sorry, but you’re a bastard, and I have to bully you.” The System’s voice was harsh in my mind. “Keep insulting him! Slap him!” “St-stupid… idiot!” I managed. Then I clumsily rose onto my tiptoes, my hand reaching shakily for his face. The slap was barely a tap. My brother seemed to enjoy it. 1 In the world of this book, the man who would one day become the most bloodthirsty and misanthropic Regent in history, Kael, was currently kneeling in the snow. Our father had just discovered he wasn’t his biological son and had cast him out in the freezing cold as punishment. And I was his universally despised stepsister, Faye. My role was to deliver him a bowl of scalding chicken soup during his moment of utter disgrace. Not to drink, of course. To his legs. [Stop crying! All you do is cry, you’ll cry all your good fortune away!] the System bellowed impatiently in my head. [Sniff… but I’m scared.] My legs were trembling so hard I could barely hold the soup bowl steady. It wasn’t my fault. Kael was terrifying. He had sharp, fierce eyes and a commanding presence, and he’d shot up to six-foot-three. Even kneeling, he looked like a mountain. Worse, he was a battle-hardened soldier who could snap a man’s neck with one hand. He’d just rushed back from the training grounds and was still wearing form-fitting leather armor that did nothing to hide the powerful muscles beneath. His chest, rising and falling with each breath, was the most intimidating part. I hesitated for a long time before finally getting my tears under control. The searing soup had already raised several blisters on my hands. I walked over to him. “Brother,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Then I let my hands go limp, and the bowl tilted. But Kael, hearing my apology, had already turned. With a flick of two fingers, he batted the bowl aside before it could hit him. Only a few drops of soup splashed onto his thigh. He frowned, his expression darkening as he prepared to question me. But then two streams of fresh tears burst from my eyes. The System was yelling at me again. [Are you an idiot? Why did you say sorry? Are you brain-dead?!] [I’m sorry, I’ve never done anything like this before.] [Do you want to complete this mission and leave this world or not? I’m warning you, if you keep being such a coward, I’ll leave you here to be tortured to death by Kael after he turns evil!] [I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!] My apologies turned into gulping sobs. Kael’s anger melted into exasperation. “Were you holding that for a long time?” he asked suddenly, his gaze falling on the blisters on my palms. I nodded. “Don’t play the saint right now,” he said coldly. “It’s distracting, unsightly, and you’ve stained my clothes.” I froze. In the original story, Faye scalded Kael’s leg so badly that, combined with the prolonged kneeling, he became permanently crippled. He was only healed later when he met the story’s heroine, who nursed him back to health. Kael never forgot what Faye did. Once he became Regent, he had her branded with a hot iron every day. They would let the wounds heal, then tear them open and brand her again. Cruelty and a long memory were Kael’s defining traits. A loud mouth and a painful ending were mine. The System let out a screech of frustration. [Why does he think you were bringing him soup to drink? Is he crazy? Why is he trying to see the good in you?] Because I’m just a timid, soft-hearted person, I explained silently, not daring to say it to the System. [Fix this! Now! Kick him! Kick him a few times, try to break his leg!] I scrambled to obey. I lifted my right foot. Kael, who had just looked away with a cold, dismissive expression, suddenly went rigid. He slowly lowered his gaze. A delicate, embroidered slipper was pressed against his lower abdomen, grinding back and forth. The pressure wasn’t heavy. It didn’t hurt. But the single pearl on the toe of the slipper trembled nervously. My voice was small and nasal as I sniffled, “Brother, are you angry now?” 2 [! HOST! YOU CALL THAT A KICK? I COULD BREATHE ON HIM HARDER THAN THAT!] the System roared. I held back my tears, determined not to cry in front of Kael again. The System’s scolding left me flustered. I started to pull my foot away, but another sharp reprimand from the System made me press it back against him. [But… I think he is angry. His ears are all red,] I whispered in my defense. Kael’s ears were indeed red—a translucent, crimson hue, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to them. He stared down at my slipper, then shot me an icy glare. “Faye, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” That scared me even more. Ignoring the System’s threats, I started sobbing again. “I’m sorry!” I whimpered, trying to retract my foot. But this time, Kael’s hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. His palm was searingly hot, his long fingers wrapping around me with ease. Caught off guard, I stumbled and fell in a clumsy heap in the snow right in front of him. The tears I’d been holding back finally came crashing down. Only then did Kael slowly release me. He tilted his chin up, looking down at my pathetic, sprawling form with an air of indifference. “If you ever come near me again, it won’t be just a fall.” I nodded, trembling, and scrambled away. After a few steps, I stopped and turned back. I gave him a deep bow, repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Then I rushed forward again, intending to pat the footprint off his clothes. But my hand brushed against a hard, raised object beneath the fabric. ! He had a dagger hidden there! For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Kael’s face. He seized my wrist, grabbing my collar and pulling me up so we were eye to eye. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s just that… it’s been a long time… so it’s easy to…” He took a deep, steadying breath, cutting off his own vague explanation. “Get away from me!” he snarled. Coming from a man who had seen battle, the force of his voice was enough to make my legs turn to jelly. I stumbled away, my feet sinking deep into the snow with every panicked step. Once I was back in my room, I finally caught my breath enough to speak to the System. “That counts as a success, right, Mr. System?” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “I spilled the soup, I kicked him a bunch, and he got angry and yelled at me.” The System was speechless. [Your next mission,] it said, its voice dripping with annoyance, [is to imprison Kael after he’s thrown out of the family. You will whip him and humiliate him every day.] “How… how do I humiliate him?” [Just improvise… no, forget it. When the time comes, you’ll listen to me. Do exactly as I say. Not one word more, not one action more. Got it?] I nodded obediently. But the System still wasn’t convinced. [Faye, do you understand what ‘do exactly as I say’ means? If I tell you to breathe hard, you don’t get to breathe soft. If I tell you not to cry, you suck those tears right back in!] I clenched my fists. “I’ll try my best next time! I’m sorry, Mr. System. I messed things up for you this time.” That seemed to satisfy it. [By the way, the source text is vague about this part of Kael’s life. So you only need to remember one line. You have to get this line right.] The System’s voice changed, mimicking a tone that was chillingly cool and flippant, cruel and sharp. [Brother, for the rest of your life, you are fit for only one thing: to be my dog.] 3 When Kael was finally cast out, his body was covered in wounds from being beaten with rods. His thin linen clothes were no match for the biting wind. The only things he took with him were the sword he had earned through his military service and a scented sachet his mother had left him. He was a lonely figure, but his back was ramrod straight. Even in defeat, he hadn’t lost his formidable spirit. I thought he would have no lingering attachment to our home, but as he stood at the gate, he suddenly turned and asked a servant, “Where is Faye?” The servant’s face was hard. “Kael, you are no longer part of this family. Why should we report Miss Faye’s whereabouts to you?” A flicker of something crossed Kael’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a cold sneer. “I was just relieved that little pest wasn’t here to get in my way. From now on, this family and I go our separate ways.” Hiding in a nearby alley, I flinched when I heard that. How did he know I was planning to get in his way? [Stop shaking! He’s coming! Grab the club and go! Hit him over the head and drag him into the carriage!] the System snapped. I scrambled out of the alley. This time, I didn’t waste time with pleasantries. I just raised the large wooden club. THWACK! Kael collapsed without a sound. Only then did I whisper, “I’m sorry, Brother.” Thankfully, I had swept the ground beforehand and even laid down a small mat. It would be so rude to let him fall face-first into the mud. I let out a sigh of relief and hooked my arms under his, dragging him toward the carriage. Kael was thinner than I’d imagined. Up close, I could see how his cheekbones jutted out and how his eyes were slightly sunken. I sighed again. He was barely twenty, yet he had to endure betrayal, punishment, and exile. And through it all, he remained so strong, never shedding a single tear. Not like me. Just thinking about what he was going through made my eyes well up. I really admired him. If I had met him in my own world, I would have tried my best to be his friend. He was so big, I was afraid I’d lose my grip and his head would hit the carriage door. So I gently cradled his head against my chest to steady him. Kael was unconscious, and the System didn’t care about these small details. After I got him inside, I realized he was burning up with a fever, his face flushed a deep red. [Why do you care? He won’t die. You could stab him seven or eight times and he’d still be fine. He’s the male lead,] the System grumbled. I hardened my heart, climbed into the driver’s seat, and urged the horses toward my private villa. I was born to my father’s second wife, making Kael and I half-siblings. Now, I guess we were nothing to each other. My mother came from a wealthy merchant family and had left me a country estate for summer retreats. For me, it was a paradise. For Kael, it was about to become the crucible where he would be reforged in fire. I fastened an iron collar around his neck and locked shackles on his wrists and ankles. Kael’s head lolled forward, completely unaware as I tied him to a chair with thick ropes and even removed his shirt. Everything was ready. All I had to do was wait for him to wake up. Then the humiliation could begin. 4 [When he wakes up, you’re going to douse him with a bucket of cold water. Then, you whip him. Whip him until he’s furious, struggling against his bonds but completely helpless. Got it?] I nodded obediently. [And then,] the System continued, [at his moment of ultimate shame, you look at him with cold, merciless contempt and tell him to be your dog. Understood?] I nodded furiously. I’d been practicing the line for days. I didn’t want to disappoint Mr. System, who had the misfortune of being paired with a useless crybaby like me. I picked up the bucket, suppressing the anxiety and pity rising in my chest. [This time, you can’t just splash a little, and you can’t miss. Aim for his face and dump the whole thing on him!] the System said excitedly. I gritted my teeth, extended my arms, and was about to throw the water when— Kael’s eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?” A wave of cold fury washed over me. I stumbled backward, tripped on the whip I’d left on the floor, and the entire bucket of ice-cold water sloshed all over me. SPLASH! My clothes clung to my skin, the cold seeping deep into my bones. Don’t cry. Don’t cry! I shivered violently, biting my lip to hold back a sob. The chains rattled as Kael instinctively tried to stand, only to be held fast by the ropes. His eyes were fixed on me. “Faye, what kind of game are you playing now?!” [You! You! Do you have butter on your feet? Why do you fall everywhere you go?!] the System raged. “Mr. System, I’m sorry,” I explained quickly. “My arms were just so sore, I couldn’t hold the bucket steady. I’m sorry.” [So what if he’s awake? Why are you scared? Just throw the water!] the System howled. “But it would get in his eyes,” I whispered. “The water isn’t clean. He could get an infection.” The System sighed in exasperation. [Fine, fine! Getting paired with a useless host like you is so annoying! Listen up. Repeat after me, word for word.] The System’s voice became a cold sneer. [Brother, after all, we were family once. You’ve been so kind to me over the years. How could I possibly let you go so easily?] Hugging my freezing body, I stood up and forced a malicious smile. “Brother, after all, we were family once. You’ve been so kind to me over the years. How could I possibly let you go so easily?” I didn’t realize that, to an outsider, my eyes—reddened from the cold and glistening with unshed tears—looked utterly heartbreaking. My voice was fragile, yet my face was stretched into a painful smile. [Huh… something about that doesn’t feel right,] the System muttered, confused. Kael, for his part, showed no signs of anger. Alarmingly, the cold fury in his eyes had vanished completely. He wasn’t even glaring anymore. “If you couldn’t bear to let me go,” he said, “why didn’t you come to see me off when I left?” [??? Are you insane?! How can you say something so disgusting?!] the System shrieked. [Who cares if she came to see you off! She’s your enemy!] I parroted the System. “Who cares if I came to see you off! I’m your enemy!” I had no idea how utterly bizarre that sounded coming from me. My voice was small and soft, turning the harsh words into something that sounded like a petulant, twisted form of affection. Kael actually smiled. [I didn’t tell you to say that! Take it back!] the System sputtered, equally stunned. How was I supposed to take back something I’d already said? The System’s scolding left me flustered. I looked at Kael miserably. “Just pretend you didn’t hear that last part.” [Forget it, forget it! Just grab the whip and hit him!] I quickly picked up the whip, my hand gripping the handle tightly. I had practiced for hours by myself so I wouldn’t accidentally hit myself. I stared at his bare chest. This time, I would get it right. 5 The thin whip cut through the air, wrapping around Kael’s side. CRACK! The sound was sharp and clear. A thin red welt appeared on his lower abdomen, slowly spreading into a wider mark as the pain set in. “Ngh…” he grunted softly, his eyes lifting to meet mine. [It’s working! Keep hitting him!] But I didn’t share the System’s excitement. I felt awful. The cellar was already cold, and I was soaked to the bone. It felt like my insides were freezing solid. A sudden, burning pain shot through my lungs, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Forcing myself to stay composed, I replied politely, “Yes, thank you for your help, Mr. System.” The next time the whip fell, my aim was off. The tip of it flicked against the inside of his thigh. Kael’s eyebrows shot up, a dark fire igniting in the depths of his eyes. “…Careful…” I whispered to the System, “Mr. System, does this count as him being angry?” But the System asked, [What’s wrong with you? Your voice sounds strange.] I shook my head, trying to sound strong. “It’s nothing, just a little tired. I can finish the mission.” My vision was starting to blur, seeing double. I straightened up with a great effort and delivered my final line to Kael. “Brother, for the rest of your life, you are fit for only one thing: to be my dog.” I couldn’t hear if he responded. I swayed on my feet, took a few delirious steps, and collapsed onto his lap. Huh? Where does he keep that dagger? I didn’t see it before, but I can feel it again now. That was my last thought before I fainted.

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The night of our graduation dinner, I took the drunk campus belle to the campus bad boy’s room. But my childhood friend mistook me for her. One night of chaos. Everyone said I did it on purpose to break them up. For years after we were married, I tried everything to win his heart, but it remained cold. Until one day, I overheard him on the phone. “As long as Beth is happy, I’m willing to waste my whole life keeping Thea tied down.” “Who would want to marry a bookworm like her, anyway?” “She wants a baby? Fine. I’ll give her one.” The harsh blare of a car horn cut him off. He spun around instinctively and saw me standing at the corner. His face paled, and he lunged toward me, trying to push me out of the way. The next second, we were both sent flying. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the graduation dinner. This time, I decided to let them have each other. 1 Only my childhood friend, Liam, knew that I had a crush on the campus bad boy, Jaxon. The night of our university graduation dinner, Beth asked me to help her to a room to rest. I didn’t know it was Jaxon’s room. And Beth was a master actress. The moment we were out of sight, she was instantly sober, a mocking glint in her eyes as she looked at me. In my past life, I was too naive to see it. I was, as everyone called me, the scheming, venomous bookworm. It wasn’t until I heard Liam’s phone call right before I died that I finally understood. He was willing to sacrifice his entire life for Beth. And I had been foolish enough to believe him when he’d proposed, when he’d told me he loved me. Before I died, Liam and I lay together in a pool of blood. When the speeding car hit, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking the brunt of the impact with his back. But it was useless. The force of the collision sent me flying. As my consciousness faded, I could just make out Liam, covered in blood, stubbornly crawling toward me despite the agony that wracked his body. The wounds on his fingers were deep enough to show bone, and his voice was a broken tremor. “Thea, don’t scare me.” “Wake up, let me explain!” “I was wrong, Thea. I was so wrong.” His heartbroken cries made me want to vomit. A torrent of blood gushed from my lips. In the final moments of my life, I found one last ounce of strength. I moved my fingers, just enough to pull away from the hand he was desperately trying to link with mine. Too late for apologies now. 2 “Thea, what’s too late?” “You haven’t had that much to drink. Come on, have another.” A voice pulled me from my memories. I realized I was back in my senior year of university. Jaxon was hosting a graduation party for our class at his family’s empty villa. For everyone else, it was the start of a new chapter. For me, in my last life, it had been the entrance to hell. The sweet, cloying voice belonged to Beth. Liam always told me I should be more like her, that even her anger sounded like a lover’s pout, irresistible to any man. I couldn’t hold my liquor, but when the campus belle offered a toast, refusing would have been a social death sentence. Unfortunately, I’d been reborn just a moment too late. I’d already downed a glass, and the world was starting to spin. So, no matter how much Beth coaxed, I refused to drink another drop. I just adjusted my glasses and pretended to be drunker than I was. I had a job to do later; I couldn’t afford to be completely wasted. Seeing my refusal, a sly look entered Beth’s eyes. She raised her own glass to the table. “If the star student won’t drink, I’ll drink the rest for her.” I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips. She was drinking from her own glass but claiming it was for my sake. In my past life, I’d never had an ounce of her cunning. Her words were sweeter than any song. I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it, quietly watching her performance. By now, Liam had already gotten Jaxon drunk and taken him upstairs. Liam himself had had too much and was resting in the room next to Jaxon’s. Beth’s dramatic display of drinking could only mean she had something else in mind. Soon, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were hazy. She leaned against me, her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Thea, I drank so much for you, I’m feeling dizzy. Can you help me upstairs to rest? My life is in your hands now. You have to keep me safe, okay?” In my past life, Beth had already gotten me completely drunk. I’d only caught the last part about going upstairs to rest before she half-dragged my stumbling form up the stairs. But this time, I saw the cleverness in her words and actions. She was making it sound like it was my fault she was drunk, that it was my duty to see her safely to a room. With that one statement, she planted a seed in everyone’s mind: whatever happened to her tonight would be my fault. Her drunken, helpless state, needing me for support, only solidified her image as the innocent victim. But no one could see that, from their angle, Beth, who was taller than me, wasn’t just leaning on my shoulders. She was digging her fingers into them, her grip surprisingly strong as she steered me toward the stairs. The pain made me wince. Fine. I could play drunk too. I pretended to take off my glasses, and in that motion, I shook off her grip. Then, I went completely limp, collapsing into her arms. A head shorter than her, with a flushed, baby face, I wrapped my arms around her and whined, my voice soft and slurring, “Beth, I’m so dizzy! I can’t walk.” No one had expected this. In their eyes, Beth and I were rivals. Liam liked her, and during a game of truth or dare earlier, I had admitted that I liked him. “Oh no! The star student is really drunk,” someone exclaimed. Hidden in Beth’s embrace, I stayed silent, playing my part. Out of sight, a small smile touched my lips. My little act had startled Beth; I saw her eyes clear for a second. But she needed me to be her scapegoat tonight, so she gritted her teeth and didn’t push me away. Besides, to make her act convincing, she really had drunk a lot. She was at least eighty percent gone. I looked up at her, my hair a mess, and blinked. “Beth, let’s sleep together tonight.” 3 I had no idea what Beth was thinking, but I was serious. The only way to prevent the disaster of my past life was for her to stay with me tonight. Besides, I had lived ten years longer than this version of Beth. To me, she was just a misguided girl. Maybe something had happened to her in university that made her so desperate to land a rich boyfriend. But she wanted to maintain her good-girl image, so she’d devised this whole scheme. She wanted everyone to believe that I, jealous of Liam’s affection for her, had deliberately put her in the bad boy’s room. Her plan had been a spectacular success in my last life. The day after the party, my name became synonymous with “vicious.” Everyone blamed me, cursed me. Eventually, I started to believe it myself. I thought it was my fault, that I’d had too much to drink and taken her to the wrong room. I was the reason she’d disappeared for ten years. I was the reason Liam had lost the love of his life. So I tried to atone. I couldn’t find Beth, so I poured all my repentance onto Liam. I learned to love him, tried to warm his cold heart, begged him to stop hating me. The Liams had taken me in as a child; I owed them everything. But in the end, I was the one who had been played. Liam had been willing to throw away his entire life, to trap me in a marriage, just to keep me from interfering with Beth’s happiness. The day of the car crash, I had been on my way to tell him I’d found her. I had just learned from Jaxon where Beth had been for the past ten years. I wanted him to see her for who she really was, to stop feeling guilty for getting drunk that night and failing to protect her. But before I could say a word, we were both killed. I was so grateful for this second chance. At the dinner table, I’d been thinking about what I could do to repay this gift. I’d considered getting revenge on Beth, giving her a taste of the public shame she’d put me through. But looking at her now, so young and vibrant, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So when she’d asked me to help her to a room, I’d asked, in front of everyone, if she wanted to sleep with me. If she chose me, if she chose not to repeat her mistake, then I would let the past go. After all, this was a different timeline. I couldn’t punish this Beth for what a different version of her had done. But if she insisted on being foolish, I would respect her choice. Everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. So, when she had me pinned between two doors, I asked her again. “It’s your decision. You can sleep here, or you can come to another room with me.” The alcohol was hitting her hard now. Her eyes were glazed over, but she shook her head, trying to stay clear. “Let me think… Oh, I can’t remember.” She tapped her head a few times. I decided to be direct. “Who do you choose? On the left is…” I was about to tell her Jaxon was on the left, Liam was on the right, and I was right beside her. But she cut me off. “I forgot who I drugged…” Her words hit me like a thunderclap. In that instant, my image of her shattered. She was like a beautiful flower, rotten from the roots up. She would stoop to such a low, despicable tactic to get what she wanted. I started to wonder if I’d been drugged too. I took a step back, putting some distance between us. I asked her again, but the answer was the same. “Either one is fine,” she said. “Doesn’t matter which.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I had to let go of my savior complex and respect her choices. I watched, my face a cold mask, as she stumbled into Liam’s room. Then I turned and opened the door to the room next door. Beth might not remember who she’d drugged, but I had the memories of my past life. The moment she said it, I knew. Tonight, I would be the one to save the poor, unsuspecting bad boy. 4 The moment I opened the door, a blast of cold air hit me. The room was a mess, water everywhere. I followed the sound of dripping and found him. The notoriously cool and arrogant Jaxon was a pathetic heap on the floor, his back against the sofa, pouring ice water over his head. His t-shirt was tossed aside, leaving him in just a pair of grey sweatpants. His head was bowed, his black hair plastered to his face, obscuring his eyes. Droplets of water traced the sharp line of his jaw, soaking a dark patch on his pants. It was a strangely mesmerizing sight. His long, slender fingers were clenched so tightly around a plastic water bottle that it crackled. When the last drop fell, he tilted his head back and, incredibly, stuck his tongue inside the bottle, licking at the remaining moisture before his full lips closed around the opening again. The Jaxon I remembered had bright red hair and an ear full of studs, a walking embodiment of rebellion. Looking at him now, his defiant face was still strikingly handsome. But his flushed skin and labored breathing told a different story. His reactions were slow. It took him a moment to realize someone had entered the room. Without looking up, he snarled, “Who let you in? Get out!” But when he turned and saw it was me, the words “don’t touch me” died on his lips. He stumbled to his feet, trying to retreat toward the mini-fridge, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back onto the floor. I grabbed a bottle of ice water, twisted it open, and handed it to him. “Jaxon, where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor.” He chugged the water, half of it spilling down his chin and neck. Then he started fumbling at his pockets, trying to find his phone. I could see a bulge that looked like a phone, but after a minute of fruitless searching, he looked up at me, his expression bewildered, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He was taking too long. I pushed his hands away and reached into his pocket myself. The instant my fingers brushed against it, I regretted it. With my years of experience as a urologist in my past life, I knew that what I was feeling was definitely not a phone. Before I could scream, Jaxon’s ragged breathing was hot against my ear. I flinched, turning my head, and found myself looking into his flushed, feverish eyes. “I’ll… I’ll go get someone.” I scrambled to my feet, but he grabbed my arm, his hand pressing mine against the fabric of his pants. Another ragged gasp escaped his lips. The sensation seemed to jolt him back to some semblance of consciousness. “Thea,” he rasped. I stared at him, stunned. I was shocked. The name he’d been muttering this whole time… was mine. Even in this state, he recognized me. But in my past life, why had Liam mistaken me for someone else? Or was it that, in his eyes, I was just someone to be used and discarded? The thought filled me with a cold fury. I stepped forward, bent down, and tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at me. “Say it again. Who am I?” The moment my hand touched his skin, I felt the searing heat. When I tried to pull away, he caught my hand, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing against it like a cat. His gaze drifted from my lips to my eyes, finally meeting mine. “Thea,” he breathed. “Help me.”

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